The Theater of Pain

‘Alright, people. This is it,’ said Nob, facing his team gathered around him. He was speaking loudly for all of the nineteen people to hear. ‘You know your roles. Remember my rule at all times: maximize the basics. Don’t be fancy. And don’t embarrass me in front of the other leaders,’ he gestured towards an elevated gallery from which the rest of the raid contingent watched the Theater’s arena below. ‘Especially not in front of those Overpower Clan clowns, okay?’

‘Hey! We’re here too, you know?’

‘Remember that even if we fail in the end, the next group will learn from this. That is not to say it’s okay to fail. Anyway, whatever comes out through that gate, we will push it to the limit and last as long as possible. And if our approach drags the fight, that’s also fine, that’s more opportunity to study it.’

They stood at one edge of an oval-shaped, dirt arena, surrounded by a stone wall. Two gates were mounted in the wall, one that they had come inside by, and another one, on the far end, a hundred and twenty steps or so. The other gate was significantly larger, and closed shut by iron bars. The darkness beyond the bars was impenetrable and ominous. Above the walls, all around them, was what looked like stairs leading downwards towards the arena floor. They must have been Spectators’ spots, given the place was called the Theater of Pain, but there was something uncanny about their size.

Nob’s gaze went back down. He scanned the faces of the group in front of him, and none showed fear or doubt. They had been preparing for this, after all. Any anxiety coming with facing monstrosities should have been excised in the preceding weeks in dungeons and outdoor encounters. Those who did not feel ready were told not to volunteer.

Two tanks, Monk and Warrior. Two Priests and two Naturalists healing. Three Rogues, two Warriors including himself, two Wyches, two Mages, three Hunters, and one Dark Knight to kill the thing. A Bard to support whichever group needs it most. Majority of his group were from his Clan, like Iyola the Bard. A rare sight, Bards. Their skills are the hardest to learn so we could only bring two. If we’re wiped here, that’s half of Bards in our expedition gone right away. But Iyola and I go way back, so I can trust her to know what to do without commands from me.

They were armed as much as they could be, wearing their best equipment. For many of them, it was unchanged since day one of life inside NAVIS Online - they already had been among the best. Maxed out level-wise. Mentally steeled. Physically prepared. Awake and attentive. Supplied.

I hope it’s enough.

He donned his headgear, drew both of his axes, and walked over to a massive brass gong hanging by two chains near their entrance, and slammed the backside of his axe into the gong, sending forth a powerful metallic clang that resounded around the Theater in unnatural ways.

For a moment nothing happened, but suddenly torches all over the place set themselves ablaze with a spectral blue flame. Immaterial and yet impenetrable bars rose from the ground behind the raid group, barring their only way out of the arena. The sky darkened, though it was just after noon. The wind died. Then spectral doors opened around the Theater’s upper rows. Figures started emerging from the entryways, as ghastly as the torches, unhurried, unspeaking. They were larger than humans for sure. Some stood in the same row as the fifty humans of the expedition, not noticing or uncaring of the strangers in their midst. They all looked down at the humans on the beaten ground, just like those looked up at the eerie spectators.

Then, finally, an even more imposing orc took position directly over the far side, over the barred doorway. It wore furs and a headdress of bone, and its chest was bare.

‘They look like ogres,’ said one of the Hunters, Taloh. His warbow was the envy of all Hunters, but it required massive investments in Strength to draw it, an attribute that rarely had been prioritised in that character class.

‘Orcs, I would say,’ commented Sizipha, a healer. ‘But they all look ghastly-transparent so I can’t tell by skin color.’

‘Look closely, Taloh, none of them have more than one head. They’re orcs. And the animalistic fetishes, see? The necklaces, the armbands…’ pointed out Maladoro, the Warrior in tank role. The helmet he wore made his voice metallic, and his eyes burned inside like embers.

‘Ahhh, you’re right! There’s facepaint too!’

‘So they are all dead or something? We haven’t seen any living orcs so far. I wonder what happened to them,’ asked someone.

‘So far it is as the accounts said. The ghosts are incorporeal. Our guys threw stones at them and they just passed through,’ Nob said to his team. Three months before, shortly after the twelve hundred Players came to consciousness outside Sorostade and overcame the shock and hysteria, many chose to leave the city behind and make their own lives far from it. Some ended up living in smaller towns and self-made camps around here, not far from the Theater. Guided by curiosity, one such had banged the gong. The raid expedition’s knowledge of what happened after that owed to the story told by the self-exiled Players.

