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

by Rachel Ford

  Jack wasn’t impressed. He stared at it for a long moment. “Is that the orb?” He wasn’t sure what he was expecting. Maybe some magic swirls or colors; something – anything – to indicate that it was indeed a magical artifact. This just looked like a bubble, frozen in time: clear, and boring.

  Migli spoke with reverence, though. “A seeing orb, Sir Jack. What a thing for these humble dwarven eyes to behold. Ah, if my family could be here to see it with me. Such a thing. Such a remarkable thing.”

  Jack snorted. “If you say so, Migli.” Then he took a step toward the orb, and another, cautiously at first. But nothing happened, so he moved with the energy of a man who wanted the whole damned ordeal to be done already. Because he was that man.

  He reached the orb. It stayed clear and uninteresting. Boring. He reached out a hand to it. “Alright, orb, show me what you got.”

  No sooner had his hand brushed the glass, though, did a powerful, paralyzing force seize him. He tried to struggle, to pull away. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t even breathe.

  An inky, impenetrable darkness filled the orb, split now and then by bolts of red light. Jack fought with all his might to be free while the lightning crashed and roared inside the glass. But it held him fast.

  Then, a vision filled his mind. He wasn’t sure if it was another cinematic, or if the game was really projecting these images and thoughts. Either way, he saw a figure emerge out of inky darkness, while lightning crashed in the background.

  The figure was indistinct at first, but then the swirling black pulled away. Jack thought at first that he was looking at a man, for it had a humanoid shape. But then he saw red eyes, and strange glowing symbols on the creature’s forehead. He heard its voice in his head.

  “When the blood moon rises, and the blood of a thousand heroes coats the blade, then will Iaxiabor return to us.”

  The darkness ebbed further, like a curtain being drawn back to reveal some dark and terrible stage. Demons – hundreds, perhaps thousands of them – surrounded the figure, bowing in obeisance. They started to chant something, a name perhaps. Jack couldn’t tell at first. But then the sound grew clearer and more distinctive.

  “Kalbidor. Kalbidor. Kalbidor.”

  It’s him, he thought. The demon who took the dagger.

  Behind Kalbidor, a pitch-black dragon reared its head, breathing a spray of crimson fire into the night sky. The lesser demons kept chanting, “Kalbidor. Kalbidor. Kalbidor.”

  Jack tried to discern something about the place or the setting that could lead him there. But nothing stood out. He couldn’t see any walls or ceiling overhead. Strange, uneasy blackness hummed and vibrated at the periphery of his vision with a manic kind of energy. It seemed almost to consume the scene. The demon flanks disappeared into it. It shrouded the ceiling or sky overhead so that no trace of it could be seen under the swirling, inky mass.

  Kalbidor raised his arms, brandishing the dagger in one hand, and the crowd went silent. It was a small, ornate thing, black in color, with a sheath covered in intricate metal work. But it seemed to radiate some kind of evil energy. The lead demon spoke again. “Go forth, my children of darkness, and find me heroes – great and small, bring them all to me.” The multitude let out a savage roar of approval, and he cracked a smile. “I need them alive, and strong. So do not trifle with them. Bring as many as you can. Remember: I need only a thousand. I shall choose the strongest and best, and you shall make sport of the rest.”

  Another roar of approval, more brutal and bloodthirsty than the first, broke from the horde of demons. It rose high and loud until it carried to the murky darkness all around – and beyond. The shroud lifted, and Jack could see a stone courtyard with an old castle behind it, and a gray sky overhead. Green vegetation painted the horizon in one direction, and faraway on the other, a blue sea met the gray sky.

  Kalbidor was standing not on some kind of platform, but on the battlements of an old, grey stone castle, blackened with fire and crumbling with age. Around him and below, cauldrons burbled with black tar and oil, and great, heavy braziers roared with flames. Monstrous siege weapons, great ogres, and demons of every shape and size imaginable swarmed the yard, some of them busy over forges or practicing their weapon craft, but most listening to their leader.

