He took the candleholders, but left the bowl. It was undoubtedly worth a lot, but when he had touched it, it gave off a sickening sensation as if there was evil worked into the crystal itself—it stirred something within him, something he didn’t want to think about.
Handing the candelabras to Dorsett, he sheathed his sword, picked up one of the lanterns and went to the wall behind the altar.
The temple above had a secret door in the wall behind the altar, so it made sense to him that this one would as well. He scanned the wall, at times his nose only an inch away; he saw nothing, so he next began running his fingers along it—again nothing. Tapping it revealed that the wall seemed solid.
If there was a hidden door, the wall kept the secret to itself, but Roan was not done. The wall might have been perfectly made but the floor was not. Getting down on his hands and knees, he crawled along the length of the wall until he found a spot where the carpet was the slightest bit worn.
“Here we go,” he said, pulling his dagger from its sheath. He worked it under the carpet until he found the lower dimensions of the door. From there, he scraped upwards, outlining it.
“Who is this dweeb?” someone asked behind him. Roan turned to see two new people had joined the group. One was a pretty brunette girl who looked like she belonged in high school—if that high school was Hogwarts, that is. She wore white wizard robes and carried a staff. This was probably Asula.
The man next to her wore green leather armor and carried a short sword. Roan recognized him; he had seen the man’s dead body higher in the temple.
Roan disliked the thief the instant he laid his eyes on him, but decided to make nice since he was still very new to the group. “My name is Ratchet. Dorsett invited me since you had already lost a rogue.”
“Now that I’m back, you can take a hike. I got this.”
Leaving didn’t seem like the worst idea and if he had a lot of choices he probably would have. There were eight people in the group, three of whom were recently slain first level characters. Of the other five, only Sirant the Bold, the tank in the field plate, looked all that capable. The two clerics were likely out of spells and the other two fighters wore battered scalemail. Roan guessed that they were likely only second or third level.
“Don’t be like that, Kuja,” Asula scolded the thief. “If he was invited, you can’t arbitrarily uninvite him. It’s a group decision. That being said, I don’t think that’s the proper way to find secret doors.”
Sheathing his dagger, Roan stepped aside. “Never let the rules get in the way of progress. What did you say your name was?”
“She didn’t say her name,” Kuja said. “But to you, her name is hands off the merchandise.” As much as Roan wanted to wring the man’s neck, he lifted his hands, palms out. “Okay then,” the thief said. “Now, what did you do here?” He began studying the wall and the outline of the door.
“Sorry about that,” Dorsett said, under his breath so that only Roan heard. “Kuja is a good guy. He’s just territorial when it comes to his role in the group. Don’t take it personally. And her name is Asula.”
It was a little late for not taking things personally. Still, Roan kept the smile from his face as the thief struggled to find a way past the door. Finally, Sirant shoved him aside and began hammering at the wall with his shoulder. He was a big man with at least an eighteen strength and after the third hit, there was a crack and the door gave a few inches.
Everyone grabbed their weapons, ready for a fight, but for the moment, nothing happened. “Kuja, get over here and check the door,” Sirant ordered.
The thief edged forward, his face screwing up more and more with every step. “It stinks like crap in there. Like an open sewer.” He went through the motions of checking the half-open door, shining a lantern’s light all around the edges. “Looks good.”
“You’ve said that before,” Dorsett groused.
“It’s not an exact science,” Kuja replied. “And whoever set these traps was very high level. But if you’re worried, send in your new friend in. Let’s see if he’s got the stones to lead the way.”
Everyone looked back at Roan who only shrugged. “Sure, why not.” He hefted his crossbow went to the door and kicked it in. The smell struck him full force, but as an experienced field agent he’d become inured to such things. Shrugging it off, he stepped inside what appeared to be a medieval dungeon. The walls and floor were comprised of chiseled stone and set into them were rusting iron rings where prisoners had been chained.
