Betrayal- A LitRPG Adventure: Monsters, Maces and Magic, #2

Chapter 1

Glenn sat in the rocking chair on the tailor shop’s porch. His stubby legs didn’t allow his booted feet to reach the grayed wooden planks supporting the chair. They weren’t his legs, or feet, really. They were those of a gnome healer named Jax, a character he’d rolled up for a game of Monsters, Maces and Magic .

Until that fateful evening, Glenn had never even heard of that dice and paper role playing game, although he’d played Dungeons & Dragons a few times back in junior high. The only reason he’d been at the gaming club was for a two-page reaction and analysis paper for Sociology 102. The objective was to interact with a group or subculture unfamiliar to him. Two other classmates also showed up that night and, like him, literally got drawn into the RPG world. Stuck in the bodies of their dice-generated characters.

One of the Soc 102 students was dead, killed by an ogre less than ten minutes after their arrival in what Ron called an aberrant concurrent world—or universe. Glenn couldn’t keep it straight. The other classmate, Stephi, was inside the tailor shop, Domestic Divas, getting measured for several new outfits.

Stephi getting measured caused Glenn to stifle a laugh.

Ron, rocking in the chair next to Glenn, glanced at his shorter companion. What do you find amusing, Jax?

Ron had been a regular Monsters, Maces and Magic player, as well as an African American graduate student studying mathematics. Now he was a half-elven, actually one-quarter elven, warrior druid, and their party’s leader.

Funny thing, Glenn noticed about Three Hills City, and the weird world they inhabited, was that color—or ethnic origin—didn’t seem to matter. That was positive. On the other hand, there actually were other races. Elves, goblins, ogres, dwarves and gnomes. Lizard men, too. Glenn wasn’t sure which was worse, the filthy reptile men or brutish ogres.

In the big scheme of things, Glenn was pretty inexperienced on what was bad. Still, considering the worst of the worst he’d seen—and never hoped to see again—was a lich.

Of course, Glenn’s best friend in the RPG world was Kirby, a half-goblin. People, mainly humans and elves, looked down on Kirby. Dwarves pretty much hated him on sight. Glenn loathed to admit it, but some natural tendency to despise goblins festered within him too. It was part of the game, and for some reason its rules, laid out in the game’s various guide books, governed the world’s workings.

Ron raised an eyebrow, apparently awaiting Glenn’s answer.

Sorry, Lysine. I was just imagining the ladies in the shop trying to get a measuring tape around Marigold’s chest.

Ah, the warrior druid said. That difficulty, I imagine, will be compounded by her height.

She keeps giving Gurk crap because of her ginormous chest and because she towers over everyone. Glenn began rocking again. The kid was just having fun, and she went along, rounding up the numbers for her physical stats on her character sheet. Glenn knew she’d done it to get reaction material for her sociology paper. Neither she, nor the junior high kid helping with her character generation, knew they’d be sucked into the world. Why? Some sort of payback by the Game Moderator. Payback for Derek and his brother stealing a bank deposit bag from an occult bookstore and blowing the money on a spring break trip. Or that was the best reason the party could come up with.

Another funny thing about the world was Glenn recognized Ron as Ron. He even sort of resembled the African American mathematician, but with an elven twist. A little lighter skin and subdued points on the top of his ears. But as Jax the Gnome, Ron’s name always came out, Lysine, whenever he uttered their leader’s name, even when he was thinking: Ron. Just like Stephi came out Marigold, Kirby as Gurk, and Derek as Kalgore.

And everyone called Glenn, Jax, the name he’d written on his character sheet.

Ron glanced up and down the cobblestone street, observing the ox-drawn wagons and carts filled with everything from manure to woven mats. We all received our share of surprises.

Right, Glenn said. Try being an oompa loompa and then tell me about a share. True bitterness hung in his voice. Sure, people...well, humans mainly, tended to look on him favorably. Not quite the way they would a cute puppy, but the result was the same. He was a healer too, although that entailed more pain than he’d bargained for. And the RPG world was a dangerous, violent place. He knew how to use a cudgel and carried a shield. He glanced down at them sitting next to his rocking chair. But not nearly as well as Ron or Derek with their spear and swords. A benefit from selecting the warrior class.

Glenn sighed. Kirby had it worse, being half-goblin. His long nose and pointed ear lobes marked him. He often got the reception of a stray cat with mange. But he had skills as a thief, and wielded his cutlass and threw his darts with reasonable skill.

