Ali Hale
[ Biography ]
Lycopolis
Chapter 1
Seth sat back and sipped his Tarrango, enjoying the incongruity of a chilled red wine. He blinked away the after-image of a glowing monitor, the price of staring at his computer for a several hours, typing and testing the lines he was going to use in the summoning ritual. He'd organised plenty of roleplayed scenes and storylines for the other Lycopolis players, but this would be different. Memorable. Powerful. The start of something huge. The players would carry it with them, to their offices and lectures, to their real lives beyond the game. It would haunt them, just as it had haunted Seth.
He'd taken his time over selecting who should be involved, weighing up out-of-character considerations as much as in-character ones. He'd chosen those who roleplayed well, and whose real lives intrigued him: and he knew more about them all than they thought. As the only Baron in the game, he could snoop on private conversations. and lurk invisibly in Lycopolis's streets and taverns to see what was being discussed.
Even though there was no-one watching, he didn’t let the wine tremble in his glass as he lifted it to his lips again. Now he was trying the most daring roleplay yet; summoning the Prince of Nightmares. He wasn’t letting himself think about it too deeply, beyond the purely strategic considerations. It would be interesting to see how it changed things, both within the Lycopolis storyline (flagging, recently, with so many players drifting away from the game), and within the friendships and cliques emerging amongst the other players.
Seth's fingers didn't falter as he typed out the final line of the summoning liturgy. Fine. Good. Almost easy, or as easy as he could expect. Everything was ready. He'd been watching the logging ins and logging outs, scrolling in the corner of the Lycopolis game window. Sir Tristram. Benedict. Ellaina (who’d only been persuaded to join in with an “evil” scheme after Lord Cyrrus had gained some leverage over her by having her sisters arrested then drugging her to be completely certain of her co-operation). Roderic. Heidi. They were just waiting for Griffin (“She's settling one of the kids back to bed, she'll be here in a mo” appeared from Roderic, in the chatroom box on the right of the screen). Seth decided they'd start without her: after all, she was only the sacrifice. They didn't need her for the opening of the temple.
He refilled his empty glass from the half-empty bottle. A birthday present from his father, with the hope that he would find a “special occasion” to use it for. Seth had almost tipped it into the drain in the street, but something held him back. Something told him he’d find an entirely appropriate time to quaff it, and now he had arrived at that moment. The summoning of the Prince of Nightmares. An ending? A beginning?
“Let's roll,” he typed to the chatroom, and waited for the other characters to arrive in the same location as him before he typed Lord Cyrrus’s first line:
***
“We have gathered today because these are evil times for Lycopolis, evil times when good men and women face difficult choices. We are here today to ensure the future of Lycopolis, by the only means left to us.” Lord Cyrrus gazed around the group. “Are you all ready to descend into the crypt?”
***
Why were they all so hesitant to respond? He was drumming his fingers against the edge of the keyboard by the time Ellaina’s text appeared.
***
Ellaina stared, glassy-eyed, back at him. “Yes,” she said, in a low, hard voice, an unsettling contrast with her usually gentle speech.
Sir Tristram stared at her, scowled, and turned his gaze to Lord Cyrrus. “What have you done to her?”
“None of your concern, Knight. Are you and your boy ready?”
Sir Tristram looked at his squire. Benedict seemed about to say something but after a moment, he closed his mouth, gave an apologetic shrug of his shoulders.
“My squire will not be attending the ... ceremony.”
***
Kay, who played Sir Tristram, was flicking between the Lycopolis game window and a conversation with Edwin, Benedict’s player.
“Haven’t you got school in the morning?” she typed, hoping she didn’t sound like a bossy big sister.
“Yep, double Latin first thing.”
“Rather you than me...”
This whole roleplay of Cyrrus’s had her unnerved. Sure, Lycopolis had its “dark, gritty” tone which everyone agreed made it far superior to the sorts of games where characters flew around on pink fluffy dragons. If it was a film, it’d have been eighteen-rated. Since the abandonment of the rules and the creation of the Player Charter six months ago, the darker, nastier roleplays were more and more common. Some of it, she enjoyed; like the tense arguments between Sir Tristram and Lord Cyrrus that always seemed to hover on the edge of violence. Summoning the ultimate evil into the game world was both compelling and disturbing, and knowing that Griffin was going to be killed off made her uneasy. Griffin was one of the few characters who’d stayed innocent, nice, even after the rules were metaphorically ripped up. Kay had considered just logging out, snuggling under her duvet with a mug of cocoa and a book – but Sir Tristram needed to be there at the summoning.
***
For a long moment, Lord Cyrrus looked in silence at Sir Tristram. “If you deem your squire too ill-trained to accompany you, then leave him here, as you wish.”
Lord Cyrrus’s attention passed to Roderic, and his lip curled slightly. “Are you ready, thief?”
