Hero's Journey: A LitRPG Adventure (Beta Tester Book 2)

by Rachel Ford

  Richard, then.

  The dwarf glanced around. “Oh, sweet, you’re at the dragon’s pass.”

  “Yeah. But not sweet.”

  Migli laughed. “Let me guess: you tried to kill him.”

  Jack frowned. “Yeah.”

  Migli laughed harder. “And let me guess: he sautéed, deep fried, and charbroiled your hinder.”

  Jack frowned deeper, first, because despite Richard’s amusement, the sequence he described did not happen. There had been no pan or boiling oil involved, so no sautéing or deep frying had happened. A case could be made for charbroiling, but a possible one of three certainly didn’t justify the other man’s smugness.

  But more importantly, Richard’s more or less accurate, if technically incorrect, prediction of what had happened gave him pause. “Wait a minute…how did you know that?”

  “Easy peasy lemon squeezy.”

  “What?”

  “It’s what everyone does: see a dragon, attack. Except in this case, that means you die.”

  “Wait, are you saying there’s no way to kill this thing?”

  Migli – Richard – shook his head. “Dude, it’s got like a million hitpoints.”

  “What? Why?”

  “So you can’t kill it.”

  “Obviously. But why?”

  “Umm…so you learn to solve your problems without just resorting to hacking and slashing.”

  Jack stared at him, and then the dark patch of shadow. “But…it’s a dragon.”

  “Right.”

  “It’s trying to kill me.”

  Migli laughed in a superior way. “You sure about that?”

  He scowled at the dwarf. “No, maybe I got confused dying a hundred times.”

  “A hundred times?” The other man whistled, and laughed, and shook his head. “Oh dude, I wish I saw that.”

  “How do I kill this thing, Richard?”

  “You don’t, dude. That’s the point.”

  “Then how do I get past it without getting killed?”

  Migli shrugged. “Well, I take it you didn’t do the horse breeding thing at Ieon’s place?”

  “No.”

  “Too bad. You could have flown right over the pass. Ieon – the real Ieon, I mean – would have given you one of the sky horses. You know, if you developed a line that could carry you and Migli.”

  Jack scowled. “Nice of you to tell me now.”

  “You know I can’t interfere with your gameplay. Anyway, it’s not the only way. The other way is – well, I can’t tell you. That would be interfering with your playing.”

  Jack let loose a barrage of swears, that came out as juvenile, ineffective and silly taunts, thanks to the profanity filter.

  Richard raised a hand placatingly. “Geez, dude, chill. Listen, I can’t tell you exactly what to do…but…have you tried, you know, talking to the dragon?”

  Jack blinked, then turned to face the shadow. “Talk to it?”

  “Right. You know, like have a conversation? See what it wants?”

  “It’s a dragon. It wants to eat me.”

  Richard sighed. “Come on, man. You’re not making this easy. If you want my help, then listen to me. Talk to the dragon.”

  “Fine.”

  “Okay, good.”

  “But if it eats me, I’m filing a goshdarned complaint with Mr. Callaghan.”

  Richard laughed. “Well shucky darn. By golly, you do that, Jack. Yessiree Bob.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Migli reverted back to his annoying, musical self. Jack was still facing the shadow, so he drew in a breath, and belted out, “Hey, dragon! You in there? Get your tush out here and face me mano a mano.” Which might have sounded cool, if not for the horrifying profanity filter substitution.

  As it was, Jack was happy the dragon didn’t laugh him all the way back to Ieon’s Valley. For about two seconds, anyway, until the earth started to rumble, and two great, gleaming eyes turned his way out of the dark.

  Jack wanted to run. He wanted to grab for his staff and launch some kind of magic attack straight for the glowing eyes. But he didn’t. He held his ground, hands at his sides in some affectation of ease.

  A shape, not much more than a shadow among shadows started to take form. Then a deep, rumbling voice rolled out of the darkness. “Who are you who dares to wake Fafnir the Hungry?”

  Three options presented themselves to him.