  “Work now with purpose, for soon we will bask in Iaxiabor’s return. And the fruits of your labor will be sweet indeed.”

  Then, Jack returned to the spire, and its bare room, and the orb in the center. Its murky depths settled, and it released him. He collapsed backwards, breathing hard.

  For a minute or two, breathe was all he did. The orb returned to its clear serenity. Then, Migli asked, “What did you see, Sir Jack?”

  Three dialogue options presented themselves:

  Didn’t you see it too?

  Some kind of building, with a lot of demons and stuff. I don’t know, it was all kind of a blur.

  And,

  An old castle, crumbling with age and covered in soot. There were demons living there – hundreds, probably thousands of them. Kalbidor was there.

  He chose the first option, and Migli shook his head. “No. The vision is yours and yours alone. The orb shows us each what it wishes to show, and what we need to know.”

  Now, Jack was faced with the remaining two options – the vague and noncommittal response, or the detailed one. He opted for detail. Migli listened and nodded. “A strange vision indeed, Jack, and a terrible one. We have much work ahead of us before the blood moon.”

  “Do you have any idea where this castle is?”

  “Not I. But there are those who will know. Come, my friend, let us leave this place. It has shown us all we can know.”

  “Okay…but where are we going?”

  “At the base of this mountain is a town called Little Valley. We can start there and see if anyone can help us. We will need help, Jack. Such a task as is before us cannot be managed by the two of us alone.”

  Jack scouted the spire for supplies before he left. He wasn’t sure he’d survive the trek down without them. He found a heavy cape, and a fur-lined hat and a pair of gloves. They conferred bonuses against cold and wind. He also found a bag of jerky, which he slipped into his inventory. “I’m sure Ieon will not mind.”

  Migli glanced sideways at him, like he was less certain of the fact. But he didn’t argue, and he didn’t let the minor theft lessen his opinion of Jack. Which was really all Jack cared about. The dwarf could think what he liked, as long as he suffered no ill effects as a result.

  They spent the night in the spire. Jack needed to rest in real life too, so he slept, and his character slept. He woke earlier than he intended to and grumbled at the evening sky. He’d hoped to sleep through until the next morning. But since he hadn’t, he roused Migli too. “Come on. No rest for the wicked.”

  He’d saved one of the coffees Jordan gave him, and he downed it before he started his trek. Then they set out.

  This time, thanks to his winter gear, the cold didn’t sap his health. He could feel a briskness all around him, but nothing worse.

  They walked until late afternoon. The temperatures rose, and the aspect of the mountain changed. The snow thinned, and then disappeared. Grass and flowers, shrubs and leafy trees dotted the slope, sparsely at first and then more regularly. A village came into view, and then grew larger and larger as they descended further.

  It was a picturesque kind of place, like some kind of fairytale Scandinavian or Swiss Alps village. A fine dusting of snow lined the wooden roofs, and candles and lanterns lit the windows of both the small, colorful cottages and larger, more impressive manors alike. A waterway coursed through the town slowly. This was no raging mountain stream. It was a gentle, spring-fed brook, rolling easily down from the foothills, and burbling cheerily through town. Here and there, bridges crossed over it to connect various quadrants of the village. Cobblestone streets ran through Little Valley with not much more precision than the brook. They seemed to have been laid almost haphazardly
, wherever someone had a whim to build.

  Jack’s engineer brain recoiled at the sight. But he couldn’t deny the chaotic charm it had on the overall effect of the place.

  Migli seemed heartened by the sight, too, for he took to singing again, this time of sunshine fair as gold and streams that shimmered like gems. Now and then, he’d pause to offer some comment. “I’ve heard strange rumors about this place. Few, it’s said, who come here return. But if that’s an effect of its charm or some darker force, I cannot say.” And, “I’ve heard tell that this is a strange manner of place. But in what way, I do not know,” and, “Such simple beauty. I feel that I shall like my stay here.”

  Mostly, he sang, while Jack listened to the birds, soaked up the sunshine, and generally enjoyed the day.

