Project Tartarus (A Greek Mythology Litrpg)

Hadespera

The 1st of Elaphebolion

The Year 4631 in the Era of Mortals

* * *

Inside the Void was a beautiful nothing. A negative space. A place between places, a thing without things. It was Khaos and Kosmos, but above all it was empty. On occasion, some traveler would find their way through the Void and it would stir, rippling outward from their incursion, but before long the intruder would leave and the Void would be empty once more. Slumbering in a place outside time, far from the concerns of mortals and immortals alike.

One such incursion was different than the rest, however. It pulled at the Void, tore a sliver in it and passed through. The ripples through the nothing spread far, farther than ever before, and something at the heart of the Void stirred in response. Change was coming.

* * *

He was born.

Born into a world of darkness, but not one without feeling. Cold stone stung his unclad feet, harsh ridges poked into the soft fascia of his soles while a bitter wind raised gooseflesh on his arms and bit into his ears like a starving hound in search of a fresh meal. He wrapped his arms about himself. His teeth clacked together as he tried to make sense of his surroundings. Something appeared in front of him, making him flinch as his heart started beating against his ribs. It was the only visible thing in a world of swirling, biting darkness.

A rectangle bearing script hung in the center of his view. Even as he turned his head, it stayed stubbornly within his sight, refusing to vanish or even shift. Inside the rectangle were words. He recognized them as such and, though he had never seen the script, he had no trouble reading them.

* * *

Welcome, new spirit.

You have entered the world of Tartarus.

Your choices will define you.

Your actions will become you.

Your wit will keep you from the hordes of the Fallen.

Go forth and survive!

* * *

He didn’t know what to make of that. By its phrasing it could have been advice, a warning, or a threat. Very likely it was some combination of all three. After he had finished reading it, the message blinked out of his vision, only to be replaced by another message.

* * *

Choose your Name: _______________

* * *

His name? Well, at least that part was easy. His name was…

Uh oh.

His name was a formless sound reverberating off his lips and back down his throat, lost to the interminable void as nebulous as the one he found himself in. He was nameless, no sense of identity, no blueprint, and was startlingly aware of his newfound consciousness. He had no idea who he was or who he should be, or if he should even be anyone at all. If there was a purpose, a reason for his existence, he had no insight.

The message proclaimed the world as Tartarus. The word caused a slight pull inside his mind as though it was a shifting box placed precariously upon a shelf, ready at any moment to tip over and spill its contents. When he tried to draw on that feeling, it slipped away from him, the proverbial box settling into position back on the shelf, far out of his reach. It didn’t help him with the problem at hand and the rectangle in front of him was still demanding an answer.

“Can I answer that later?” He clapped both hands over his mouth.

The words had felt strange, new. The act of speaking was familiar, but the words came out like they had never been formed before. He knew how to speak, knew what the words meant, but the sounds his voice made were different. The spoken words were completely foreign to him, like a dialect he’d never encountered of a language he didn’t know, but he still knew their meaning. Stranger still, he knew that he had spoken actual words. The sounds had been articulate, precise. Definite words, not garbled nonsense like that of an infant learning to vocalize. The distinction served little to reassure him as he still felt, in that moment, very much like a child, new to the world and incredibly uncertain.

It occurred to him that he might be a child. It also occurred to him that it was strange he knew what a child was.

The box of words before him disappeared, unfilled, and he noticed a small, slowly blinking marker in the corner of his vision. To view it, he had to unfocus his eyes and concentrate, which brought it to the forefront of his vision and the message box reappeared.

Mentally, he willed for the message to disappear again and it faded back to the translucent, slowly blinking box in the corner of his view. Once it disappeared, he was left with a new rectangle that populated his vision.