  I am Sir Jack, Knight of the People, Slayer of Evil, Bringer of Justice. And I must have safe passage through your domain, Mighty Fafnir.

  I’m the last thing you’re going to see before you wake up in hell, monster.

  And,

  My name is Migli, Prince of Dwarves. I would beg passage through your domain, and in exchange pledge whatever boon you would ask of my father, the king. He will fulfill my word, on the honor of all dwarfkind.

  Jack forgot his fear. He forgot his unease at this mighty, monstrous beast. He grinned from ear to ear, and chose the third option, declaring himself to be a prince of dwarves, and pledging Migli’s fortune for their passage.

  The dwarf gasped. “Fie, what is this?”

  Jack found himself faced with three alternatives, and he stood for a long moment in perplexed silence. He wanted to say them all, if only to see Migli’s face each time.

  Consider it a down payment on what you owe me for getting you out of the clutches of those werewolves.

  Shut your piehole, dwarf. You don’t talk back to your prince.

  And,

  Pardon my servant, Mighty Fafnir. He has not yet learned his manners. I will thrash him for his insolence, if you so desire.

  In the end, he opted for the third choice. His character addressed the dragon, and not Migli at all, while the dwarf gaped.

  The dragon declined his dubious generosity, though. “Not on my account, I pray.”

  Jack snorted. “Maybe on my own, then.”

  “You must do as you see fit with your own servants, of course.”

  “Anyway, we need to get by you.”

  “And why should I allow strangers – princes or otherwise – in my home?”

  So Jack launched into an explanation yet again. Fafnir listened and grumbled, low and deep in his chest. “And what pledge have I from thee, that thine story is true? How am I to know thou art not a knave seeking to rob me?”

  Jack was about to be aggravated, when a set of very attractive dialogue options presented themselves.

  You are right: I have deceived you, Noble Fafnir. I am not Migli at all, but a man without means to buy passage. But I beg you to let me through, for what I have said about Iaxiabor and the fate of the world is true.

  You have my pledge, Noble Fafnir, on the house of my father, and on my gold, which I treasure more than anything, as any dwarf would.

  And,

  If you will not accept my word, then accept my servant here as evidence that I mean what I say, as a further pledge of my good faith. Do with him what you will: set him to work, or eat him. As you see fit.

  Jack thought long and hard, but in the end his conscience won out. Kind of. Rather than bartering off his companion, he pledged himself on the honor of that companion’s house and family.

  Fafnir considered for a long moment, then he nodded. “Very well. You have demonstrated who you are to my satisfaction.”

  “So…I can go by?”

  “Oh, on the contrary: you have demonstrated that you are a liar and a blackguard, who thinks to take me for a fool. I know dwarves, human, and I know humans; and you are the latter, and not the former.

  “So no, you may not pass. You may instead suffer and die.”

  A jet of flame belched out of the darkness as Fafnir finished speaking. It hit Jack square in the chest, and he died. Again.

  He respawned in the same spot, to Migli singing the same few bars of the same song. Jack scowled at the dwarf, as if he was to blame for this predicament. Then, he summoned the dragon again, and chose the first option for introduction �
� the one that used his own, actual name, and not Migli’s.

  “You must have passage through my domain, human? Why, pray, would I consider such a thing?”

  Jack repeated the story, and the dragon harrumphed and grumbled. “Your cause sounds just, I must admit. But you do not make the case for why I should be interested. I am Fafnir the Hungry, the Desolate, the Exile. The world of men shuns me, and I in turn shun it. Why should I care that ruin visits your species?”

  “Noble Fafnir,” Migli said, “’tis not the world of men alone, nor of dwarves like myself. Iaxiabor will not stop there. He will send his minions to soil your domain with their filthy feet, as he will claim dominion over all the land.”

  “So I should allow you and this human to soil my domain with your own unwashed feet now, on the belief that poor Fafnir will rate some kind of notice from this demon? And why, pray, would a demon care to take my home?”

  “It’s what they do,” Jack said. “It’s part of their DNA.”