On the floor beneath each of the rings was dried blood, while hanging on one wall was an assortment of whips. There were also a couple of teetering stools set on either side of an old desk. On the desk top were piles of copper and silver pieces as well as a dog-eared set of playing cards.
Across from Roan was another door; this one iron bound. “Let me have a lantern,” he said. He set his crossbow down next to the door and when the young wizard brought the light over, he pulled out his set of thieves tools. This was his first attempt at picking a lock in Daggerland. In the real world, he had picked hundreds of locks.
This lock wasn’t nearly as complex as some of the ones he’d seen, and yet it took him three times before he felt the heavy tumblers turn (XP +45).
Before he opened the door, he glanced back at the rest of the group. Sirant, Dorsett and Asula stood very close to Roan; Kuja was rifling the desk with one of the clerics watching him. The second cleric was at the door to the temple room, watching their backs. Off to the side were the other two fighters, who were talking about the last fight.
“What are you waiting for?” Sirant asked. “Open the door.”
Roan had been waiting for the entire team to be in a position to fight or flee before he opened the door. There was no telling what was on the other side. “Eyes over here,” Roan called out before opening the door.
The smell behind this door was even worse. It was bad enough for even a veteran like Roan to put a hand to his mouth. Behind him Dorsett vomited, while Asula stumbled away for clean air. Sirant was green but holding on stoically.
It was pitch black beyond the door and the darkness retreated only grudgingly before the light of the lanterns. Slowly, Roan’s eyes adjusted to the darkness until he could see a long but narrow corridor. On each side of the corridor were more iron-bound doors, most of which were partially open. Right away, Roan guessed that the doors led to prison cells.
He stepped in, crouched behind his crossbow. Behind him came Sirant and then the two other fighters. Roan went to the edge of the first door and took a quick peek inside. Once more the lack of light hampered him. “Lantern!” he hissed. One of the clerics hurried into the prison with a lantern lighting his pale face.
Sirant held it up so he and Roan could see into the cell. It was a six-foot by three-foot room with nothing in it but a two-foot tall pile of excrement in the corner, a ragged blanket and the body of another child.
“Oh lord,” Sirant whispered, the lantern dropping as his arm seemed to lose all strength. “That’s horrible.”
It was horrible, and Roan could only deal with it clinically. Black female, eight years old; malnourished; multiple stab wounds; fingernails torn and cracked, suggesting she had tried to escape. Body temperature approximately 98 degrees and blood still trickling.
He touched a pool of blood and found that only the very top layer was tacky. “She’s been dead for only about twenty minutes.”
“They probably heard us coming, so they killed their prisoners,” Sirant said, stating the obvious. He pushed out of the room and then went from cell to cell with the lantern in one hand and his sword in the other.
Roan followed slowly after, looking into the first few rooms and noting the slain children. At the fourth door, he stopped as there wasn’t a body, only a pool of blood. Had the body been moved or had the child crawled away after having been…
“Okay, there’s nothing here,” Sirant said, stepping out of the last room. “Nothing but death. When
I get my hands on whoever did this, I’m going to rip their heads off.”
“Hold on,” Roan said, heading to the next cell.
Sirant grabbed his arm. “Don’t. It’s just more bodies.”
Roan shook off the hand and went to the next cell. Just as Sirant had said, there was a pile of corpses. More dead children, but why were these ones piled when the rest weren’t? “I need that lantern in here!” The room had been growing steadily darker as Sirant walked out of the cell block.
“I said, I need that damned…” His breath caught in his throat as the pile of corpses suddenly moved and one of them stood.
2—
The thing that stood before him was no child. Its flesh ran with fresh blood and at first Roan thought it was another prisoner, but then he saw the dagger in its hand.
Roan pulled the trigger on his crossbow and, in the narrow confines of the cell, he couldn’t miss, especially since the creature or man, or whatever it was, wasn’t wearing armor. The bolt sunk deep into its chest, knocking it back but not killing it. This gave Roan enough time to pull his own dagger; the rapier was a poor weapon when there was so little room to use his dexterity advantage.