* * *

UNDECIDED

Level: 1

Experience to Next Level: 100 (0%)

Race: Human

Age: 27

Height: 183 centimeters

Weight: 77 kilograms

Profession: N/A

Trade: N/A

Traits: N/A

Companions: N/A

Adventuring Party: N/A

Health: 200 / 200 (100%)

Stamina: 150 / 150 (100%)

Mana: 100 / 100 (100%)

Strength: 10

Dexterity: 10

Agility: 10

Fortitude: 10

Endurance: 10

Intelligence: 10

Wisdom: 10

Willpower: 10

Perception: 10

Charisma: 10

Comeliness: 1

Luck: 10

* * *

He could only assume this was some sort of profile of himself. It seemed he had been assigned attributes—physical, mental, and others—that had been further quantified down to simple numbers. Twelve sets of numbers seemed hardly capable of encompassing the entirety of a person, but it was as good a place to start as any.

He didn’t really know what would encompass the entirety of a person. He did, however, learn some new things about himself. He was apparently twenty-seven, which was not a child. Probably. He was also just over one-hundred-eighty centimeters and weighed nearly eighty kilograms. The only problem being that he had no idea what those units meant.

All of his attributes had started out at ten, which was probably the baseline. Comeliness, however, had started out at a measly one, which he felt was rather unfair. Would a low Comeliness make him ugly or would it make his personality repellant? How was his Comeliness different from his Charisma, which seemed on par with everything else? He had no answers and those were not the only attributes he had questions about, but staring at them wasn’t going to allow him any more insight.

With a thought, he closed the menu. In what was beginning to feel like a never-ending sequence of events, a third message box opened itself into his vision.

Inventory He was met with ten blank squares. Additionally, there was a silhouette of a person, mostly greyed out with the exception of the shirt and the trousers. He focused his attention on them and was met by two more messages.

* * *

Cloth Shirt

Rarity: Common

Quality: Crude

Defense: 0

Durability: 3/3

Weight: 0.2 kilograms

Comfort: Abrasive

* * *

Cloth Pants

Rarity: Common

Quality: Crude

Defense: 0

Durability: 3/3

Weight: 0.5 kilograms

Comfort: Abrasive

* * *

That explained the itchiness he felt. The stiff fabric resisted him as he moved, brushing against his skin. New clothes would have to be a priority. The zeroes next to ‘Defense’ gave him pause. What kind of place was this if simple clothes came with an armor rating? It also appeared he had space to store ten things, somehow. First, he had to find something to store. As it was, with the exception of the floating boxes, he was alone in the dark. He minimized the inventory and was met by yet another message.

* * *

Initializing…

Ready for transport.

3…

2…

1…

Welcome to Tartarus.

Hadespera

The 1st of Elaphebolion

The Year 4631 in the Era of Mortals

* * *

A pinprick of light appeared in the darkness, growing swiftly until it consumed him. He clutched at his eyes, pressing his palms against them, but nothing could block out the light. It seared into him, all-consuming. He fell to his knees, curling in on himself as pain shot through his head and radiated down his arms. His throat hummed as he screamed, but he couldn’t hear himself over the blood roaring in his ears. Everything was too intense. The light, the ground, even his hands pressed into his face were too much to bear.

Just when he thought he wouldn’t be able to take it anymore, it faded. The afterimages of light slowly burned themselves away, giving way to a dim blackness tinged with red. Slowly, hesitantly, he pulled his hands away and tried to open his eyes. At first, he could only manage a crack and even that sent shooting pain into his eyes. With time, however, his eyes grew accustomed to the light. Tears wetted his cheeks, covered his palms.

At last able to see, he took stock of his surroundings. Beams of sunshine streamed through the canopy high above. Flowers spread their petals along the ground before him and insects buzzed around him, alighting on the trunks of enormous trees.

The ground below him was vibrant and full of dark soil. Atop it grew verdant grass, weaving paths of emerald between the trees. Flowers bloomed from the loam and undergrowth. Orange, gold, and purple buds splashed the forest, washing it with color and scent. Each tree soaked in the cool light filtering through the canopy and reflected it, seeming to glow.