“Oh, Lord Cyrrus, I do resent that soubriquet. I am a gambler, a rogue, a man of the world, Lady Luck’s foot soldier...but never a thief. In any case, I have the necessary equipment for opening any doors that may bar our way.” Roderic patted the pockets of his cloak, and there was a faint jangling.
“Good. Miss Heidi?”
The scholar glanced mildly at him, and said, “I am ready, but I should reiterate that I will not be participating. I am here purely as a neutral academic observer.”
***
Reuban, Heidi’s player, wasn’t feeling nearly as calm as his character. He played her as an atheist, a scholar, occasionally Faustian in her wholehearted pursuit of knowledge. And, when he was totally straight with himself, he knew that Heidi was partly an experiment with living a life way outside the framework of a Bible Belt upbringing and an all-boys’ private school education.
Reuban always kept quiet about the details of his real life. He needed to be sure that none of the other players could guess he was really a guy.
***
Lord Cyrrus kept looking at Heidi. She met his stare head on, until he grew bored and turned to whisper something to Ellaina. She nodded in response.
“Then, let us descend through the temple,” he said.
Sir Tristram turned to his squire. “See to my horse, then go back to the Keep and get to bed.”
Benedict nodded, and then stood aside as Tristram marched into the temple behind Lord Cyrrus. Roderic followed, then Heidi.
Ellaina, though, lingered, stepped closer to Benedict, and said, “Join us, boy, your master may need you.”
“I’ve been told to stay out of it, m’lady.”
“Join us,” she said, sweetly, beseechingly, taking Benedict’s slightly grubby hand, wrapping her cool, long fingers around his.
Benedict made no attempt to pull away, and followed her down the stone steps.
***
It was an hour past Edwin’s bedtime now, and he’d kept the light off to make sure that his mum would think he was asleep. The glow of his monitor lit the room enough, even though the Lycopolis game window – neon text on a black background – wasn’t providing as much light as a white screen would have.
When Ellaina had taken Benedict’s hand, she’d sent a private message telling him “Benedict feels an overwhelming urge to follow her. He’s almost bewitched.” Edwin would normally have had a moan to Kay in messenger about other people pushing his character around, but today he was glad of the excuse to sneak Benedict into the scene. Playing a squire meant he often got left on the sidelines.
He put on his headphones and started up his “Eerie Roleplay Soundtrack” playlist. It started up with Nox Arcana’s “Sanctuary of Shadows”, a song that Cyrrus had shared with him a couple of days ago.
***
Roderic opened the door after a few tense seconds. They filed into the crypt. Dust filled the air, making them cough — apart from Lord Cyrrus, who had tied a silk handkerchief across his mouth. He strode to the stone altar in the centre of the crypt, and placed his hands firmly on it.
“Sit, all of you.”
Benedict crouched at the back in a shadowy corner.
Sir Tristram’s gauntleted fists were tightly clenched, and his attention was fixed unwaveringly on Lord Cyrrus.
There was something oppressive about the silence in the crypt; it seemed to gobble up even the tiny human sounds of breathing, of shuffling feet. Nothing from the street outside could be heard.
***
Hannah, who had finally persuaded Denny to go back to sleep, logged in as Griffin. She’d been relegated to the ancient laptop with missing Q and W keys; preferred the desktop, but she’d ceded it to Mark because there wasn’t much for her character to do except lie there and look helpless.
“Did I miss much?” she asked him, settling herself on the sofa.
He glanced round from the desk. “Nope. I’ve picked the locks and got us into the crypt. You sure about this?”
Hannah managed not to sigh audibly. “Yes, love. I’m just getting a bit tired with Lycopolis. It’s time to quit. After all, I can always make a new character.”
She wouldn’t, though. She’d been feeling more and more guilty about the time she spent playing – and as her mother had told her the previous weekend, “You’re going to be thirty next year, Hannah. It’s high time you put all of this teenage stuff behind you. Can’t you take up a more productive hobby? Like crochet, or knitting, or making chutneys. Something practical.” So when Cyrrus had asked in the Chatroom for a volunteer to die, a character to be wiped out, Hannah had offered up Griffin.
***
Lord Cyrrus raised his arms. There was a loud crack, and an infinitesimally brief, yet incandescent, flash of light.
When everyone’s vision cleared, they saw a woman chained to the stone altar, a thin woman clad in white healers’ robes.
Sir Tristram was on his feet. “You did not say anything about a human sacrifice! Release her.”
Lord Cyrrus shook his head, slowly, a slight smile twisting at his lips. “I am afraid it is necessary. Sit down, Sir Tristram.”
“No!”
“SIT DOWN, Tristram. That is an order. Or do you wish to further jeopardise your position as Knight Commander?”
Tristram sat down without a further word, but his glare never wavered.
