Grand Game 603: The Fanatics of Light

“Minion of Shadow!” Jobe yelled. “Up in the trees. Get him!”

Multiple hostile entities have detected you.

Even in the midst of my surprise, I found myself wondering as to the Light elite’s choice of words and why he had chosen to issue his warning aloud. Not all of the Light players must have farspeaker bracelets equipped, I decided.

As for how Jobe had sensed me... the answer to that mystery would have to wait.

I had multiple incomings. One hundred of them to be exact—and included amongst that number were both physical and ephemeral projectiles.

Anderman has cast fireblast.

Reki has shot a piercing arrow.

Oxtyn has launched a frost barrage.

Livicius is charging.

Esterleen has …

…

My expression grim, I watched the three distinct and separate volleys—one from the east, another from the west, and the last from the north—race toward me. It was overkill, of course. Any one barrage would be enough to kill me twice over.

If they landed.

Which, of course, they would not.

Focusing on the distant mindglow of a serline, I spun psi. It was time to retreat. The Light players may want a fight, but I didn’t.

The casting finished in a rush, and rising smoothly to my feet, I stepped off the tree and into the aether.

Only to be unceremoniously yanked out again.

Spellcasting interrupted. You have failed to teleport.

Jobe has trigger-cast imprisonment ward. You have been imprisoned (unable to move farther than 20 yards in any direction from your current position). Duration: 5 minutes.

For a heartbeat, I didn’t react. Then the precariousness of my situation intruded.

I was in freefall. Courtesy of my aborted shadow jump, I’d lost my perch on the tree branch. Worse yet, I still had an avalanche of spells and projectiles descending on my position.

“Goddamn,” I muttered, spinning psi anew. I really didn’t want to engage the Light players, but they were making that damnably difficult.

Halfway to the ground, my second spell completed, and this time, it went off without a hitch.

You have cast windborne.

I kept the windslide’s design simple, and in an eyeblink I went from hurtling groundward to descending gracefully on a ramp of air. I reached solid ground without mishap, and spinning around in a circle, I took stock of the situation again.

At least a third of the incoming projectiles had changed trajectory to match my new position. Seeking spells, I thought bleakly. They were not the only things rushing toward me, though. Thirty of the Lightsworn were also converging on me. Melee fighters.

Hells. I didn’t have much time. Taking two quick steps to my left, I ducked into the shadow of a tall redwood and wrapped myself in darkness.

You have failed to hide.

A heretic’s unmasking aura is present in the vicinity. This spell prevents any Dark and Shadow Marked players from concealing themselves while within the casting’s area of effect.

I exhaled heavily.

I couldn’t hide. I couldn’t flee.

That left me with only one choice: to fight.

As much as I didn’t want to become embroiled in a conflict with Muriel, it seemed her people were dead set on the idea. So be it.

Drawing my blades, I saw to my final preparations.

✵ ✵ ✵

You have cast load controller, gaining a 10-minute encumbrance aura that slows any armor-wearing foe within 5 yards by 50%.

You have cast wind daemon, multiplying your speed by 2x for 1 minute.

I was ready before the first spell began its final attack run. Motionless, I watched the ball of fire’s approach. Five yards. Four. Three.

Now.

I dashed to the left. Unable to course correct in time, the fireball splashed harmlessly into empty ground.

You have evaded a homing fireball.

Next up, were a volley of ice shards. Dropping into a roll, I ducked beneath the shrieking projectiles.

You have evaded 10 frost shards.

A shower of glittering stars rushed in from the left, a storm of arrows from the right, and an evil looking pillar of blood from above. Knowing I wouldn’t be able to avoid being struck altogether, I jumped back and straight into the star shower.

You have evaded a blood strike.

You have evaded an arrow storm.

You have evaded 4 of 20 blessed stars (repelled by void armor).

16 of 20 blessed stars have hit you.

Your void armor has reduced the damage incurred by 40%.

Void armor charge remaining: 84%. Your health has decreased to 76%.

Void thief triggered! Warning: you have reached the limit of your stolen spells. New spell not learned.

I emerged reeling from the light onslaught. Slivers of light clung to my armor like leeches, and in places, they’d burned clean through. But despite the blood dripping down my face and the pain wracking my limbs, I’d been only lightly impaired, if that.

Glancing up, I took stock. There was no time to celebrate, though.

The incoming volley of missiles were far from over—and this was only the Lightsworn’s opening salvo. Surviving the encounter was by no means a certainty. Gritting my teeth, I pushed myself into motion again.

✵ ✵ ✵

Ducking, dancing, sliding, and generally using all twenty yards afforded to me by the imprisonment debuff in whatever manner I could, I wove an erratic path across the forest floor in an effort to evade as many of the incoming projectiles as possible.

Rays of frost shot by, missing me by mere inches, tongues of flame reached out with eager fingers, only to fall short, and arrow after arrow tried—unsuccessfully—to pin me in place.