The forest was beautiful, but it didn’t tell him much. A notification flashed slowly and methodically in the corner of his vision, demanding he name himself, but he ignored it. It felt disingenuous to pick a name when he didn’t know the first thing about himself.

He looked down at his hands, seeing the fingers displayed in front of him. His skin was tanned and dusky, his hands soft and free of callouses or markings. His arms, from what he could see, were the same. He placed his hands against the ground, feeling the moisture in the dirt, then pushed himself to his feet. He tottered for a moment, unsteady, then caught his balance. He felt energized, restless. Not having any preference of direction and not wanting to stay still, he walked straight forward. Hours passed as he trudged through the woods, looking for any semblance of civilization. At the very least, another person to talk to or a body of water, that he might get an idea of what he looked like. The sun angled in the sky, throwing shadows in different directions, but the canopy above blocked out much of the harshness. Now that his eyes were firmly used to the light, the shade was pleasant. Through the gaps in coverage, he could see the blue sky above and the occasional wisp of white clouds.

Everything felt new but familiar, like an old friend he hadn’t seen in quite some time whose face had changed with age. The birdsong, the buzzing of insects, the way his legs strained as he hiked up and down the sloped hills of the forest, the dryness of his throat as his body begged for water. Everything made sense and yet he had no idea why or how.

The scratchiness of his clothing was exacerbated by the long walk until he was almost tempted to take them off and walk naked, if not for the occasional gust of wind that sent a chill running through him. As it was, he could feel his skin becoming sensitive as the coarse material rubbed at him over and over again.

He didn’t know what to make of any of his surroundings or how to find the water that his body was craving. As distracted as he was by everything, he didn’t notice when the birdsong had quieted and he did not know to panic at the sound of silence in the woods, but he would learn. It was out of sheer luck that he spotted the creature in the edges of his periphery, stalking out of the undergrowth towards him. A wolf; big, brown, and half rotted. Its face was a horror to behold. The left side showed the perfectly normal visage of a snarling wolf but the right was a mess of bone and decayed flesh. Its right eye was missing entirely, replaced by a dim flickering in the hollow recess. It was alone, which was his only cause to be thankful because its single golden eye had locked onto his own and, by the way its skin highlighted its every rib, he had no doubt that he was to be the wolf’s next meal.

He did not know how he knew it was a wolf, only had the stupid realization that a wolf was in front of him, a very wrong-looking wolf, and that it was much too close for any comfort. He opened his mouth and spoke the first words that popped into mind, which came dumbly and without emotion. “That’s a wolf. That’s not good.”

Yellow saliva dripped from the beast’s maw as it snarled and frothed, hackles raised. At the sound, his heart panicked and pounded against his ribcage. His mind cried out with fear, his eyes went wide, then he turned and ran into the underbrush, the wolf snarling as it gave chase. He could hear the wolf’s guttural rasps over the blood pounding in his ears. The trees blurred as he sprinted past, but despite his best efforts, the wolf gained quickly.

“Help! Help me, somebody! Anybody! Help me!”

There was no reply, only the wind rushing past him as the wolf bore down on him. Something struck him in the back, knocking him forward onto the ground. He slid across decaying leaves and flipped over a protruding root, landing on his back with a thud. His Health, which appeared suddenly as a red bar at the bottom of his vision, barely noticed, went down by ten points. Before he could react, the wolf was on top of him, bearing down with hot, fetid breath. He brought his hands up on instinct, grabbing for the wolf’s head and trying to keep it from tearing into his face. He felt his fingers sink into the creature’s exposed throat, pushing past thin membranes of muscle to find esophagus and windpipe. It felt like his hand had been dipped into foul-smelling jelly, but he knew the truth was far worse. Whatever this thing was, it was completely unnatural and it was going to kill him.

Panic flared in his chest as he pushed against the wolf with everything he had. His Stamina, a green bar below his Health, dove toward zero as the muscles in his arms shook. The weight and strength of the surging wolf was too much for him to keep at bay. At any moment, his strength would fail him. The fangs crept closer and closer to his face. At any moment, they would sink into him and shake the very life from his body.