“Now, if there are no more interruptions, we shall begin the ceremony. Defenders of Lycopolis, I would ask you to remember that we are doing this for the greater good. The continued safety of the city is worth the sacrifice of one person. Roderic, relock the door, so that there is no risk of us being disturbed.”
“Help me, let me go, what’s happening?” Griffin’s voice was weak.
“Hush, my dear. It’s merely a nightmare.” Lord Cyrrus covered her mouth with his hand.
Sir Tristram’s fingers wrapped around the hilt of his sword.
“We have gathered here at the Hour of Darkness, on the Night of No Moon. We have gathered here to call upon an ancient source of power, a being that can reshape reality to reflect our dreams. Come forward, Sir Tristram, m’lady Ellaina.”
They strode forwards. Sir Tristram gazed steadfastly at Griffin, as though forcing himself not to flinch or to look away.
“Do you have the Horn of the Twin Moons, Sir Tristram?” asked Lord Cyrrus.
“Yes.” Tristram’s voice was uncharacteristically quiet.
“Ellaina. The Obsidian Knife of the Mothers, handed down from generation to generation throughout the history of your people.”
Glass-eyed and obedient, Ellaina held it out to him.
***
Louisa was glad there wasn’t too much for her to do in this scene, except look zombified. She was stuck on the night shift again, but had logged into the game anyway – the company had finally sorted out the cordless headset she’d been demanding for months. Plus, Cyrrus had asked her to join in with this scene, and it was rare that she got invited to join the hardcore roleplaying clique. She needed to be there, be a part of it. But it was hard to focus on playing when she was speaking to clients. Clients. That was the latest company term. She’d preferred “callers”. After all, she wasn’t providing any actual service. No physical transaction was taking place. Just a phone conversation. Thinking of them as “clients” made her skin go all creepy.
***
Lord Cyrrus lifted the knife. “We take this innocent life to summon the Prince of Nightmares. Speak your names.”
“Ellaina Fairwind.”
“Sir Tristram Pevensie.” His voice was still quiet, his gaze never leaving Griffin’s face. Her eyes held her plea; Cyrrus’s hand still covered her mouth, blocked her words.
“So that everyone can hear, please.”
“Sir Tristram Pevensie!”
Lord Cyrrus lifted his gaze to take in the back of the room.
“Heidi of the Plains, here merely as a neutral academic observer.”
“There is no such thing as neutrality in Lycopolis any longer.” Lord Cyrrus swept his hand to indicate the entire room, drawing the knife through the air. “We all share equal responsibility.”
Heidi paused in her note-taking. “You know I have no belief in the gods or afterlife. The ‘responsibility’ of it does not concern me.”
Lord Cyrrus let that pass, turned his attention instead to Roderic.
“Roderic Revelry, locksmith and, hem, various other things, by trade. Here purely on business. And if we could talk about those ‘special’ dice you were going to acquire for me, afterwards...?”
Lord Cyrrus might have inclined his head in a nod, or he might simply have been getting a better view of the crouched Benedict. “Speak up, boy. And stand up, while you’re at it.”
Slowly, Sir Tristram turned. He took two strides towards Benedict.
“Stay, Sir Tristram,” said Lord Cyrrus, silky soft.
“My squire should not be here. He is hardly more than a child...”
“Not even children are innocent, in this cursed city. He is a part of this now, as we all are. Your name, boy.”
“Benedict, Sir. Squire to Sir Tristram.” Benedict’s voice was high, and young, but held – just about – steady.
“Come forward, squire, and join your master. Surely he’ll want you at his side, in his finest hour...”
“No,” said Tristram, quietly, the fury in his eyes reaching his voice. “He does not need to see this.”
“We have another difference of opinion there, Sir Tristram. Squire, come.”
As Benedict walked forwards to stand beside Sir Tristram, the only sound that could be heard in the crypt was the soft pad of his leather shoes against the stone floor.
Lord Cyrrus raised the knife. “With this sacrifice, we call the Prince of Nightmares. Come, creature of the shadows and the night, dweller in the borderlands, shaper of darkest dreams into starkest reality. Come!”
Tristram blew the Horn of the Twin Moons, and the mournful sound was caught up by the walls, swelling through the crypt in an unbearable cacophony of despair. Lord Cyrrus brought the knife down.
Griffin’s blood soaked into the altar stone, trickled down in ribbons, flowing into the thin channels carved out countless generations before.
Flames roared; wind thundered; the walls of the Shadow Temple trembled. Tristram grabbed hold of Benedict, held him upright. A dark hooded shape appeared behind the altar, attended by a host of demons – creatures with shrieks like blunt knives. They clawed Griffin’s body apart, tearing it into fragments of meat which they devoured. The air was filled with the stench of smouldering iron.
