36 – Dinner invitation

Upon the barren lands of Lanzrath-Dun were two kings. Meriath, the king of Good who had sworn an oath to his people to cleanse the lands of all evil and Deriath, king of Evil who had sworn revenge for the death of his father. Between them, in the lands bathed by the blood of countless thousands, the hills looked upon the senseless fights and incessant killings without care. The system watched from above, from inside the empty halls and ornate throne rooms, from every mirror and window of the tall towers of the castles, and rewarded those who proved themselves in war and killing with bountiful boons. And thus the war continued.

Meriath sat on his throne that overlooked a long hall of white. Stones, polished to perfection, reflected the shining gold of many statues resting in their alcoves along the walls. Their empty eyes stared at the equally empty room, watching the guests come and go, waiting. Tinted windows shed a sullen light without color despite their many pigments upon the majestic room, but a distant streak of washed colors could be seen through the dust suspended in the air. On one of the many statues, the closest to the throne behind the great white king, a crown rested crooked on its marble head. Diamonds, emeralds and rubies were encased in its gold and a deep red fabric embroidered with the insignia of Good wrapped itself around the statue like a mantle. Beneath it, everybody was but a worthless dwarf. King Meriath’s eyes lazily went over the five kneeling figures below him. Seven great steps separated his highness from the common rubble below, who had come seeking audience with him regarding their trivial matters to which he was expected to attend.

His thick, slightly shaky hand reached for his glasses. He took them off in a fluid motion and wrapped them in a silk cloth, green and gold, and began to clean them with slow methodical motions. The leftmost person kneeling on the marble floor was Methias. His eyes stared at the warped image of his own face reflected on the polished floor, and his knees hurt from supporting his weight for so long without moving. The room was completely, utterly silent. Only the sound of the cloth slowly sliding along the surface of the glass that made up the King’s lenses could be heard, and Methias could swear that it was louder than the beating of his own heart. Then, with a motion so minute to be almost imperceptible, the king ordered him to speak.

He exhaled and got up, praying with all his mind that his knees would support him after hours of excruciating pain. He looked up at the regal figure of the sovereign, then at the statue behind him, and spoke.

***

Julian blinked the sand out of his eyes, and took a good look around. It could have all been just an ambush, his mind told him, a ploy to lull him into a false senso of security but there really was no reason to go to such lengths just to kill him. Swarm him with superior numbers and firepower and he was done for. Of course, they might all have been just scared of his death ray but… improbable. Something’s wrong. That was his hunch. And, as a result, he felt even more pressured to get through this floor as fast as possible without wasting any time.

The hills were desolate and empty. A cold wind swept through them and seeped into the very bones, sapping them of warmth and strength until no heat was left to steal, but Julian paced along towards the far away horizon without paying any mind to the shaking of his hands or the pain in his face. He grit his teeth and only thought about putting a foot after the other, quickly, without any rest. The smell of rain carried through the air from far away, and in the distance the soft rumble of thunder echoed ominously. The few blades of grass retreated to the ground under the force of the sharp winter wind, as if scared, and the first dots of white began to fall from the sky. Julian stopped at the top of one of the tallest hills around, and he looked in search of anything that could tell him the way, doing his best to pay no mind to the cold seeping into his feet from the wet ground.

There was a marsh ahead, large bodies of water made dark and swirling by the strong wind. Their waves reflected the patchy sky, sometimes bright and sometimes as dark as the thick clouds that were drawing ever closer. Julian walked as fast as he could, but he was sinking, and every step was more difficult than the previous. He took out potions and vials one after the other, hp, sp, they all went down his throat and for a moment they warmed him up and he felt ready to march on, but the next moment the bite of cold snapped more vicious, more feral than before. He didn’t stop. Torrential rain and snow drenched him in icy cold. He didn’t stop. There was something in the distance. Buildings. They were far. And the wet swamp with its frigid water had no end, and the more Julian walked the farther the buildings were getting, despite walking towards them. Soon the potions stopped having any effect, and the more he drank the sicker he felt, but he kept chugging at them. The rain pounded against his bare head with large, heavy drops from the wrathful heavens. He knew, in his mind he knew, that if he stopped he would never make it. His vison began to blur. He downed another flask. The edges of the world went dark, and the blurry landscape spun. He didn’t stop.

He stumbled, and struggled to get up. He stumbled again, and felt the cold embrace of the shallow waters all around him, sapping his strength, draining him. He tried to push against the rocks underwater, but his hands slipped on the slippery mud without any purchase, and without any sensation coming from them he had no idea what he was even touching. Then a hand pulled him up. Cal. Cal! He remembered when Cal had dragged him out of the water, back at the asteroid. That strong, big blue hand was here again, to bring him to safety. He could sleep. He could rest. And with a smile on his face, he fainted.

