It was night in the VRMMORPG Fabled Age. The game ran on a universal clock based on the Greenwich Meridian. Players from Halifax and California who logged on at the same time, although for personal reference their own time zone was displayed in their headset, would find themselves playing during the same time of day. Those players unfortunate enough that their daily playing time fell into the cycles of night in this game were not without hope. Cities, towns, bridges, and major roads were always well lit, and most of the Dusk races offered Night Vision, in which they could see as if they were playing in broad daylight.
On this cycle of night, it was particularly dark. The sky lacked any moon or stars, looking more like a thick black blanket lying over existence. Atop a hill sat a ruined stronghold, long ago abandoned. Trees and brush had crept towards its boundaries, blocking off previously built roads and isolating it before invading. It had turned the courtyard into a grove of large ash trees and the stables into a dogwood's paradise. The only reminder that it had ever been a structure in the first place was the protruding central tower, which still managed to stay intact, that stuck forth from the canopy like a smoky grey thumb.
In the courtyard, dodging the sparse trees that corrupted it was a player, a particularly skilled player at that. This player was often found logging on for extended periods of time each day, and currently held the game record for consecutive log in days. It was one hundred and twelve, for he hadn't missed a day since its release. Today he had raided the entire ruined castle, a level fifty zone, on his own. The tower was stocked full of undead monsters and gruesome horrors, most of which were handily defeated by him. He was here specifically for the Black Pearl, a monster drop that was exclusive to this area. It was an important staple for many important spells of the Necromancy sphere, which he specialized in. A hint of this may have been the pitch black scythe he held in his right hand, draping it over his left shoulder so the blade curled out in front of him.
By casual inspection it was obvious that the character was a Human, one of the Dawn classes. Sadly Humans did not have the Night Vision ability, so it was unknown how he navigated in the dark. This player wore a simple black silk robe, although due to his high level it was sure to be enchanted in several ways. Over that he wore a long cloak made of a rough material that looked like potatoes sacks. He took advantage of the hood by pulling it over his face, although there was no one to hide his identity from currently.
All of a sudden, a deep, chilling voice was cast across the courtyard. It sounded as if it had echoed from the depths of a bottomless cavern. The noises it made consisted of clanking metal, a deep hum like a swarm of bees, and the slow movement of bone over bone. It took a moment for the player to comprehend the high and low tones of the noises as actual syllables, until finally he realised the cacophony of eerie noises was in fact words of the English language, simply spoken in a very strange way.
"It seems someone has the audacity to trespass upon my domain. Do you possess a bid for your own demise?" The clattering voice asked.
"Your demise, rather!" The player responded in a surprisingly youthful voice. "Reveal yourself!"
"That is my intent." The voice responded before cutting off completely.
The player's black eyes sparkled with the presence of a Dark Sight spell, allowing him to see his opponent clearly in the pitch black night. A seven foot tall knight strode towards him. The armour and shield he bore were tinted black, as if they had been set in a fire. This excluded his sword, which was such a pure silver color it almost glowed in the dark night. Under the knight's horned helmet sat what remained of his face. It was simply a blackened skull, covered with shards of shrivelled, rotting flesh. In its eye sockets were two tiny, red, pinpoints of light. The player recognized it as a level fifty-two Death Knight. Death Knights were said to be Paladins who disgraced their order and were cursed, becoming such an undead monstrosity. The player sighed; he didn't have the mana for another Death Spell or Control Undead spell. Thus, it seemed he would have to do this the old fashioned way, with the help of only minor spells.
"Are you prepared?" The Death Knight asked. It already had its sword poised and its kite shield raised. The player sighed again; the code of honor the Death Knights still lived by was mostly just a nuisance.
"Yes, I am ready to fight." The player responded.
"Fireball!" The Death Knight cast quickly, righting itself and pointing his sword at the player. From its tip erupted a spiral of twenty fireballs in total, lined end to end and swirling so tightly around each other they seemed to be a blazing rope. The player bent his knees and pushed off, the simple action sending him more than twenty feet in the air. He spun in the air and pushed off of it as if it was a solid object, hurtling towards the Death Knight.
He grabbed his scythe with both hands, spun it, and slammed the curved tip into the middle of the Death Knight's raised shield. Using his speed, he managed to quickly slip his blade behind the shield, pull it towards him, leap over the Death Knight, and move to strike him from behind all in one motion.
"Symbol of Fear!" The Death Knight shouted, spinning around to face his target. Around the player's feet, an intricate, oriental symbol appeared, as if a giant had drawn it into the ground with ink.
"Command Word: Dispel!" The player responded by holding his scythe upright and slamming it's shaft into the ground, making the symbol disappear. His powerful weapon had the ability to dispel many basic Charm and Illusion spells, on command, three times per day.
With his spell gone and still off guard, the scythe sliced through the Death Knight's side and sent him tumbling to the floor.
"Well, there goes your first health bar." The player commented, walking towards the fallen figure. He spun his scythe before grabbing it backhanded and holding it behind him so the blade curled over his shoulder.
"Do not think you have defeated me so easily." The Death Knight got up clumsily; he was a skeleton in heavy armour after all. Then, to the player's surprise, he threw his sword forward, as if tossing it to an ally. The sword abruptly changed course and slashed at the player all on its own, as if controlled by a skilled, unseen puppeteer. Although he had never seen a Sword of Dancing on a monster, the player adapted quickly.
The male held one hand behind his back and flipped his scythe to his forehand, blocking a downwards stroke with the top edge of its black blade. He then twisted his wrist so his scythe was positioned horizontally and he tugged it to the right, blocking the horizontal stroke with ease.
At some point, the player didn't notice when, the skeleton joined the fray with a new short sword in hand. The player automatically adjusted his fighting style. Every move became a sweeping stroke that somehow accommodated the other opponent's strike. He refrained from incapacitating one of them with the tip of his blade, for he wouldn't have enough momentum to strike the other and he would leave himself open. As the magical sword and the Death Knight pressed further on him, they attempted to step forward and gain ground on him. The player defiantly slammed his own foot forward, cutting off their advances.
His scythe was the blade of a fan, spinning and twisting so fast that one could barely comprehend its movements. His trained hands spun it gracefully, barely moving to force an entire revolution of the scythe. The whirling blade forced both enemies to back away, fearing its sharp edge that they could not track.
With a sharp crack, the butt of his scythe's shaft whipped across the Death Knight's face, knocking him back a couple steps. The player then pulled the razor-sharp whirlwind of a weapon to his side before throwing it forward, slicing cleanly through the hovering blade. The magical weapon, protected by a number of enchantments, fell to the ground in two pieces, helpless to the incredibly strong scythe.
The Death Knight stumbled to his feet, looking up in time to see the player swinging his scythe around him. He passed what looked like a spinning disk to his opposite hand behind his back, only to bring it around front again.
"The players don't call me The Reaper for nothing." The player grinned suddenly. With a single arm motion, he decapitated the high-level creature and it shattered into a million pieces of data. The player rested his scythe against his shoulder, freeing both hands.
A browser appeared in front of the player. It was his loot window. He hastily accepted the experience and gold before scrolling through the items for anything good. He dropped all of the minor-level crafting ingredients; he would have no use for them, before finally finding something he liked.
"I think I'll take this." The Reaper grinned, clicking a tab on the browser that hovered in mid air. Immediately, the fallen Death Knight's Sword of Dancing appeared in his open hands, whole.