Lord Cyrrus drew his sword, decapitated the demon nearest to him. Sir Tristram shoved Benedict backwards out of harm’s way, swung his sword from his scabbard, and lunged at a demon. Ellaina – ordinarily a pacifist – drove her fist into the face of another, before snatching up the obsidian knife that Cyrrus had let fall onto the altar.
Soon, the demons were dispatched back to the hell that had spawned them. Heidi, who had been watching impassively throughout, brushed a drop of demonic blood from her notebook and continued to write.
Lord Cyrrus faced the Prince of Nightmares, who stood unmoving behind the altar. “You are bound within these ancient symbols until our contract is agreed. We, representatives of the citizens of Lycopolis, have summoned you because we need your aid to defeat the forces which march against us.”
“You must kneel to me, and serve me as your lord and master.” The Prince of Nightmares was human in shape, but his eyes, beneath the hood, reflected flame and blood. His body was cloaked by something more than cloth. And his voice spoke not in their ears, but in their minds.
There was a long moment of silence, before Lord Cyrrus knelt. “We will serve you, in return for your protection over our city.”
“Do you all submit to this?”
“Yes,” said Ellaina, and Heidi seemed to have forgotten her stance as an independent observer, because she said “Yes,” too, as did Roderic.
Lord Cyrrus, and the Prince of Nightmares, fixed their gazes upon Sir Tristram.
“What does serving you entail?” Tristram’s voice was steady, his sword still drawn.
“You will do my bidding. You will kill in my name. Your dreams, your nightmares, and your soul will belong to me.”
“Then, no.”
“Sir Tristram.” Cyrrus’s voice was as cold as the air in the crypt.
“No, Lord Cyrrus. I do not care what impossible odds we face. I do not care how much we must toil. We will not become like those who seek to destroy us.”
The Prince of Nightmares’s eyes held nothing but evil, nothing but the absence of any possibility of good. “You blew the horn to summon me.” He stepped forwards, out of the circle of blood that was supposed to bind.
“You can’t—” Lord Cyrrus began, but broke off.
“Mortal fools. Fools. Such tricks can never hold me. Knight, the time for choice is long past.”
The Prince of Nightmares stretched out his arm. Benedict was dragged forwards, grabbed by the creature, a clawed hand ripping his collar open and curling around his throat.
“Tristram Pevensie. Serve me.”
“Let him go!” Tristram’s sword flashed upwards.
Its blade crumbled to dust. The useless hilt fell from his numbed hand.
“You will serve me, Tristram Pevensie, as will your squire. The souls of all here belong to me, now.”
Sir Tristram looked at Lord Cyrrus who, for the first time in anyone’s memory, looked uncertain what to do. “Lord Cyrrus. This is not what you told me would happen.”
Heidi was leaning forwards. “All this talk of souls. Do you really believe it, Sir Tristram, with all your education?”
His gaze didn’t waver from his squire as he answered. “Yes, lady, I do believe it. I truly do. A soul is what makes us human. A soul is what makes us greater than that diabolical creature.”
The Prince of Nightmares’s grip tightened on Benedict’s throat. The boy made a sound somewhere between a cry and a gurgle.
“You believe in the soul, Tristram Pevensie, and yet you summoned me?”
“I had no choice.”
“And you brought your squire to be corrupted alongside you.”
“He was not supposed to be here! I never intended it. Release him.”
“Like you, Tristram Pevensie, he is mine now. It would be a mercy if I ended his life at this moment. But...”
Benedict was shoved forwards, thrown into Tristram’s arms.
“...I am not a merciful being. Tristram Pevensie, whether you will admit it or not, your soul is mine, as is your squire’s.”
There was a flare of blue light, a rush of wind that knocked Ellaina and Roderic to the floor, and almost swept Sir Tristram and Lord Cyrrus from their feet. A voice thundered through the Shadow Temple, across the Blood Quarter, to the very walls of the city: “Lycopolis is now under my dominion, mortals, and none shall enter or leave without my permission.”
The heavy stone doors of the crypt cracked open, with a crash like a mountain falling. Sir Tristram gave Lord Cyrrus a look that held fury, and a promise of vengeance. “I wanted no part in this from the beginning. The gods help you, Cyrrus, for you have damned us all.”
***
Seth sat back in his chair, took a long, slow, breath, and pressed his hands against his closed eyes until he saw yellow stars flash and pulse before the lids. That hadn’t gone as expected.
***
Edwin’s music began to skip, repeating the same heart-jarring chord over and over.
***
Hannah’s laptop died, with a faint “clunk” of some vital part finally giving up.
***
Mark’s mind flashed to the worst night of his life, fifteen years before, speeding down the motorway in the driving rain.
***
Louisa was in the middle of talking to a client when the line went dead.
***
Reuban’s knee collided rather hard with his desk as he stood up, knocking his Bible to the floor.
***
Kay released the breath she’d been holding, reached for her mug of hot chocolate and took a sip. It was ice cold.