The Forsaken God: The Realms Book Five: (An Epic LitRPG Series)

by C. M. Carney

  Gryph pushed the odd encounter with the Merchant from his mind, spent the needed Perk Points and got to work. He sent an order to the Occulorum and beams of multi-chromatic energy burst from the bottom of the rectangular orb. With the precision of a master artist the beams of energy carved curves and lines into Aurvendiel’s new bark. Gryph and Sillendriel watched, their joyous faces aglow like children at a New Year’s fireworks show.

  As he watched, a part of him wondered at the unlikeness of it all. How had he found exactly what he needed when he needed it? Assimilating Ritual Magic from the Scourge. Learning of the damaged rune-form. Discovering Exuum’s journal in the ancient library. Defeating the tomb’s guardians to win the Occulorum. Convincing the mad mage Syndravion to give him access to the device. If any one of those events hadn’t happened, every man, woman, child and automaton in the Valley would now be in dire trouble.

  The Source provides, Vonn’s accented voice said inside his head.

  Another voice, that of his father countered the argument. Stop looking for meaning where there is none. There is nothing mystical about this. You sought knowledge. You fought for knowledge. Now, you will use that knowledge to protect your people. You, and your compatriots did this. Gryph scowled. He’d never been a believer in higher powers, but his pathological distaste for agreeing with his dead father soured him to the atheistic view of these events.

  Sillendriel’s hand on his arm tore him from the debate and he smiled. I suppose the how doesn’t matter.

  It took a little over an hour for the Occulorum to complete its work, and despite his exhaustion, the process riveted Gryph. Ideas for new rune-forms filled his mind. Could he create a Node? How would he produce enough mana to activate the Path of Understanding?

  He now understood the supply and demand issues that faced all leaders. He was at a bottleneck where his ability to earn Perk Points lagged far behind his need for the precious resource. Is there another way to acquire them?

  The chirping of the Occulorum pulled him from his thoughts. The device hovered to him and Gryph extended his hand. The artifact folded its various extension into itself and landed on his palm, almost alive in its movements.

  “Good job,” Gryph told the device and immediately felt foolish. He smiled at the elves, stashed the artifact into his satchel and examined the rune-form. He stretched mana through the byways of the intricate carving and was ecstatic as it flowed freely.

  Gryph opened the rune-form’s interface and his mouth dropped. As a Master tier rune-form, the cloaking field required a stunning 100,000 mana to activate. He exhaled in relief when he realized that he would not have to pay that price. While the damage had caused the cloaking field’s effectiveness to wane, the rune-from itself had never failed and was therefore still active. It took 1,000 mana points per day to maintain the field, but the empyrean tree easily bore that burden.

  “You’ve done it,” Sillendriel said, tears of joy welling in her eyes.

  “I did not do this alone.” She closed her hand around his and a tingle of warmth shot up his arm.

  “The people of this valley owe you a great debt Stone Lord,” Barrendiel said, extending a hand.

  “I do no less for my people than you would for yours,” Gryph said, grasping the elf lord’s hand firmly.

  Barrendiel lowered his head in agreement, then excused himself, leaving Gryph alone with Sillendriel. Gryph cursed himself for acting like a teenager again, remembering Sillendriel’s warning of the dangers a relationship could lead to.

  “Well …” he started to say and then paused getting lost in her eyes. He could not pull himself away and the silence was heavy with possibility. Finally, the empyrean dryad lowered her gaze and spoke.

  “We are both exhausted. Rest. I will see you again soon.”

  She kept her gaze down, only looking back up at him when he nodded in agreement. She released her grip on his arm, backed towards the tree, a sad smile crossing her face as her body molded into the trunk. Then she was gone, joined once more with Aurvendiel.

  Now that he was alone weariness gripped him. With one last, hopeful look at the tree, Gryph walked towards the nearest Port Circle. On his way home, he cycled through a new round of prompts.

  Congratulations, you have completed a Quest.