  The village looked even more picturesque as they neared it than it had from a distance. Everything, from the humblest cottage to the greatest manor, had a well curated, whimsical flair to it. The homes were painted bright colors, and had contrasting millwork around the roofs, windows and doors. The most popular colors for the smaller, wooden buildings were deep ocean blue-greens or dark, flush reds with white trim. The larger, stone manors chose more natural wood finishes for their millwork. But nothing was plain, or dowdy, or unkempt.

  On the contrary, it was so perfect, so idyllic and downright fantastical, he half expected real life gingerbread men or Little Red Riding Hood or the Three Little Pigs to come strolling down the streets, happy and content as could be.

  What he didn’t expect to see, though, were big, ugly, snaggletoothed orcs. So his surprise at – quite literally – bumping into just such a big, ugly, snaggletoothed orc was palpable.

  It happened innocently enough. Jack had reached the outskirts of town and crossed one of the many bridges leading toward the center. A bright blue cottage with crisp white trim sat on the other side of the bridge, and the sweet smell of baking bread wafted out. With it came a voice, soft and sweet and very pretty, singing some tune in a tongue he didn’t recognize.

  He glanced back at Migli as they passed and snorted. “You hear that? Voice of an angel. You could take lessons.”

  Since he’d turned his head, though, he didn’t see the singer step out of her cottage – not until after he’d careened into her. She might have had a voice like an angel, but her appearance was something else entirely. Great, uneven teeth protruded from dark green lips set on a firm jaw. A pugnacious nose, pale silver eyes, and a protruding forehead completed her face. Her hair was her best feature, in Jack’s opinion, for it was long and smooth, and drawn up in some kind of bun. Her figure looked humanlike, but with more muscle tone than either he or Migli had. Her body looked like it belonged to some kind of Olympian, and her face, to some kind of nightmare.

  It wasn’t a nice thing to think, and Jack wasn’t proud of himself for thinking it. Still, he’d wandered into town with his head all full of fairytale visions. So having them shattered so abruptly jarred him – it jarred him badly enough that he jumped back and yelped.

  The orc woman, meanwhile, also yelped, and the tray of fresh baked bread she’d been carrying went flying into the air. The loaves came down in three different spots. Jack watched them, and so did she. They went up, up, up; and then down, down, down. But after their surprise, neither had time to react.

  Migli did, though. He darted forward, nimble as a gazelle, and swooped the first loaf up, then the second, and then the third. He barely got to it in time. It fell within a centimeter of the cobblestones. But it didn’t touch.

  The dwarf grinned broadly and bowed in a princely way. “Fair lady,” he said, “pardon my clumsy footed companion. Allow me to restore your goods, at least, by way of apology.”

  He handed them over, and she smiled. Jack shivered at the sight. He felt bad about it, but it hadn’t been a deliberate action. Her bared fangs triggered some kind of fight or flight reaction, and he had to work hard to keep it in check. The shiver got through, though.

  She didn’t notice. Her attention was firmly fixed on the dwarf, who was making a fool of himself with all the courtly gestures and flourishes he could throw into thirty seconds of a not-even acquaintance. “It is no problem,” she said. “I should have looked before I stepped out.”

  “You are most gracious, fair maid, but you need not trouble yourself to excuse him. He knows he is at fault, and he is terribly contrite for the error. Aren’t you, Jack?”

  Jack frowned at his companion as two possible responses jumped to his mind.

  Certainly I am. Forgive me, milady.

  And,

  Sorry? I’m only sorry that I soiled my foot stepping on this clumsy fool.

  He chose the first option, naturally. He’d been rude and careless enough already; he certainly didn’t need to compound matters.

  She smiled briefly at him. “Think no more of it, stranger.” Then, she turned back to Migli. “But what is your name, good traveler?”

  “I am Migli, and I am most honored to make your acquaintance, fair maid.” He offered another one of his ridiculous bows, bending at the waist and making some kind of absurd flourish through the air with his hands, while Jack rolled his eyes. Then he asked, “Will you not also honor me with your name?”