  “Much like your own kind, human.”

  “Look, I’m not trying to rob you, or hurt you, or bother you at all. I just need to get through, and then I’ll be gone.”

  “I do not find myself inclined to let you through, nor am I moved by your persuasions.”

  “Then don’t do it for us, or humankind, or dwarven-kind. Do it for yourself.”

  “Finally, you offer a compelling motive. Tell me, if I am doing it for myself, how do I benefit?”

  Jack was about to launch into a tirade about what a stupid, selfish beast he was dealing with when Migli intervened. “Noble Fafnir, Iaxiabor will enslave or kill every living thing, great and small. It’s what he tried to do the first time. He will not fail the second. Do it to spare yourself death and ruin at his hands.”

  “And how do I know that, if this Iaxiabor is as bad as you say, I will not defeat him? I do not fear anything that you can kill. And if you cannot kill him, well, then your passage is wasted anyway, and my home defiled for naught.”

  “I won’t be doing it on my own,” Jack snapped. “I’m assembling a band of mighty heroes.”

  Fafnir glanced around, turning his great, ebony head one way and then the other. The sunlight glinted off his scales, and over the great crest on the back of his head. “Are they invisible, these heroes of yours?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Then where are they?”

  “Well, I don’t have them yet.”

  A sound like thunder emanated from the belly of the beast. At first, Jack thought it was a snarl of some kind. But then he realized, it was laughter. Fafnir was laughing at him. His cheeks flushed. “I’m working on it. We’re going to reform the same kind of band that defeated him in the first place.”

  “I’m sure you will, little human.”

  “I will.”

  “Very well. Then come back and bother me when you’ve done it.”

  “That will be too late, noble Fafnir,” Migli said. “We must pursue the dagger before Iaxiabor is unleashed on the world. Heroes of stout heart and like mind will come to us. We cannot stop and wait for them, though.”

  Fafnir loosed a long sigh, that came out as scorching breath. “Then I ask you again, what have I to gain from letting you pass? And do not speak of what may come to be, for I have little faith in your abilities.”

  Jack felt that he had a few possibilities for response.

  Your life, you overstuffed lizard: for I’ll allow you to keep it.

  My friend here is a prince. He will pledge you a sum from his father’s wealth. Won’t you, Migli?

  And,

  10,000 gold pieces.

  He couldn’t select the last option, which made sense – he barely had a hundred gold to his name at the moment. And he already knew what happened when he tried fighting the dragon. So he chose the second option, pledging Migli’s wealth.

  The dwarf frowned. “I will?”

  Jack nodded. “You will.”

  “I do not want pledges. Pledges of gold from fools mean as much to me as promises of victory. You two will probably not survive a fortnight. And then, how am I to see your pledge realized? No. Tell me what I may gain now.”

  Again, he saw but couldn’t choose the option to pay ten thousand gold pieces, and the option to threaten Fafnir. But a new one appeared, and he chose it. “What would you like?”

  “Finally,” Fafnir opined, “a spark of intelligence. That is the question you should have asked from the first, human.

  “You probably do not realize this, but I have heard of you already.”

  “You have?”

  “We creatures of the sky, we are a small but close network. So I have heard from the sea raptor what you did to her and her young.”

  Shit.

  “Were you a better man, I would let you cross my domain without paying a toll. And were your cause less urgent, I would destroy you where you stand. Not that I have an iota of confidence that letting you pass is anything short of a death sentence anyway.

  “But I know already what manner of man I’m dealing with. So I shall demand my tribute up front, and you will pass only if I am satisfied. Those are my terms. Do you accept them?”

  “Do I have a choice?”

  “Not if you wish to cross.”

  “Then I accept them.”

  “Another spark of intelligence. Good. We shall make a thinking man of you yet, Jack.” He scowled at the dragon, but it didn’t seem to notice. “Now, look around you. Tell me what you see.”

  Jack didn’t move. He expected the command was similar to a rhetorical question – a means to express some larger point.

  “Look,” the dragon repeated. “And tell me what you see.”