  You have earned 100,000 XP for completing the quest Secure the Field, Secure the Future. You have repaired the rune-form that powers the Cloaking Field and protects the valley from scrying magics.

  You have earned 50,000 bonus XP for repairing a Master tier rune-form.

  You have reduced Raathiel’s XP Deficit.

  You have reduced Raathiel’s XP deficit by 150,000 XP. Current XP Deficit: - 671,277. You have reduced

  He reached his suite of rooms, stripped off his battle gear and eased into the near scalding water in his stone tub. Within seconds he was in his Soul Reverie.

  8

  The heat from the water soothed Gryph’s body as his mind sunk into the other world of the Soul Reverie. At first it resisted him, but Gryph’s will applied steady pressure and after a moment the Reverie opened to him. Despite his apprehension, relief flowed through him. Perhaps tonight I will rest.

  Entering the meditative state was like easing into a dream. He floated on a viscous semi-solid ocean, the up and down swells bringing ease to his frayed mind. He inhaled and closed his eyes, hoping that this time he would find respite.

  The motion soothed him and the tension in his muscles softened. Spheres bubbled through the surface of the liquid and it roiled like storm churned waters, the globes’ emergence disrupted the calm vastness of the sea. The currents twisted his body as he crested a wave and his foot grazed a sphere. A distant sound of laughter flowed over him and he opened his eyes in longing. A small bubble bobbed just out of his reach. This past life was joyful, one where he’d laughed openly and often.

  I cannot remember the last time I felt that free.

  He reached out, set to draw the sphere to him, desperate to embrace the life inside. Hadn’t he done enough? Hadn’t he earned the right to be happy?

  But, Gartheniel’s warning came to him. “Do not pine for the echoes of the past. They are shallow remnants of what was, and though they are seductive, their promises are often false. The memories can be jumbled, out of order, and therefore suspect. We enter the Reverie to reflect, to remember, but we cannot live there any more than the eagle can live under the sea.”

  With a struggle, Gryph closed his fingers into a fist and let the pleasant echo of what once was flow past him. He now understood that the worries and questions that entered the Reverie with him, drew past lives like moths to a flame.

  “There is no respite in our past lives, only in the spaces between them,” Gartheniel had told him. “Our lives, all of them, remain tethered to our souls. Some will buoy us. Others will drag us down. You must be at peace when entering the Reverie, or you risk drowning under the weight of the joys and the sins of your past lives.”

  Be at peace? Gryph thought wryly. I’ve had barely a moment of peace since entering the Realms.

  Gryph drifted, trying to focus on the good things he’d accomplished since entering this strange world of magic and danger. He’d made friends. And lost friends. He’d given Brynn her memories back. But, you did not save her. She is in more danger now than ever. He’d defeated the Barrow King, saved the entire planet from enslavement and ended the Scourge. And yet the evil still comes. The dangers grow ever fiercer.

  Despite his best attempts to ease his mind the maelstrom of worries buffeted the edge of his thoughts. In response, the waves grew fiercer, pulling him up and over their crests, adding momentum as he rushed into the troughs. Vibrations built below the surface causing the swells to grow and he gained speed.

  Ahead, shrouded in the mists, a vortex began to churn the shining silver sea. Flashes of lightning arced through the fog, drawing a distant rumble of voices to him. Though he could not make out the words, he knew this was the past life that had troubled him th
ese long weeks. With a twinge of effort, he turned himself towards the whirlpool and let the current take him.

  Each passing second brought the voices into sharper focus. They were rumbling, powerful, epic. Each voice could command armies, nations, entire worlds. These were the voices of gods, three male and one female.

  “Where is he?” one of the males intoned, the man’s spastic voice frayed Gryph’s nerves. "We cannot do this without him.”

  Gryph flowed up and over the largest wave yet. Ahead, a soul bubble the size of a blue whale pushed up through the surface, its disruptive influence was the source of the massive currents drawing Gryph in as inexorably as the gravity well of Jupiter.

  The man who’d spoken shimmered across the surface of the sphere like a distorted reflection. He was thin, wiry and wore clothes sewn together from a dozen mismatched patterns.

