Crota

by Rohan M Vider

  CROTA

  The Gods’ Game, Volume I

  Rohan M. Vider

  The Gods’ Game Volume I, Crota

  An epic fantasy, LitRPG and GameLit novel.

  By Rohan M. Vider

  A Game, played between Gods… where the playing field is the world itself… and the pieces, living beings.

  A young man caught unwittingly between… in a strange world, without allies or help… must battle for survival…using his wits and magic alone.

  Pawn or Player… his fate is his to decide… which will he prove to be?

  Accidentally summoned from Earth to the world of Myelad, Kyran becomes embroiled in a thousand-year war between the Gods. Through no fault of his own, Kyran earns their ire and is trapped in Crota, an abandoned city haunted by undead, and infested with all manner of beasts and monsters. To escape the Gods’ trap, Kyran must become a Player that even the Gods would learn to fear…

  Dedication

  To my loving wife, for always believing in me, and pushing me onwards. I could not have written this book without you.

  Copyright

  Crota (The Gods’ Game, Volume I), a self-published book by Rohan M. Vider

  Copyright © 2018 Rohan M. Vider.

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. If you would like permission to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), please contact rohan.vider@gmail.com.

  First Edition

  Revision (1.1)

  eBook ISBN: 978-0-620-81614-4

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Author’s Note

  Dear Readers,

  This novel is an epic fantasy story set in a world that employs game concepts that are common in computer roleplaying games (CRPG) and massively multiplayer online (MMO) games. This is a relatively new fantasy sub-genre known as LitRPG or GameLit.

  To enjoy the story, knowledge of CRPG and MMO games is not necessary. Every effort has been made within the story itself to explain crucial game mechanics. However, some readers may still find themselves craving a more complete understanding of the game mechanics.

  For such readers, I have compiled the Primer attached to the end of this book. It is, I know, a somewhat lengthy read. I would suggest that, but for the explanation on the basic RPG concepts, you do not attempt to read the primer end-to-end. Instead use it as a quick reference, as and when required.

  Also, full disclosure, this is a self-published works that has not been professionally edited. I have taken great care to review and edit the book. However, some errors have probably slipped through. For these, I apologise profusely.

  I encourage you to drop me a message on anything related to the Gods’ Game or otherwise:). Please also let others know what you think about the book by leaving a review on www.amazon.com and www.goodreads.com.

  Most importantly, I hope you enjoy the book!

  Best Regards

  Rohan

  rohan.vider@gmail.com

  Map

  Contents

  CROTA

  The Gods’ Game Volume I, Crota

  Dedication

  Copyright

  Author’s Note

  Map

  Prologue

  Kyran Seversan

  Summoned

  The God Council

  The Choice

  Avatar’s Creation

  Preparing to Enter

  Kyran's Profile on Entering Crota

  Crota

  First Encounters

  Try, Try, Try Again

  Food and Water

  Interlude

  Into the Mines

  Undead

  Hunted

  The Lake

  First Contact

  Aftermath

  Confrontation

  Ambush

  Epilogue

  Kyran’s Profile at the End of Volume I

  Afterword

  Primer on Roleplaying Games (RPG)

  RPG Definitions

  Game Mechanic Definitions

  Story Definitions

  Abbreviations

  Prologue

  We have become our own worst enemies. The cosmos new tyrants. And who remains, that can stop us now? – from the memoirs of Eld the Benevolent.

  Eld expanded his consciousness through the tapestry, that was the cosmos, and searched once more for that elusive Spark. One made remarkable not by the brightness of its light, but instead by its very absence. Somewhere, somewhen, it had to exist. Everything depended on it.

  He was troubled. His search had spanned eons, and time was running out. Matters had progressed rapidly, and his course was now irrevocable. Either he found a Spark, and quick, or… or he failed, and the cosmos with him.

  He flung out the net of his consciousness again, probing for that spot of emptiness, made apparent by the brightness surrounding it. With practiced swiftness he sifted through the minds of Earth’s multitudes, searching….

  Expecting disappointment, he almost missed it. There. An anomaly. He pulled together his consciousness and directed his focus to the scene that had caught his interest.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  Jonas scowled fiercely as the young street rat scurried into the shop and attempted to disguise his presence behind the paying customers. The waif was draped in cast-off rags, barefoot and covered in grime and filth. Jonas stepped forward to expel the young thief, when by chance, his gaze crossed the youngster’s and revealed the desperate hunger there. The boy, he must have been no older than five, stared with avid attention at the fruits lining the stalls.

  Jonas could not help but notice the waif’s skinny limbs and protruding bones, laid bare by malnutrition and habitual starvation. His gaze lingered on the boy, weighing. In a moment of weakness, he decided to ignore the waif. Cursing himself for a sentimental fool, he turned away and pretended not to see the child swipe a few apples. It is only a few apples, he told himself, not worth the trouble, really.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  Eld watched the scene play out. The boy was invisible to his sight but eavesdropping on Jonas’ thoughts revealed him. He studied the boy intently. The child would serve, he decided, but first, he needed to be prepared. A dizzying array of probabilities were considered and discarded as he ran rapid calculations through his mind. Eventually, his course decided, he acted. His ability to affect events on Earth were limited, but sometimes all it took was a nudge...