After they died and respawned, that is.

‘Move to the middle and take standard positions,’ Nob led his team deeper in. ‘Keep a small spread. Start applying buffs.’

As if to respond to their confident move, a horn blared from above, announcing the opening of the iron-barred gateway on the far side of the arena. An enemy emerged. Nob grimaced. The ghost orcs now found their voices and started cheering and roaring. The voices came as if from everywhere at once, and echoed eerily.

GOROK! GOROK!

‘Now that’s not fair. It’s not the enemy that was supposed to be,’ Nob said, but mostly to himself. Now was not the time for this kind of complaint. ‘Don’t get distracted!’

Out of a gate came a large orc wearing a patchwork of chainmails, iron plates, furs, and leather straps. It was above the size of a regular orc, which was already two heads taller than a player. It gave a chaotic impression, but there was no denying the fact that his muscle-packed flesh was behind several layers of metal, leather, and fur, even if some of it was loosely hanging. He carried a wicked spear in his hand and a long-hafted axe in another, and had another few weapons strapped to his belts. The orc’s thick hair was loose behind its neck, but its beard was meticulously braided. Its face was invisible, hidden behind a dark metal helmet; there were only two circular cutouts for his eyes.

The Gladiator banged its plated fist on its chestplate, perhaps in a greeting, or a challenge. Or, knowing orc culture, both.

‘The previous group said it would be an agile and aggressive predator beast,’ Nob said to his team as if apologising for misleading them, and raised his axes for imminent combat. He quickly looked around, and everyone seemed ready, their eyes firmly fixed on the enemy.

As the raid leader, he thought it suitable to respond to the orc’s taunt in kind. He slammed the back of his axe against his armor in similar fashion, making a clanging sound.

When he saw the arm movement of the Gladiator, he understood his mistake, but it was too late.

A spear flew like a torpedo, hit Nob squarely in the chest and carried him backwards, making a mockery of the heavy armor class that he wore. He was dead before he hit the back wall of the arena, next to the gong he had banged a moment before.

GOROK! GOROK!

‘Oh shit,’ said Tycho from the gallery above, echoing what everyone else was saying or thinking. Like everyone else he was watching attentively for any details that can be useful in future engagements. Back in the day they used to have an infinite number of attempts, and plenty of time to learn and adapt between takes. Now they had only one. Every move of the raid boss had to be noticed and analysed.

They were close enough to hear the shouts between the raid members below, but there was nothing they could do to help them. Perhaps they could shout advice down to them, but that could end up a fatal distraction rather than help. No, the raiders had to be trusted to make their own observations and decisions in the heat of the moment. The spectators watched as the secondary tank, Shuo, flew at the orc Gladiator with all the force he could muster, hoping to stagger the enemy even if only for a second.

The other tank, Malodoro, immediately called out:

‘Heals on Nob and tank! Ranged DPS go, melees stay away for a moment! We will see what he does!’

‘No,’ said one of the healers. ‘Nob’s dead. He’s already fading out.’

‘Holy crap, he got instagibbed?’ Malodoro was in disbelief. ‘Anyway, we stick to the protocol! Shuo, maximize your dodge, this thing can hit like a train!’

Hearing this, several members of the expedition nodded with approval. ‘No panic,’ they said. ‘And the command immediately went to backup.’

‘Still, embarrassing for Nob to die like that,’ pointed out Bittervet the Wych from the right, not far from Tycho and Koori, the remaining leaders.

‘The boss interpreted the gesture as a taunt. That’s new,’ admitted Tycho. ‘I can’t blame Nob for not knowing it. We should all remember that if the town NPCs are fully intelligent, then the enemies can be too.’

GOROK! GOROK!

‘This is scary. Most of our tactics rely on enemies being stupid.’ Eiri, a Mage to the left of the leaders, was not happy with the revelation. Eiri was not only a major contributor to the Portal Diver project, but also a person with a high aptitude for dungeoning and combat in general. She mastered all of her spells quite quickly, and despite her somewhat edgy personality and sometimes sharp tongue, she spent a lot of time at the Guild guiding other Mages. ‘They better adapt fast down there,’ she spoke from underneath her large wizard hat.