The only one whose fighting skill was on par with Glenn was Stephi. She used a rapier. But she had superior reach and speed. Being six-foot seven, she could run circles around Glenn, and away from danger. Plus, she had spells—well, a spell. But as she went up ranks, that would change.

You are neither orange, Ron said, referring back to the oompa loompa comment, nor do you have a penchant to sing inane songs. You have well-manicured sideburns instead of helmet hair, and you maintain an attractive Mediterranean skin tone.

Ron intended the observation to be consoling. Glenn just wasn’t in the mood to be consoled.

One of the many citizen travelers stopped in front of the porch where Glenn and Ron waited. The man was a servant Glenn guessed by his attire. It wasn’t shabby or anything. On the contrary, the brown cotton tunic was clean and cut to fit reasonably well. His boots were polished but obviously worn. Glenn got it mostly from the man’s demeanor. Being deferential and not making eye contact with him and, instead of coming up the steps, remained on the dirty street in front of the pair sealed the notion.

The servant bowed slightly. Kind sirs, might I be correct in assuming that you are Lysine and Jax?

Glenn was going to say yes, but spotted suspicious hesitation in his half-elf companion’s eyes. So the gnome kept quiet and let the party’s leader do the talking. Ron had played the game longer, and thus understood its nuances and pitfalls far better.

A dark-skinned half-elf and a gnome was a rare combination. Actually, gnomes in Three Hills City were pretty rare. So, they’d be easy to pick out of a crowd—and they weren’t even in a crowd.

Ron leaned forward, hand on his short sword’s hilt. Might I inquire who is doing the asking?

The thin, graying man bowed slightly again. While his hands appeared calloused, his face and skin elsewhere didn’t appear weathered. I am Gerald, manservant of Timz Simman, Master Silversmith. At this moment I am serving in the form of messenger.

Understood, Ron said, getting to his feet. I am Lysine, and this is my associate, Jax. Please relay to us the message you were dispatched to deliver.

Master Silversmith, Timz Simman, desires your presence, along with your other associates, in as expedient a manner as possible. Gerald paused for effect. I should also convey that more than mild urgency is in my master’s request.

Ron rubbed his chin. Our associate, Marigold, is currently engaged within this establishment. He gestured over his shoulder. I shall leave Jax to await her emergence while I collect our other two associates. Where does your employer desire to meet?

At his place of business. It is located three blocks north of the Central Keep. Are you familiar with that area of the city?

Around the Central Keep was prime real estate. The wealthy resided within the triangle formed by the towers perched atop the hills. Structures and properties nearer the towers were also better maintained and patrolled by guardsmen. Outside those neighborhoods, nearer the walls, was where the poor and riffraff resided, as well as the shoddier business establishments.

Ron nodded. Indeed, we are familiar with the area. We shall call upon your employer approximately two hours past noon.

Glenn leaned a little to his right, to catch the location of the sun from beneath the porch’s roof. He was getting good at figuring the sun’s place in the sky as it related to time of day. A quick calculation said they had about four hours to round up Kirby and Derek and make it there.

I will notify Master Silversmith Timz Simman of your anticipated arrival. Gerald nodded one final time before turning to merge with the street’s slow traffic. He stepped ahead of a goat-drawn cart and hurried away.

Master Silversmith, Timz Simman, Glenn thought. Sounds pretty full of himself.

Ron, on the other hand, grinned with anticipation. A potential adventure.

Adventure? Glenn asked. Hopefully better than the last one. Glenn involuntarily shuddered. Facing a husk mummy with clerical spell-casting abilities turned out not to be his idea of a good time. They were lucky to have survived. How is a silversmith going to direct us to a wish spell, so we can get home?

It is unlikely that he shall, Ron said. He leaned close and rested a hand on Glenn’s shoulder. However, Jax, my friend, it will be an opportunity to gain experience points and possibly coins of high monetary value.

Things didn’t work out so smoothly last time. And our scheme to get coins in the Blue Bugle didn’t exactly go as planned either. Jax remembered racing out the back way of the gambling establishment, unable to keep up with Stephi, and an angry mob in pursuit.

I anticipate this endeavor to be less harrowing. Ron stood and checked his gear and placed a hand on the pommel of his short sword. I shall track down Gurk and Kalgore. When Marigold is finished, meet us at the Glade House. He descended the porch steps. If I encounter difficulty locating them, I will leave word there.