Something shot out of the thicket and whizzed past his head. The wolf let out a grunt, then sagged, no longer straining against him. He pushed it to the side and rolled over, gasping for breath. He laid there, his arms feeling dead as he stared at the wolf in confused horror. Dark blood, nearly black, was leeching from the wolf’s body, mixing with the dirt. An arrow protruded from the back of the creature’s neck, clearly having separated its spine with a single, well-placed shot. He gasped for breath as he sat up, looking around for the source of the arrow.

“Some greenstick you are,” a feminine voice called out from somewhere ahead of him. “Running afoul of a diseased beast after thundering through the forest like an adolescent rock troll.” He blinked a couple times. Her accent was strange, rhythmic in a way that sounded faintly musical. It took him a few moments to parse out what she had said, which he spent looking around and trying to regain his breath.

“Thank you for saving me,” he wheezed once he’d finally worked out her words. A woman entered his line of sight. Her skin was deeper than bronze, more like cherry wood, with angled features and long, pointed ears that extended up and back. Her hair was dark and came down to her shoulders, tied back to keep out of her face. She was dressed in furs and leathers dyed yellow, green, and brown. Had she been standing still, it would have been nearly impossible to pick her out from the forest surrounding them.

“Do not thank me yet. I put down the beast because she was ill. I have yet to decide about you. Perhaps I should have allowed her a final meal.”

He sat up, rubbing his forehead. He felt ridges across his skin, but when he pulled his hands away, there was no blood. He saw the strange woman bend down over the dead wolf and place a hand on its side.

“All the same,” he offered. “I live a bit longer thanks to you. I’m sorry, I don’t know where I am. I just ended up out here. I know I don’t have any right to ask it of you, but could you help me? I don’t want to end up as wolf food.”

The woman turned toward him and he saw she had green veins patterning her skin. Her eyes were like sparkling emeralds and incredibly intense. As she focused on him, he couldn’t help but squirm under the weight of her attention. She still held her bow in one hand as she took him in. As fierce as she looked, there was something in the pull of her face that confused him. A certain softness or loosening around the eyes, some emotion he didn’t quite know how to read. It didn’t feel overtly dangerous but that fact alone didn’t give him any comfort. Somehow, he felt this woman’s presence had more intrinsic threat to it than the wolf that had nearly taken his life only moments ago.

“Humans are not welcome in Dawnwood. Still, the fact you have found your way here leaves questions to be answered. There are no human tribes nearby, so either you’re a traveler, an adventurer, or a colonizer. In any case, you’re as likely to spill your own blood as do anything else.” She had ignored his question or, perhaps, was still pondering it. The possibility of her leaving him behind scared him more than her aggressive attitude. He had to convince her to take him with her.

“You’ve done me a service. Can I repay you?”

The woman snorted.

“And tell me, Greenstick, what would you do?”

He looked around him, trying to find an answer. He had nothing on his person other than the clothes on his back. He had no skills or trades, no secret knowledge that he could share, nothing at all that would allow him to prove his value to her. His eyes landed on the dead wolf.

“You said the wolf was sick, right? If the other animals eat it, they’d get sick too, wouldn’t they? I could help you bury it.”

The elven woman cocked her head, narrowing her eyes at him. After several uncomfortable moments in which he held her stare with his own, his breath held firmly in his throat, she turned away.

“Very well, you can carry her for me. Do that properly and there might be a meal in it for you, assuming you’re allowed to live.”

“Without your help, I’d be dead. At least with you, I have a chance.”

The woman snorted again. “You’re a strange one, human.”

“Yes,” he admitted. “I suppose I am. You keep calling me human, but I don’t know what you are.”

The woman looked back at him in surprise, making him feel like he had said something offensive.

“You really are a greenstick. Never heard of a Daughter of the Forest before? I’m a wood elf.”

He gave a weak smile, realizing that there was now very little he could say to keep her from thinking he was an idiot.