The situation on the ground was controlled chaos. The Gladiator was quickly intercepted by a Monk from the Overpower clan doing everything he could to avoid getting hit, but aside from expected weapon blows, the orc would sometimes catch the raid by surprise by kicking the current tank away and taking a swing at a random target in close range before the other tank could react, or by switching to another weapon and completely changing attack patterns. Meanwhile, everyone who fought from distance barraged the orc with a volley of spells and projectiles. It was sometimes difficult to see the Gladiator through the wisps of steam, flame, smoke, and blood sprays.

‘But hold on a second. If the gesture was a taunt, then all Nob did was to take aggro before the tank did, and got slapped for it. That’s still a basic game mechanic,’ noted Koori among the observers above.

GOROK! GOROK!

‘Yes, but my point about intelligence still stands. We must allow the possibility that we will fight enemies as smart as we are,’ Tycho insisted, still listening to the calls from below.

‘He seems to only attack people in his close range so far,’ shouted Maladoro on the run back to the fray after being kicked two dozen feet away. ‘I don’t believe for a damn second this will last forever, but make the best of it for now. Rangers, fire all cylinders!’ As he said that, it was Shuo’s turn to be sent flying.

But Maladoro was still not within the Gladiator’s range. A spear-fighting Hunter was either forgetful or slow to react, and he paid for it with his life. Un-tanked boss briefly saw the Hunter as the most threatening enemy, and an unlucky critical hit sent him to the ground.

Making use of the few seconds of cooldown while Maladoro got back on the target, he heard one of the Rogues say:

‘It’s really tight here, we’re getting in each other’s way! This asshole is too small for all of us.’

‘Heh,’ said someone.

‘You’re right… whatever your name is,’ Maladoro struggled to speak through the effort and strain of blocking the blows from the bestial fighter. ‘You, the warrior with Lionheart sword, and DK - back off and recover. Rotate… after a minute. Make the best of your uptime,’ ordered Maladoro.

‘Bard, give us a damage boost. Healing and tanking is good,’ called a Mage.

‘Do it,’ confirmed Maladoro.

‘I’m already doing it, don’t distract me,’ protested Iyola, moving to stay in range of as many people as possible while trying not to mess up the notes on her lute and stay in rhythm. The melody was technique-intensive, but its benefits were significant.

After a few minutes of this dance, a change occurred. The Gladiator, Gorok, switched to a one-handed axe and reached out for a chained object at his hip that was hidden under a patch of leather and fur. Seeing it from up close, a Rogue shouted a warning to everyone in the backlines.

‘MEAT-HOOK!!’

Gladiator’s body spun and an ugly, chained hook flew from his wrist and caught a Naturalist, one of the healers, who did not quite understand what the warning meant. The chain stiffened as the orc pulled back, and the Naturalist flew forward with a yelp. Now in the beast’s immediate proximity, she looked up at it, and perhaps out of fear she failed to react to a really well-telegraphed, long-winded, overhead swing. The Gladiator let loose a triumphant roar.

‘MOVE!’ yelled Malodoro, but too late. Her death was brutal, but it was completely avoidable.

GOROK! GOROK!

On the gallery above, Sinistic commented dispassionately

‘Oof, that’s two deaths within ten seconds. Hm. That guy is good, that one Rogue. I don’t easily say it, you know. However, I wouldn’t warn the rangers about the hook because they had it too easy so far, but he’s got some moves and has eyes where he should.’

‘That’s Ripperjack,’ informed some hooded Priest. ‘He played many classes on a high level. He should be one of the oldest people here.’

‘Ah, I know him, so to speak. He’s from the Saves The Day clan, huh?’

‘Yes, we are,’ confirmed the Priest with perhaps a hint of pride in his voice.

‘We scrapped a lot on PvP back in the day, didn’t we, Bitter?’ Sinistic asked, but saw that the Wych was not listening to the conversation, busy with the events below.

‘HEY! Pay attention to me!’ Sinistic said, and elbowed him in the ribs.

‘What? Yeah, whatever you say,’ he threw back at her, his eyes now back at the arena, then continued to mutter to himself. ‘This thing one-shots anything that isn’t a tank. The healers will be sweating now, trying to keep the tanks up. Oh… it has grab attacks now too. Oof.’