Try the Red Brick first, Glenn said. It wasn’t necessary. Both he and Ron knew Gurk liked that place. The clerk at the coffee shop talked to Kirby, at least after most of the morning’s customer traffic had trailed off.

The half-goblin thief confided in Glenn that he was working to establish Patti, the regular clerk and cup washer, as a potential information source. Glenn didn’t know much about the game, and the world formed by it, or paralleled it, or whatever. Maybe that was Kirby’s goal. Having a friendly acquaintance outside the adventuring party, with an NPC—as Ron designated them—was important too.

A woman approaching middle age named Keri owned the Glade House. It was a boarding house where the party—Glenn, Kirby, Ron, Derek and Stephi—stayed. Keri was somewhat of a mystery to Glenn. Beyond being able to cast spells, he had an inkling she was more than she appeared to be.

Keri was friendly too, but being cordial was part of her job. Of course, Glenn thought, the same could be said of Patti.

Ten minutes later, Stephi stepped out onto the porch, smiling. She’d tied back her long black hair into a single braid, otherwise, she’d said, it would make measuring for her new outfits even more difficult.

Standing up straight, after ducking through the doorframe, she quickly pulled up her green cloak’s hood. Stephi had rolled a natural 18 for her Appearance Score, which was the maximum. Since she did it with all 4D6s ending up a six, and the player normally takes the top three, her score was listed as 18.5. She also received a +1 elven bonus. That put her well beyond normal, which almost invariably drew unwanted attention. Of course her height, at nearly six-foot nine with her boots’ two-inch heels, and breasts that made it look like she’d stuffed a pair of throw pillows under her outfit, attracted more than average attention.

Glenn himself, at four-foot three, was above the norm—for gnomes. He hopped down off of the rocking chair and glanced up at his female friend. All done?

Two days, she said, holding up two fingers. The women in there know their business, and sew fast.

He spied her wide grin within the hood’s shadow. Will they be good for travel and adventuring?

Two out of three outfits will be. Why?

Come on, Glenn said, signaling for her to follow him down the steps. Some servant to a silversmith came by and told me and Lysine that his employer wanted to hire us.

For what? Stephi asked, following him down. She gave a short whistle. Petie, her blue jay familiar, flew down from the roof and landed on her left shoulder.

Beats me, Glenn said, trying to make his way across the street. The porters bearing baskets of potatoes or crated goods, and horses, carriages and carts pretty much ignored him. Brushed him aside.

Stephi stepped around and ahead of Glenn. Try to keep up, she said.

Crap, Glenn mumbled, breaking into a scurrying run to keep up with the towering elf maiden’s long strides.

Chapter 2

The sign was pretty simple. In white lettering upon a black background, bold letters spelled out: Master Silversmith. Glenn shook his head. What did he expect? The city they’d pretty much landed in was named Three Hills City. Within its walls were three hills, each with a tower atop it. That was fortunate for Glenn and, he suspected, for a lot of people. Except for the main thoroughfares, many of the streets were narrow and winding with irregular intersections. Catching a glimpse of a tower allowed residents, especially newer ones, to reorient themselves.

For now, it didn’t matter. He was following Ron. With one of Ron’s character classes being a druid, he normally maintained a good sense of direction. Plus, Ron was smart. Actually, in real life, he was a genius mathematician. So, in this game world, while he had an above average Intelligence Score, he’d actually lost a few IQ points in the transfer, or transformation, or whatever. Ron was also solidly muscled, but nowhere near matched the party’s other warrior.

The other warrior, Derek, strode next to Ron. He wore breastplate and chainmail armor, with sword strapped across his back. He was broad of shoulder and packed with muscles, mainly because he rolled a natural eighteen in strength. Being human, Derek didn’t get any bonuses, or minuses to his character stat rolls. He looked like a brutish middle linebacker, one missing a front tooth.

Folks tended to give the two warriors respect, and more than a few got out of their way on the crowded streets. That made it easier for Glenn, and Kirby beside him, to proceed.

Kirby, being a thief, had nimble ways of cutting along walls and through alleys, but not that day, or at least not that moment of that day. In addition to the game-mandated negative racial ‘bonus’ due to being part goblin, his character stats rolls included minuses to Appearance and Charisma.