Roan darted forward, his initiative rating outclassing his opponent’s. Unfortunately, he missed with the dagger, while he took a slashing cut in the arm in return(Damage -2 HP).
“I need help in here!” he cried at the same time as he lunged forward once more. This time he managed to pin the creature to the back wall of the cell, where it had no room to move. The dagger went through flesh and muscle to grate on the stone behind him. The man sucked in a last breath and then slowly dropped to his knees(XP +90).
Light suddenly flared behind him. “What is that?” Sirant asked. Before Roan could answer, there was a thud of metal on stone. Someone had slammed a door shut further up the hall. Sirant disappeared from the doorway, taking his light with him.
Roan was about to follow when he remembered that he was still a rogue. He turned back to the dead man in the cell and searched him: thirteen gold pieces in a moldy pouch. It wasn’t much but it was a start. Pocketing the gold, he went out into the hall where Sirant and another of the fighters were straining against one of the doors.
“We got one of them in here!” Sirant yelled.
A fierce hate boiled up in Roan’s heart. “Keep him alive. He’s going to pay. I’m going to whip the skin off his back.”
Sirant looked shocked when Roan came back with one of the whips. Like a leather medusa, it had eight separate heads, each with a barbed metal sliver at the end. He slashed the floor with it just to get a feel for the action. It felt good.
“You’re serious?” Sirant asked.
“Yes. He deserves it. In the real world, people only rarely get what they deserve, but they can here. Now get that door open.”
The two men hesitated and then began pushing again as Roan cracked the whip a second time. The man on the other side must have been prodigiously strong to hold them back as long as he did. In the end, the door almost flew open. And confusion reigned when Roan saw in his field of vision (XP +100).
Congratulations! You are now a Level Two Rogue and have gained the following bonuses:
Increased Hit Points(+8)
Attack +1
Reflex Saving Throw +1
Special Ability Lucky Roll
You have +11 skill points to allocate
“What just happened?” Roan demanded. “Did he kill himself?” The three of them pushed into the cell to find a heavily muscled dwarf lying in a heap behind the door. Roan knelt beside him and his confusion only increased. Beneath the blood of the children, there wasn’t a mark on him. He opened the man’s eyes and mouth, noting nothing about either that would suggest poison use.
“He must have clocked out,” Sirant answered. “Your threat worked.”
Roan’s head spun. “Threat? Clocked…that was a real person? A real person did this to children?” It was astounding. Dazed, he sat back on his heels as above him, Sirant went on and on about the nature of evil, sounding like a first year philosophy student. Roan ignored him, his thoughts were on his own actions and feelings—he would have whipped the dwarf’s flesh right off of him, solely as an act of vengeance; vengeance for fake children in a make believe game.
And he would have enjoyed it.
“But that isn’t me,” he said, under his breath. In the real world it wasn’t. Yes, he had worked over a number of perps in his time, but never out of hate and never with the intent to maim. He’s done what he’d done to save lives and his instincts had always been spot on.
“Hey! Are you listening to me, thief?” Sirant gave him a shove. “Never mind. Search him and make it quick.” There was obvious distain in his voice and he didn’t leave while Roan went through the dwarf’s pouches and pockets. He found gold and silver, but didn’t bother to count it. All he could think about was whether or not he could catch the assassins who were after him while playing a good character. He’d been evil less than a day and he was already sick of it.
With a sigh, he handed the coins to Sirant and walked out of the foul-smelling prison block, passing the thief in green leather who was still snooping around in the front room, while the young wizard was kneeling over her spell book, preparing her two spells for the day.
The fighters were back to discussing their exploits and the clerics were next to the altar discussing human sacrifice. One of them noticed Roan and asked, “Why didn’t you grab this bowl? It’s got to be worth at least a hundred gold.”
“Not to me it isn’t. Why isn’t anyone watching the door?” He didn’t like the way the group was being led. Everything was very haphazard. No one answered, though Dorsett broke away from the other fighters and went to the door to the temple and peeked out.