***

“Hey,” a voice from far, far away. “You’re awake.”

Julian blinked to let the world return into focus. He was laying on a soft bed of sheets, but the cold wafts of air and the strong smell of wet told him that he was still somewhere along the damned hills. A gentle shaking rocked the wooden room, and the wind clawed at the fabric that covered it, making it flap at the edges where it managed to find a way inside like a hungry beast in search of warmth to kill. He shivered, almost retreating back to the warm safety of the nest of sheets he was in.

“Wh- who are you?” he asked. By now he knew he was on a carriage of some sort, going through the plains and towards… somewhere.

“My name’s Methias.” The man said, wearing a soft smile. “What’s your name?”

“Julian.” He said.

He couldn’t help but notice the extravagant clothes made of way too much fabric wrapped around the man’s body like an oversized bed sheet. It was white and gold, with some green touches to it like leaves sprouting on a tree after a long frigid winter, too early to bloom through the snow at dawn. His face was grey-white, but he looked young, and Julian found himself staring for a while before he remembered the chain of events that led him here. The Tower, the aliens, the system. It made sense that this man here wouldn’t be human, after all. He was a Contractor, for sure, put here by the system to populate the floor. Then he struggled to remember why he was here…

“We found you in the Grey Barrow. You were nearly dead, but I managed to save you. What were you doing there?”

His voice was soft, unthreatening, Julian decided. He had saved him, after all, there was no reason to be on edge.

“I don’t remember. I was trying to reach the city, I think.” He said. In his mind was still a fog, shrouding his thoughts and memories.

Methias smiled. “Good. I too am going to the White City, after a long expedition to the badlands. Perhaps you can tell me more about your journey on the way there. But, for now, rest. You look like you need it.”

Julian nodded slowly. On the top left corner of his vision, his HP bar looked full but his SP was dangerously low and it was not regenerating. A better look at his status showed a Frostbite condition that explained why he was feeling like that. His eyes felt heavy, and his body dull and weak. The bed was soft and warm, kept like this by magic, no less, in a land full of surprises like this tower. He could sleep, yes. He could sleep.

***

Julian woke up with a start, jumping out of bed so violently that the fabric of the carriage was ripped apart in his attempt to find a way out. He had slept a long time, he felt, and it was a restless sleep full of nightmares and uncertainty. In his nightmares he saw Cal, cold alone and weak, held in a cell deep down below an empty castle. Julian found Methias sitting at the head of the convoy, leading a line of many carriages pulled by strange animals, and armored men guarding them. He didn’t stop to peer inside the carts and other carriages, instead stumbling over to the front of the line, fighting against the mud, the wind and the rain.

“Julian!” Methias said, motioning for him to join him up on the seat next to him.

The great walls of the white city loomed like great mountains, and in the darkness of dusk, through the incessant rain and snow pinpricks of orange could be seen like beacons atop them. They moved like living wisps and spirits, going from a small post to another, patrolling, uncaring of the cold and wet. The path there was long still, a busy road of mud, where water was flowing in a small river at the middle and on the sides towards the gloomy fields that surrounded the great white city. It was like a black path of washed browns, and depressing greys that led to the open gates of the city of white. Inside, a blinding light covered everything, shrouding it from outside view but giving the weary traveler hope of a better place.

Methias nodded. A guard wordlessly stood up and jumped down the moving carriage to walk beside them, freeing the seat.

“I need to find the elevator.” Said Julian without wasting a moment. “Where is it?”

Methias smiled softly. “You must be weary, traveler, after your long journey. Why don’t you come to my palace, as an esteemed guest, and stop for dinner?”

“I need to get going,” Julian’s lip twitched. “I can’t waste any time.”

“I see. I am afraid I cannot help you, then, find this ‘elevator’ of yours.”

“Fine.” Julian jumped down into the cold mud, and water splashed from where he landed and on his boots. Some of it seeped inside, wetting his feet again. His hands went to the guns on his hips before he remembered that they were no longer there, but in his rings.

“However,” the nobleman said right as Julian turned his back to him, “you might find some… clues waiting for you if you accept my invitation.”

Julian sighed, but turned back to face the man. “Fine.” He grumbled. “I’ll come to your fucking dinner. You better not waste my time, npc.”

Methias’ soft smile didn’t change. “Thank you for gracing us with your presence, traveler.”