Stephi brought up the rear. Sometimes she didn’t pay attention and ran into the backs of Glenn or Kirby. Often it happened when she was trying to ‘watch’ through Petie’s eyes, as the big blue jay flitted from roof to roof, ahead of the party. Her knee tended to catch the gnome in the tail bone, which often hurt. When they’d first merged into the street traffic, she’d nearly toppled over him. Glenn put his hands over his head to protect himself. What he got was a fistful of boobs, followed by a few sharp words.

That wasn’t the first time, and wouldn’t be the last. He apologized even before she’d started snapping at him to watch his hands. But her voice didn’t carry any malice. Kirby, who was just under a foot taller than Glenn teased him about making his Luck Roll.

Trouble, Derek said, slowing down. A tinge of excitement hung in his voice.

Unfortunate timing, Ron added, sounding annoyed.

You owe us! a booming voice bellowed.

Glenn sighed in relief. The threat didn’t sound directed at them. Nevertheless, he couldn’t help but notice the sound of a sword leaving its sheath. A fight? In the middle of the afternoon? In this part of town?

Gasps and murmurs preceded people retreating from the scene. Ron and Derek didn’t exactly stand their ground. Rather, they made their way to the side of the street. The rest of the party followed. They ended up with their backs against the wall of a stone building with a narrow wooden carriage standing against it. The back end of the higher class conveyance was facing Glenn and his friends. The pair of white horses were tied to a hitching post. The driver climbed down and hustled away, along with just about everyone else.

Glenn peered out between Ron and Derek. Two men and a woman were facing a middle-aged man in blue and purple robes. He had a walking stick, which the gnome noticed had some markings etched into its wood. He remembered Kirby calling them runes. The man was some sort of spell caster for sure. The others, wearing various types of armor, all showing the scrapes and scars of combat, stood at arm’s length from each other, and seven or eight yards from the spell caster.

The area was largely clear of everyone, except the four. Glenn and his party were among the nearest at twenty yards away. They were among the curious, and possibly among the most foolish.

Marigold, Kirby whispered up to Stephi, you might wanna send your blue jay a ways back.

How far? she asked, glancing up at the nearby roof.

A couple streets, just to be safe.

What about us? Glenn asked.

The warriors won’t be a problem, Kirby said in his unusually high, throaty, or croaking voice. All they have are swords and an axe. The magic user. In town he won’t risk a Fireburst Spell or anything.

Glenn looked around. The only place nearby for cover appeared to be beneath the carriage. The confrontation was taking place right in front of the silversmith’s shop, their destination.

The leader of the three warriors, a tall and lean fellow holding a sword in one hand and a kite shield in the other repeated, You owe us.

How is that? the spell caster asked. Either he was a good actor, or confused. The way this world ran, Glenn guessed the former. And that the city’s guard wouldn’t show up in time.

Glenn asked, Lysine, why are we standing here, watching? Can’t we hear gossip about it later?

Bide, Ron said, as the spell caster repeated his question to the three warriors confronting him.

Yeah, gnome, Derek added. Cheap entertainment. Maybe see some of the movers and shakers. Who knows, maybe when the magic user blasts them, a few gold, or their weapons will tumble our way.

Watch, Kirby said, rolling his eyes at Derek’s remark. You might learn something about combat. He directed his comment to both Glenn and Stephi.

The leader of the three warriors appeared confused, expecting more of a response.

Three on one, Glenn thought. Either the middle-aged guy is going to get hacked to pieces, or he’s got some fierce magic up his sleeve. Either way, he guessed it would end quickly. The way the game world went, once a confrontation reached this point, it was unlikely they’d sit down and discuss a settlement of their differences.

Glenn reached over his back and pulled out his round shield. He had his cudgel slipped into his belt, but drawing that wasn’t necessary.

You gonna pay what you owe us? This time the big warrior on the left spoke. He was taller than Stephi. Vestigial tusks jutting up from his lower jaw, and the rough skin told Glenn the man had some ogre heritage. His double-bladed battle axe looked pretty wicked.

The woman on the left nodded before donning her helmet and pulling a round shield from across her back. Her slender sword wasn’t as menacing as the leader’s sword, and much less so than the half-ogre’s battle axe, but she held her weapon like she knew how to employ it.

Since I am unaware of any debt I might owe you three, the magic-using man said, placing the end of the walking stick on the cobbled street front of him and leaning on it with both hands, I suggest you proceed on your way and I will continue with my midmorning stroll.