  So, sighing, Jack craned his neck in every direction. “Nothing. I mean, rocks, and a few scraggly bushes. But basically, nothing.”

  “Exactly. I am called Fafnir the Hungry. Do you know why?”

  “Because…you’re hungry?”

  “Because I have been exiled here, driven out by the men of the hills and the men of the valley from the places where once I hunted and ate well. I’ve been driven from cool waters and clear skies, from green and growing lands. Now, desolate stone is my companion.”

  Jack forced himself to muster a tone that sounded almost sympathetic. “That’s rough, bro.”

  “Feed me well, human, and you may pass.”

  Jack frowned at him. “You’re kidding.”

  “I am not. Those are my terms. Take them or leave.”

  Jack had the option to accept, or to challenge Fafnir. Begrudgingly, he accepted. Then, two more choices presented themselves.

  [Offer something from inventory]

  And,

  Very well. I shall return when I have food for you.

  His aggravation ebbing a little, Jack selected the first option. He’d depleted most of his food stores in the prison, but Ieon had given him a little. He rifled through what he had – mostly, leftover coconuts. Then, his eyes lit upon the flesh he’d harvested from the werewolves. Suddenly, it all made sense. Why else would the game let him harvest human flesh, if not to feed to a hungry dragon?

  He selected a few slabs of human flesh. He didn’t know if he’d find any further uses for it, but he certainly wasn’t going to reward this miserable lizard with more food than he had to. “Eat this, noble Fafnir, and may it sate your appetite,” his character said.

  “Finally, my long fast ends,” the dragon said, and lowered his head to the food. Then, he recoiled, as if horrorstruck. “What manner of devilry is this? Is this the flesh of your own kind?”

  Jack felt his face flush. It sounded bad, when put like that, with a tone like that one. “Well…uh…yeah. But I didn’t kill someone for it. I mean, I killed them. Some of them. But not for their meat. And they deserved it.”

  “You disgust me, human. I would sooner chew the mountainsides themselves than eat the vile flesh of your wretched species.”

  “Wow. Okay.” The two options presented themselves to
his mind, along with a third.

  [Offer something from inventory]

  Very well. I shall return when I have food for you.

  And,

  Nevermind, I’ve changed my mind. Let me pass or suffer my wrath.

  He chose the inventory again and tried a steak this time. “Eat this, noble Fafnir, and may it sate your appetite.”

  Again, the dragon declared, “Finally, my long fast ends.” And again, it was a lie. He rejected the steak. “You humans are obsessed with applying flame to your food. It destroys the texture and suppresses all flavor. I do not eat such things.”

  Thrice more they repeated the cycle: Jack found something to offer the dragon, the dragon celebrated the end to his fast, and then rejected the offering. Fafnir snubbed his nose at pork, monkey meat, and demon flesh. He didn’t want coconuts either. Which meant Jack had to find an alternative.

  “Very well. I shall return when I have food for you,” he said when the dialogue options appeared again.

  “Make haste, human. And see that it is fresh. I cannot stand spoiled food.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Jack left shortly thereafter. The mountainside was too desolate to offer any food choices. And since he couldn’t go forward, the only way open was back, and down.

  Migli started singing again, and Jack found himself entertaining morose thoughts about his future and fate, all in the what if I never get out of here? vein of speculation.

  He wondered what Jordan would find. He wondered who William Xi was, and where he was now. He wondered what Avery Callaghan had meant by the Xi Incident. He figured it had to relate to some kind of malfunction of the VR systems. Why else would Callaghan and Roberts have mentioned it in relation to him and his situation? No, it had to be some kind of mishap with the VR system.

  But was it a mishap that ended badly for Marshfield Studio, with a lawsuit or hefty compensation payout? Or was it a mishap that ended badly for William Xi? And what would that mean? Death? Brain damage? Memory loss? Cognitive impact?

  The VR rig tapped into the user’s brain, so theoretically a really bad accident could mean any or all of the above. Is that what happened to William Xi? Is that what they were afraid was happening to me?