  She flushed a little at his words and nodded. “I am Larg’tha.”

  Jack wrinkled his nose. It sounded like the kind of sound he’d make over a toilet at eleven o’clock at night after his second shot of Jameson. Not that he’d made that mistake more than once. Still, it didn’t sound like an actual name.

  Migli, though, clapped his great hands together. “Lovely. Absolutely lovely.” Then he reached out and took her broad hand in his own enormous paw and brought it to his lips. “Much like its owner.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Jack would have been content leaving this orc baker to her business. But Migli had other ideas. They remained in conversation for several long minutes, and then she extended an invitation to them. “Join us for dinner. My father will be home soon, and I know he would love to meet you.”

  Migli didn’t ask Jack his opinion. He just accepted on behalf of both of them. “We would be honored, fair Larg’tha.”

  She flushed again. “Well, I must go. The mayor’s kitchens are expecting fresh loaves. My cousin is head cook there, you know. But their ovens are down.”

  She might have announced a death in the family, for all the moaning and mewling Migli did about an oven failure. Once he’d got the preliminary sympathy out of the way, he said, “Is there anything we can do? My friend here is more than clumsy on his feet, you know. He’s quite clever, in his own way.”

  Jack frowned first at the backhanded compliment, and then at the realization that Migli had just volunteered him for the task. He started to say they had no time, but Larg’tha’s eyes lit up.

  “Could you? Oh Tri’gvy would be so happy to have his stoves back.”

  “If his happiness lends to yours, fair Larg’tha, then how could we do anything but render aid?”

  They walked with her toward a stone home that stood in the center of town, a little larger and a little grander than the others. And here Jack had his second surprise of the afternoon. He’d assumed Larg’tha was one of a handful of orcs living in Little Valley. He figured it must be a more tolerant place than the other towns he’d so far visited, where he’d seen no orcs at all.

  But he’d figured wrongly. It was not Larg’tha who was in the minority. It was Jack, and Migli too. They passed no other humans, and no dwarves either. But they saw dozens of orcs – tall orcs and short orcs, fit orcs and fat orcs, old and young, lean and muscular. In fact, he saw so many orcs that he drew up after a space and said, “Hold on, is this some kind of orc town?”

  Larg’tha regarded him curiously. “Of course. Did you not know?”

  He shook his head, and his companion laughed at him. “How could you not know that, Jack?”

  He scowled at the dwarf, not least of all since his only information so far had come from
Migli himself.

  She said, “I hope that is not a problem.”

  “No, of course not. Only…well, I’ve never been in an orc town.” Not in this game, anyway. He’d visited all kinds of orc settlements and towns, cities and outposts across his tens of thousands of hours in videogames. But trying to explain that to a character in this particular game would only confuse her. And the last thing he wanted to do was cause some sort of NPC existential crisis. Who could say how that would impact gameplay?

  “Ah. Well, I think you will like it here. We’re a very friendly community.”

  “Like it?” Migli said. “I love it already.”

  Jack rolled his eyes. He knew well enough Migli’s appreciation had nothing to do with the town, and everything to do with the orc woman.

  She giggled, though, and expressed her hope that he would like it better as he got better acquainted with it. He in turn assured her that he had every intention of doing so – getting better acquainted and liking the experience.

  Jack sighed. His stomach was heaving like he’d downed that second glass of whiskey all over again.

  The mayor’s house was a giant stone building with rows of tall windows and picturesque wooden shutters. Rather than wood shingles, the roof was covered in gray slate tiles that largely matched the stone of the walls. The shutters were carved a little larger than the windows, with ornate scrolls reaching above and below the glass, and, like all the trim on the house, painted a crisp white.

  It was a very pretty place, elegant and understated, stately and majestic, but not showy or gawdy.

  “This way,” Larg’tha said, leading them back to a door at the rear of the house.

  They stepped into a large, bustling kitchen. Staff worked at four separate stoves, over pots and pans and cutting boards and serving trays. Every manner of delectable smell imaginable hit Jack’s nose all at once. It was equal parts delightful and overwhelming.