That didn’t sit well with the warriors. In unspoken unison, the three surged forward with weapons raised.

The purple and blue robed man mumbled something and raised a fist over his head. Two swords and one axe descended upon him. The leader’s slash and the half-ogre’s hack rebounded as if they’d struck the frontal armor of a U.S. Army battle tank—except there was no sound. The female warrior’s sword thrust appeared to have been slowed. Nevertheless, she succeeded. Her blade’s tip pierced the man’s robes along his ribcage, and came back covered in blood.

Stephi gasped.

Such a strike should’ve been disabling, if not fatal. But Glenn remembered that higher rank characters had more hit points, meaning they could sustain more damage.

Mystical Shield, Kirby explained. Fourth Rank spell. Can absorb twenty-five hit points of damage per combat round.

How long does it last? Stephi asked.

Longer than this fight will.

The three warriors attacked again. This time the battle axe penetrated the Mystic Shield, catching the magic user in the left shoulder. At the same time glowing bolts, like neon yellow lights the size of snowballs, shot from his extended hand. Five of them, like tracers fired from a machine gun, slammed into the half-ogre’s body, largely ignoring the armor.

Up until that point, the battle had been nearly silent, except for the scrapes and clanking of armor, boots on cobblestones, and the muttering of a magic user casting spells. Now, the half-ogre cried out in pain. He staggered back a half step, new dents and scorch marks marring his breastplate. He shouted curses and leaned back into the fight, clearly undeterred.

The spell caster underestimated his foes’ ability to deliver and sustain damage, Ron said.

He’s still gonna win, Derek said. No way that ogre warrior can take another Mystic Missile spell.

If that magic user’s smart, Kirby said. Depends on what he stocked in town.

Both Glenn and Stephi understood their thief friend to mean memorized. Stephi, being first rank, could only memorize one spell per day. This fellow obviously could memorize far more.

The female didn’t attack with her sword. Instead she pulled something from a pouch on her belt and threw it at the magic user. At the same time the magic user released another Mystic Missile spell. The half-ogre staggered back and was dead before he hit the cobblestones, steam from his entrails wafting up through the holes blown into his armor.

What looked like a marble stone thrown at the magic user by the female warrior struck the invisible shield. Instead of passing through, it flared, like a flashcube going off, before dropping to clatter across the cobblestone street. The leader’s sword made it through the shield undeterred. But the spell caster dodged to the side, and parried the sword with his walking stick.

The leader attacked again while the female moved around behind, foregoing another frontal attack. The maneuver gave the spell caster time to finish his incantation. A translucent ball of gel began forming around the leader. He dove to the side but not quickly enough. Caught within the cohesive liquid formation, he rolled around on the street, kicking and clawing with his gauntleted hands, trying to escape. His movements were slow, hampered as if he were submerged in a clear pool, thick as gravy.

Eyes, wild with terror, dominated his face. Within moments he’d die of suffocation.

Undeterred by her companion’s impending demise, the female warrior attacked. Again her sword drew blood, and this time the magic user flinched before turning to face her. Where he’d been calm and methodical, now his eyebrows were drawn together in anger. Enjoy your final breath, wench.

Before the woman could make another attack, yellow globes of spell energy slammed into her, penetrating her armor and knocking her back. She fell on the porch, sword dropping from her hand.

After wandering over to pick up the female warrior’s sword, the victorious spell caster swaggered back over to the enveloped leader. He observed the dying man’s feeble movements, then muttered another spell. The gelatinous blob hardened and crystalized, entombing the dead man for all to see.

Satisfied, the magic user looked around at those few who’d stayed to observe the fight, then went over and took the pouch attached to the dead half-ogre’s belt. He stuck the slim sword somewhere, in a fold in his robes—Glenn couldn’t see exactly where. Finally, the middle-aged man picked up the battle axe, examined it, and then continued his stroll down the street.

Glenn wasn’t fooled. He saw that the man favored his left side but, for appearances, the magic user was determined to tough it out.

What do we do now? Stephi asked.

We go to our meeting, Kirby said. Let the city guard take care of things.

Agreed, Ron said. Let us proceed.

Matching words to action, Ron led the party the short distance up the street, toward the silversmith’s shop. Around them people began returning to their business, stepping around the dead half-ogre and leader, the latter still encased in crystal. Glenn wondered if it would be permanent.

Ron