  “We can,” said another male voice. The image in the sphere shifted and a tall, thin god loomed over Gryph. He wore impeccable white robes and bore perfectly groomed hair. “We just won’t survive.”

  “The traitor. The coward, he has forsaken us,” a cultured female voice spat, menace twining at the edges of her tone. “This will be the ruin of the Realms.” From beneath a pair of curved horns, crimson eyes glared into the distance. Despite the fierceness in the gaze Gryph could see her fear.

  “We could run as well,” the wiry man said. His fingers fidgeted, gripping and releasing a crooked staff of flowing magma. “Back home to the Outer Realms.”

  “That is the coward’s way,” another god, this one clad in golden armor, said and drew a massive two-handed sword.

  “And the Dread God would find us,” the woman said, fear dimming the fire in her eyes. “There is nowhere we can hide that he will not find us.”

  “Tell that to the coward,” the golden god raged. “Where is he, if not hiding?”

  “We will do it without him,” The white-clad god’s eyes flared to brightness. A moment later the other gods’ eyes also flared, and they gasped as new understanding filled them.

  “This war we wage is cosmic. If the Dread God survives this day, he will learn what we have learned, and the Realms as we know them will not survive. There is no hiding from this responsibility. We brought this fate upon ourselves, all of us. The others are gone. We make our stand here, now, or we will join them.” The white-clad god drew a large war-hammer, and it flared with white light. “Are you with me?”

  The white-robed god stared at the others. One by one the other gods nodded. The golden god gripped the hilt of his sword and the blade gilded with a halo of yellow fire. The horned goddess drew a war stave from her back and extended it to spear length, its tip shimmering with crimson energy. Even the wiry god agreed, pushing orange power into his staff.

  As if recognizing their pact, a crackling boom like the sound of a hundred bolts of lightning tore the air and shook the ground. The four gods turned towards the sound as a wave of wind, sand and rock roared towards them. The white god raised a hand and a shimmering field of light expanded from his palm.

  The white-clad god turned, casting a last, desperate search for their missing comrade, the one who had forsaken them. There was nothing but thick, endless fog, and Gryph saw resignation slump the white-clad god’s shoulders.

  “I hope you find peace brother.”

  The sand storm pummeled against the shield. The air screamed, and the world went dark, before the onslaught of scouring earth flowed up and over the shield. A moment later the shield failed, revealing a lone figure walking towards them with easy confidence.

  “He is here,” the horned goddess said, failing to hide the fear in her voice. “The Dread God has come.” The others readied weapons and spells.

  The swirling sea pulled Gryph towards the massive bubble. It was so large that it became Gryph’s entire world. This close in the rip currents were furious, and they spun him about, tearing his focus from the ancient vision.

  No, no, no! I must see. I must know who the Dread God is.

  The current pulled Gryph under, scraping him along the underside of the soul bubble like a man being keelhauled. He panicked, desperate for breath. Could he drown in the Soul Reverie? He forced himself to calm and waited until he popped back to the surface, gasping for air and direction.

  His eyes found focus again and saw the newcomer moving through the haze, parting it like an icebreaker sailing through a polar ocean. Soon he stood before them, a massive man clad in black armor. Familiar eyes stared from the ancient memory right into Gryph’s soul.

  “So, this is how it ends,” the man said. Gryph knew both his voice and his smug smile.

  Aluran. Bechard. Morrigan.

  “This is where you end,” the white-clad god said, and as one, the four gods attacked.

  A violent swell smashed Gryph into the soul bubble with enough force to knock the wind from his lungs. He struggled to draw breath. His face crushed against the rubbery surface of the bubble and he tried to push himself inside.

  The bubble rippled and a wave of force cast him backwards. He tumbled head over heels into and through the closest wave, then bounced across the surface like the thin stones he and Brynn used to skip across Bow Lake as children.