But while I managed to evade the better part of the assault, even my daemon-gifted speed was not able to get me through unscathed.

You have evaded 23 hostile spells.

Your void armor has repelled 9 magical attacks!

Void armor charge remaining: 58%. Your health has decreased to 52%.

Glad that’s over, I muttered, spinning to a stop. Now where are—

Maricella has critically hit you.

Quick mend triggered! Your health has been restored to 61%.

You have been knocked down, dazed (duration: 10 seconds), and stunned (duration: 5 seconds).

Ooof. The air escaped me in a rush, as a small but solid figure struck me in the midriff. Despite my assailant’s diminutive size, though, she packed a punch, and I went sailing through the air.

I landed with an audible thump some ten yards away, and for five excruciating seconds was forced to lie listlessly, limbs and mind incapacitated.

You are no longer stunned.

I surged upward, or attempted to, anyway. With my head still ringing and my vision still blurry, the best I could manage was a shaky stumble upright.

What were my foes doing? And why hadn’t they finished me off?

Someone from behind whistled in surprise. “Wow, Marce, he survived. Did you miss or what?”

Maricella—the gnomish fighter whose charge I’d the misfortune to be on the receiving end of and one of the Lightsworn’s three elites—harrumphed loudly. “I don’t miss,” she declared.

“How’d he survive then?”

“Damn if I know,” she grunted. “Should I hit him again?”

You are no longer dazed.

As my vision cleared, I saw that Maricella’s question was directed at the tall, carefully groomed man standing next to her. His name was Jobe, and he was the one keeping me chained to the area.

The inquisitor’s clothes were of the purest white and appeared to be cut from the very finest of cloth. Maricella, by contrast, was covered in layers of unvarnished steel. In fact, she was wearing more armor than I’d seen on anyone, even a dwarf.

My gaze lingered a moment on the gnome. I’d underestimated her, I realized—and paid for it. Maricella’s timing had been impeccable. She’d reached me just as the last of the Lightsworns’ opening salvo had died.

I’d believed I would have more time to deal with the melee fighters and as a result I’d not given sufficient attention to their movements. In my defense, I’d been preoccupied with avoiding the missile storm, but that counted for naught now. The diminutive gnome had struck at me at the exact right moment, leaving me in my present predicament.

“No, I don’t think you should,” Jobe replied after deliberating on the question for a drawn-out moment. “We don’t want to kill him just yet.”

The two elites were standing about twenty five yards away from me and outside the range of the imprisonment field—which fact explained their confidence. My gaze darting left and right, I took in the positioning of the rest of the Lightsworn. They, too, had ventured closer, leaving me at the center of a player-made circle that stretched nearly fifty yards in diameter.

They believe they have me trapped, I surmised.

And they did, but only up to a point.

“You want to question him?” the voice from behind asked, speaking up again.

Glancing over my shoulder, I identified him as the third Lightsworn elite—a ranger by the name of Elias.

“I do,” Jobe said smoothly.

“Why?” Elias asked. “I doubt he knows anything of value.”

“He is a Marauder,” Jobe replied, unperturbed by his companion’s skepticism. “Don’t you want to know why they’re back?”

“Who cares why they’re back,” Elias sneered. “The Shadow are finished in this sector. Kill him and be done with it.”

“We should continue this conversation,” Maricella said, her gaze resting pointedly on me. “But privately.”

Jobe nodded agreeably. “True.” Raising his voice, he relayed his orders to the rest of the group. “Watch him. Make sure he doesn’t try anything funny, and if he attempts to escape, stun him.” Not waiting for a response, the inquisitor closed his eyes.

A half second later, Maricella and Elias followed suit, their faces also blanking as they turned their attention inward. The trio had obviously chosen to move the discussion to a farspeaker link—I hid a smile—which was not as secure as they believed.

Turning around, I strolled toward Elias.

“What do you think you’re doing?” a Lightsworn demanded.

“Testing the limits of my cage,” I replied easily. “Why? Are you going to stop me?”

The player’s eyes narrowed to slits, but he refrained from responding. Ignoring him and the rest of the watching Lightsworn, I continued lazily on my way.

I kept my pace slow and deliberate, not wanting to spook my watchers. Nonetheless, I covered the distance quickly. But about four yards out from my target, as expected, I ran into an obstacle.

You are imprisoned and, until the debuff wears off, are constrained from venturing beyond this point.

Wincing, I rubbed the tip of my nose that felt as if it had run aground against something, and for all intents and purposes, I had—into an invisible wall that existed only for me.

A player chuckled. “Thought you were just going to walk through, did you?”

I shrugged. “It was worth a try,” I replied without turning around to address him.

“Fool,” he muttered.

Dropping into a crosse-legged stance, I yawned theatrically. “Nothing for it but to rest then. Be a good man, and wake me up when your bosses are done, would you?”

Not waiting for his response, I closed my eyes and turned my attention on the undoubtedly more interesting conversation occurring a few yards away.