“I don’t know much of anything. The earliest memories I have are of a few hours ago. I know this world is called Tartarus and I’ve opened up my profile, but aside from that and, apparently, the powers of speech, I’m…what did you call it? A greenstick? On my own, I’m wolf fodder.”

The woman eyed him with suspicion but shrugged and slung her bow across her back. The sight surprised him. Surely she, too, had an inventory? Unless keeping the bow visible was meant to be a threat.

“I don’t suppose you have a name, human?”

He grimaced. “I don’t, actually.”

“Well, greenstick suits you fine for now. You can call me Lyssa, at least until we get back. If Lord Cypress decides you’re more trouble than you’re worth, you won’t have to worry about names. Now, grab the wolf and follow me.”

He grabbed the front legs of the wolf and started dragging it along the ground. Lyssa didn’t say much more, only telling him not to lag behind before she was off. The wolf was heavy and he had to struggle not to lose sight of her as she crept silently between the trees.

For over an hour, he trudged. His breath came short, his arms and back burned, but through it all there was a sort of giddiness deep down inside. He was alive. He was still alive. Every ache of his body, though unpleasant, reminded him that he had avoided the diseased maw of death. Every step took him closer to more people. People who might be able to explain this strange world and what he was doing in it.

He could see Lyssa glancing back at him every few minutes, though he had no doubt she always knew exactly where he was. His grunting had not exactly been as quiet as he would have hoped. Sometimes she would disappear from his view, at which point he would continue marching as straight a path as he could until he caught sight of her again, which never took long. At last, she appeared in front of him, forcing him to stop.

“You can leave her there. Another hunter will come to collect it. Now, follow me and whatever you do, don’t insult anyone. Humans are not welcome here and you would do best not to draw any more unwanted attention to yourself.”

He dropped the wolf’s carcass with a sigh of relief, then gave Lyssa a friendly smile and gestured for her to lead on. Her eyes narrowed, but she turned and kept walking without further comment. They approached a huge line of trees that had been grown in a gently sloping curve, like a wall of wooden trunks patched with underbrush. Lyssa walked up to the edge, then lifted her head and called out a few words in a strange language. He looked up to see several elves standing in the boughs of the trees, each of them had drawn bows and had set their sights on him. A chill ran up his spine, but one of the elves called down to Lyssa and, after a brief exchange, the underbrush pulled to the side, forming an archway.

Lyssa stepped behind him, placed a hand on his shoulder, and steered him forward through the arch. He was given the distinct impression that this was not a friendly gesture. Even as they entered the village, he had the feeling bows were still drawn and pointed at his back.

The village itself was incredible. Every structure had been grown out of living trees, woven together over centuries, if not millennia. Natural stairways, pillars, platforms, and bridges were littered throughout, connecting the different facilities to give the impression that the whole village was one massive, living organism.

Several elves sat with feet dangling over edges, high in the air, watching him as he was paraded through the twisting network of roots on the ground. The closer to the center of the village they went, the larger the trees grew until he felt like an ant walking through a world of giants. The canopy above was so high that it was more akin to an emerald sky than something connected to the ground. Stairways had been grown directly from the trees, wrapping around their trunks and leading to the interconnected platforms above. Many of the trees had also been hollowed, the recesses inside providing space for privacy and recreation.

An enormous tree grew in the middle of the village, easily ten times the size of any of the surrounding trees. The striations in its bark looked like a myriad of small pillars holding up a world of foliage. High above there was a natural archway leading into the trunk of the tree, which was where Lyssa was steering him. A staircase ran spiral around the trunk, leading up to the apparent entrance. There were plenty of people in the village, but no children. Most of the elves regarded him with open hostility, narrowing their eyes and baring sharp teeth at him in a way that could not possibly be construed as a smile. Lyssa pushed him along and soon he was up the stairs and inside the enormous tree.