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  At the fruit stalls, seemingly of its own accord, an apple rolled out of the pile, upsetting its stack’s delicate balance and provoking an avalanche. In the midst of pocketing a few more apples, the boy was caught flat-footed. Standing at the door, Alexis, Jonas' son, turned his head at the disturbance and noticed the boy. He sprang quickly into action and moved to apprehend the waif, “Stop thief!”

  Mystified by the strange behaviour of the apples, the boy left his escape too late. He tried to scamper away and dodge Alexis’ reaching hands but was hampered in his efforts by the apples littering the floor. Triumphantly Alexis snatched the boy, and crowed, “I got you now, you little thief, you aren’t going anywhere.”

  Silently observing, Jonas hesitated, but then moved to intervene.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  Eld had done what he could. Events had been set in motion. Now he could only hope that they played out as desired. After all, even Gods were not infallible.

  Kyran Seversan

  “The
Gods are real” – Anonymous.

  Kyran trudged wearily home. The city was unnaturally quiet tonight. The rumble of cars and shouts of merriment from raucous crowds was absent. With head bent low, sheltering from the biting winter’s cold, and shoulders hunched from his overburdened backpack, Kyran steadily made his way back home from Terry’s apartment. Terry and he lived on opposite ends of the city. Opposites, reflected Kyran, was an apt metaphor for Terry and himself. They were in almost all respects, dissimilar. Terry came from a distinguished family and lived in the city’s most affluent neighbourhood. Kyran was dirt poor, orphaned at a young age and raised on the streets. Yet despite this, theirs was a firm friendship, one rooted in their shared love of gaming.

  He left behind the wealthy city blocks, and neared the humbler quarters of his own district. It had been a good night. His gaming clan, a relative minnow, had won the tournament, defeating the bigger, more established names in the online community. They had made a name for themselves tonight and would be the talk of the forums and chat rooms for some time to come. His clan mates were back at Terry’s apartment, celebrating. He wished he was still there, enjoying the camaraderie and hard-earned victory celebrations. Instead of being stuck out here, heading back to a cold hearth and home. But the burdens of life could only be ignored for so long.

  He groaned. All night long he had adamantly refused to think about his finals tomorrow and the consequence of failure. It would mean the loss of his future job, and the burden of an unpayable bill. He barely scraped by as it was, forced to live in the city’s poorest quarter with all his money going into his education – and his one vice, gaming. If he failed…

  No, he would pass, he was certain of it – well, almost certain. Alright, I should have been studying, he finally admitted to himself. But... once again he had been seduced by the lure of competitive gaming. Rationally, he understood that he indulged in it too much, but it was a habit he just couldn’t seem to kick. The thrill of victory, the adrenaline, the satisfaction from well executed strategies and the camaraderie of team mates was too alluring. He resolved, yet again, to make some changes and get his life back on track.

  With a mental shrug he shook of his depressing thoughts. Those were problems for another day. Here and now he needed to hurry back home and squeeze in whatever studying he could, before his finals tomorrow. Today actually.

  He fell deep in thought, prioritising and planning his studies. That’s when he heard the scream. Kyran’s head whipped around. The scream cut-off quickly but he was sure it had come from the right, from Layton’s Bridge. Through his steady hike he had reached the decayed bridge at the centre of the city’s poorest quarter. It had been one of the city’s main thoroughfares before the course of the river changed. These days the bridge and the surrounding blocks were little more than relics of the past, largely abandoned by the rest of the city, and a prime hotspot of criminal activity.

  Kyran started towards the bridge, then hesitated. Should I be doing this? Could he afford to? He already had little enough time left… but could he ignore someone in distress?

  He stopped thinking. It didn’t matter. He had to help. Kyran raced to the source of the scream. He rounded the corner and stopped short. On the bridge ahead, two masked figures struggled with a young woman.

  The woman was well dressed in a brown leather coat, green dress, stockinged feet and high heels. She wore her jewellery openly and carried an expensive handbag. It was probably this display of wealth that had attracted the muggers. Kyran wondered what such an obviously wealthy young woman was doing walking these streets. The two muggers were typical of the residents of this part of the city, dressed as they were, in ragged castoffs.

  One of the masked men yanked viciously on the woman’s bag. The other tried to restrain her while simultaneously waving a rusty knife at her. This had remarkably little effect. The muggers intended victim was putting up more resistance than expected. Heedless of the threatening knife, the woman fought furiously – and in Kyran’s view, somewhat foolishly – to retain her handbag.