“It’s clear,” he said just as one of the clerics reached for the gold and crystal bowl. When his fingers touched it, there was a crack of lightning and a noise like thunder. Everyone jumped except the cleric, who stood like a statue, his hair poking straight up. A second later he fell back, his feet smoldering in his boots.
“He’s dead,” the remaining cleric said. “I thought you checked for traps!”
Everyone turned on Roan, who could only shrug. “I did. I guess I missed one. Sorry.”
The cleric began cursing at Roan. Strangely, it was Sirant who came to his defense. “Chill out, Vahni. He’s only level one and Kuja missed like four of them already. Why don’t you clock out and see if Acartine is coming back? The rest of you, let’s get ready to move. We still haven’t found the treasure room and I want to get paid before the night gets too late.”
A minute later, Kuja returned saying his friend wasn’t coming back. Some of the fighters began griping. Sirant waved them into silence. “It just means more for us. Okay, Ratchet, you take point. Try not to miss any more traps or it’ll be your ass getting fried.”
Roan took one of the lanterns and went to the door leading to the spiral stairs that seemed to drill deep down into the earth. Slowly, taking one cautious step at a time, he began to descend and never did he miss his old familiar more than he did just then.
“Glitch?” he whispered. There was no answer and it was no wonder. Glitch had died trying to protect him and the game wasn’t about to cheat so outrageously as to give a thief a familiar. It was just as well, the air elemental wouldn’t have been happy in that particular stairwell; there was a wet smell emanating up from the depths and Glitch had hated water.
The smell grew and Roan pictured an underground pond or river. The stairwell ended in a low-ceilinged cavern that ran for about forty feet before meeting the rocky shore of a black lake, the edges of which were too far away to be seen with only a weak lantern as a light source.
Drawn up on the shore were three canoes. Roan held the lantern up to inspect them. Judging by the still damp boot prints in the bottom, they had recently been used and he guessed that if he had inspected more of the dead he would have found quite a few with muddy
shoes.
It begged the question, “Where’d they come from?”
“Wherever it is, we’ll have to find out another night,” one of the fighters said. “I got a report due in two days and I’m always mush-headed after a game. ‘Sides, I think we shouldn’t go further without Cayanna or Acartine. They need the experience points.”
Most of the others agreed and turned for the staircase. Only Dorsett and Roan remained. After a second, Dorsett began to follow. “That’s it?” Roan asked him.
“We’ll come back tomorrow night. There’ll still be bad guys to fight.”
Chapter 8
Oberast, Daggerland
The group climbed up out of the temple into a dark night. They were about to say their goodbyes and clock out when the Kuja asked, “Are we really going to need an extra rogue? Cayanna will be back tomorrow. I say we give this guy a few silvers and say audios muchacho.”
“Actually, you’re going to need all the help you can get,” Roan replied. “This temple is going to be crawling with crazies by this time tomorrow.”
“That’s not what Apollo said,” Asula remarked, gesturing to the last cleric. “His church said that now was the time to stamp out this abomination of a religion while it was weak.”
This got Roan’s attention in a hurry. “Really? Have you destroyed any other temples?”
“No, this is the first, at least for us,” the cleric answered.
Roan felt his excitement growing. This could not be coincidence. He was sure that the game was cheating, trying to help him out. “I need to talk to Apollo and I need you to intercede on my behalf.”
“You can’t be serious, I mean,” the cleric lowered his voice before adding, “He’s not a real god. It’s just a game.”
The others in the group were watching this exchange closely and Roan felt a stab of suspicion. The truth of the matter was that he didn’t know a thing about them. They could be spies for all he knew. Pulling the cleric to the side, he said, “It’s a game, but there are real world consequences to it at times. I need you to try to reach Apollo. Tell him that Roan needs to speak to Sariah.”
Infinite Assassins: Daggerland Online Novel 2 A LITRPG Adventure Page 7