  No, I need to see more, Gryph roared, begging whatever motive force controlled the swells to push him back to the bubble. Instead, a froth of bubbles exploded through the thick silver sea tearing Gryph away from the massive bubble. No, no, no! I must know what happened to these gods. Then a realization that had been skirting at the edges of his consciousness, buried by the power of the scene, punched him full in the brain. I need to know what happened to me!

  Gryph was pulled from the Reverie returning to consciousness with a heart-rending jerk. Water sloshed from his bath as he fought to regain his composure. Slowly his heart rate calmed, and the fog of adrenaline cleared his mind and he gave voice to his realization.

  “I was one of the Old Gods.”

  9

  After several failed attempts to force himself back into his Reverie, Gryph toweled himself off and pulled on fresh clothes. He needed to know how the battle between Morrigan and the other gods had ended. He needed to know which of the gods he was. His nerves frayed, and his body hummed with nervous energy. He knew from experience that in his current state, the Reverie would resist him as fiercely as a hurricane. There was nothing to do but be patient.

  I need a distraction.

  He looked inward drawing his interface to the fore. He tapped a small castle icon in the corner of his vision and his city database went active. Various icons filled this vision detailing everything from the city’s population to its current supplies of food and raw materials, current projects, security alerts and every other bit of information Gryph needed to be an effective ruler.

  Several icons blinked with yellow light, showing items that needed attention, but were not urgent. He ignored those, trusting that Grimliir, his Steward and right hand, would tend to them. Thankfully, nothing blared red and the vast majority flared green, meaning all was well.

  Not for the first time, Gryph wondered at the familiarity of it all. The interface was very reminiscent of the banner, the semi-sentient AI’s that he’d used back on Earth. Even the green, yellow and red was reminiscent of the ubiquitous traffic lights of his home universe.

  Vonn had explained it. The Game Mechanics, the rules that governed the Realms similarly to how the laws of physics governed Earth’s universe, adapted to each user to deliver information in a manner that was easily understood. Cultural differences, levels of intelligence and other factors could influence how the Game Mechanics presented themselves. It was no surprise then, that the level of urgency of a task manifested as the familiar color-coded traffic lights of his home.

  Satisfied that nothing needed his immediate attention, Gryph opened up the city’s Quest Log. A slew of open quests presented themselves. Most of them revolved around acquiring items, knowledge, supplies or resources, but several involved hunting and slaying
the bands of rogue monsters still plaguing the reopened city.

  Dar Thoriim was huge, filled with endless warrens of tunnels, storerooms and long forgotten chambers. In the millennia that the main part of the ancient Thalmiir city had been closed to the world, myriad creatures had made the outskirts home, some of them quite dangerous.

  Gryph searched through the list and selected one promising quest.

  You have accepted the quest Cleanse the Underpass.

  The UnderPass was once a wide avenue leading from the heart of Dar Thoriim to the edge of the Nimmerian city of Xygarrion. When Xygarrion fell to ruin, the Thalmiir sealed off both ends of the massive tunnel. Gryph, Stone Lord of Dar Thoriim, has ordered that the UnderPass be cleared of monsters.

  Quest Giver: Grimliir - Difficulty: Moderate - Reward: Varies (See Monster Bounty Addendum for Rewards - XP: Varies, based upon participation.

  Gryph notified the system that he would not be taking any financial or material reward for his participation, since ultimately he’d be taking with one hand to pay the other. Plus, he wasn’t fighting for material gain. He was fighting to ease some stress. He ignored the judgmental voice at the back of his mind berating him for getting joy out of killing. Gryph donned his armor, pulled his Soul Bound Satchel over his head and grabbed his spear.

  Some things just need killing, Lex’s phantom voice said in his mind. Aluran’s face, the same face shared by the Dread God Morrigan, swam into his vision. And some dudes positively demand killing.

  He exited his chambers and chuckled to himself, his mind’s eye drawing a vision of his loyal NPC, and his infamous grin to the fore. He rounded the corner and walked headlong into flesh and blood Lex. The squat NPC squealed in fright, his voice sounding significantly less manly than his flowing beard made him seem.