  Kyran paused for a moment, thoughts racing. He pulled out his phone and waved it while he ran towards the struggling figures. “Hey! Leave her alone, the police are on the way!” Kyran’s cry startled the muggers. They looked up in surprise. His bluff worked – never mind that the police did not bother responding to calls from this neighbourhood. The muggers, handbag forgotten, quickly extricated themselves. One of them shoved the woman back in his haste to get away. Her arms flailed and she stumbled backwards, unbalanced and perilously close to the bridge’s crumbling rails. Just then, at the wrong moment, the heel of her shoe stuck fast in the cracked road. With a scream she toppled over.

  Kyran’s heart was in his mouth as he watched the woman fall over the bridge. Ignoring the fleeing muggers, he raced to where the woman went over, dreading the scene that awaited him.

  He looked over and breathed a sigh of relief. She had managed to find a handhold. With a white knuckled grip, she held onto the lower end of the bridge's rusted handrails.

  Reacting without thought Kyran stretched over the rail and grasped the woman’s hands. “Here, I got you! Hold tight!”

  The woman, her eyes wide open in fright and face contorted in fear begged, “Please, please…” Her strength failed and her hands slowly slipped free. Pain shot up Kyran’s arms as the woman’s full weight transferred to them.

  Her panic escalated. Her struggles became more frenetic. She scrambled mindlessly for some sort of purchase. His own position was now also precarious, bearing as he did, the woman’s full weight. Kyran heaved and pulled. Futilely he strained to pull the woman back onto the bridge. Her struggles made his efforts that much harder.

  He tried to calm her and stop her desperate struggles. “Easy, I got you. I promise. What is your name?”

  “Sara!” she gasped, “Save me. Please, save me.”

  He said soothingly, “It will be alright, Sara. Just hold on tight.”

  But her hands began to slip free of his sweaty palms. Despairingly, she pleaded, “No, no, help!”

  He was overextended. His feet were barely grounded on the bridge. He stretched further, tightening his hold on her. Again, he tried to heave her onto the bridge. Again, he failed. He simply lacked the leverage. All he could manage was maintaining his hold.

  Until he no longer could. Inch by inch, his anchor on the bridge failed and inexorably their combined weight pulled him over. The physics was inescapable. Kyran lacked the mass to anchor them both. To live, he would have to let her go.

  Stubbornly, he refused. He maintained his death grip. This is all my fault! he berated himself. If he hadn’t startled the muggers–

  Further thought was cut-off sharply. Gravity won. And with hands still clasped they plummeted off the bridge.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  Kyran’s mind blanked. It was a long drop to the dry riverbed below. He had already fallen more than half the distance before his mind unfroze. Terror assailed him. This is it, he thought. He conjured gruesome images of smashing into the barren, cracked earth. The damage to his body would be fatal. In morbid anticipation, he squeezed his eyes shut.

  He waited, and waited, and waited…

  But the end did not come. Rippling agony did not grip him. His body did not smash into the unyielding earth. Confounded, Kyran opened his eyes. He found himself gazing down at the riverbed, at two mangled corpses. For long ageless seconds, he could only stare uncomprehendingly. That’s us, he thought, recognizing his blue backpack and Sara’s brown coat amongst the remains. But that does not make sense… if that’s my body down there… Kyran looked down at himself. In bewilderment, he stared at his translucent hands. They remained clasped to Sara’s, equally transparent. How am I? What am I? He hung suspended mid-air, a bodiless spirit. Am I dead, a ghost? he wondered. He looked at Sara. Her eyes were shut and her face was filled with dread. She remained oblivious.

  He was at a complete loss. What should he do? Detachedly, he considered hims
elf. He was dead, or at least some part of him was, while another part (his soul?) remained aware. Yet for all the terror he felt this should inspire, he felt little. His emotions were dulled, as if remnants of his former life, something he distantly recalled but did not feel. Why am I not panicking? I should be terrified right now. Am I not myself? But I still feel like me… I still think I am me, but… can I still be me when my body lies down there?

  He pondered this but no answers were forthcoming. He looked around, baffled as to what to do next. Before he could attempt any action, he was violently gripped and pulled forcibly upwards. Sensation returned and he was engulfed in pain, held in the grasp of some uncaring alien force. He struggled but was relentlessly dragged upwards, a fish on a line. Gradually at first, then faster and faster. He accelerated through the empty skies, powerless to do otherwise. The world rushed by, then the moon and the planets. Then stars, and more stars. Then blackness, an endless void. And then he knew no more.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  Summoned

  The cosmos is vast and varied, and Losjofilde is but one world of many. The worlds of the cosmos are connected by the pathways. Long have scholars pondered its secrets, alas to little avail. Much of its nature still remains a mystery, but this much is known: the pathways are a cosmic network through which adepts traverse from world to world. But it is more than a mere highway, it is also the conduit through which magical and divine essence flows between worlds. Indeed, some scholars have even postulated that the pathways are critical to maintaining the cosmic balance, and that without them, the cosmos could not exist. – Excerpt from a Treatise on the Nature of the Pathways, by an unknown Losjofildian scholar.