He was in a large, open chamber with an empty, wooden throne at the far end. The walls were decorated with painted vines lashed together into murals depicting life and power. Surrounding the room were elves in shining armor, each glaring at him with unabashed anger. They wielded huge spears and looked more than keen to run him through. Toward the center of the room, a small group of elves in simple robes turned as he walked in, Lyssa still at his back.

She forced him to his knees in front of a tall, regal wood elf.

The elf was dressed in red leathers, a simple crown of wood rested on his brow. Red berries grew from the crown, staining red streaks into his long, brown hair. Though the elf was no larger than any of his attendants, they were all deferent to him.

“Lyssa, you have returned. And not alone.”

The elf-lord spoke with a voice like a honeyed cello in the same melodic accent as Lyssa, projecting age, power, and temperament in comparison to the elven attendants who looked on with distaste, awaiting their lord’s judgement.

“Lord Cypress, I found this one wandering in our woods, a diseased wolf chasing him. He claims no memories before today and has no name of which to speak. He begged the opportunity to repay me for his life so I have brought him to you for your judgement.”

Lord Cypress stared down at him with hard, green eyes.

“My people have seen much in our time. We have seen the devastation wrought by humans, who have no respect for nature. We know you to be a selfish, short-sighted race bent on the destruction of all that we hold dear. By rights, I could have you killed for trespassing our lands.”

Lord Cypress paused, a silence that seemed to last forever.

“That said, the actions of a species are not the crimes of an individual, nor are the actions of an individual the crimes of a species. If you truly come in peace, I will give you the opportunity to prove your intentions. No one man can repay the injustices committed against my people by yours. I will, however, allow you to prove yourself to have no ill-will toward me, my people, or this forest.” One of the elves next to Cypress furrowed her brow. She spoke quietly in a strange language, her tone controlled but angry. Lord Cypress responded in the same language, his tone commanding authority. The elves around him lowered their gazes and Cypress turned back to him.

“Do you agree to these terms?”

A message flashed in his vision.

* * *

You have been offered a Quest.

Friends of the Forest

Lord Cypress has given you the opportunity to prove your worth to Dawnwood Village. You must accompany Lyssa on a quest given to her by Lord Cypress.

Objectives

• Help Lyssa complete her quest Rewards

• 1,000 Experience

• Improved Relation with Dawnwood Village

Failure or Refusal

• Exile from Dawnwood Village

• Possible death by execution

Accept this Quest?

Yes / No

* * *

Briefly taken aback, he thought about it. To deny the help of the elves would almost certainly bring him to an early death in the forest and that was only if they didn’t kill him outright. Clearly humans were not welcome. To help the elves would at least allow him a place to stay and an opportunity to learn about the world. It was a choice only in the abstract sense of the convention, as what he was really choosing between was life or death. As such, there really was only one option available to him.

The message disappeared as he resolved to help.

“Lord Cypress, thank you for the opportunity. I will try not to disappoint you. What do you need me to do?”

Lord Cypress turned his gaze toward Lyssa.

“As you have yet to complete the task I asked of you, you will take this human to accompany you. See to it that he is provisioned and prepared for your journey.”

Lyssa made a sound like she was about to protest, but the look on Lord Cypress’s face bore no room for dissent.

“Yes, my lord. I will see it done.”

The elf lord nodded once, then raised a hand. Lyssa grabbed his shoulder and hauled him to his feet. He was steered out of the room, but before they left, one of the guards at the entrance muttered something in their strange language. He didn’t have to speak it to know it was an insult. Lyssa didn’t respond and they emerged into the glittering sunlight. He turned toward Lyssa to thank her but stopped when he saw her face. It had hardened into impassivity, but there was an undercurrent of rage, there. He felt it flow from her in a wave, strong enough to set his teeth on edge.

“Did I do something wrong?”

Her eyes cut toward him and, despite himself, he flinched. For a moment he thought she would rip his throat out like the rabid wolf. Then, with a deep breath, she visibly calmed herself.

“No. At least, not yet. My anger is not at you, Greenstick. Come on, let’s get you some real clothes.”