by RW Krpoun
Dream III: The Wind of Souls
By RW Krpoun
Copyright 2017 by Randall Krpoun. All Rights Reserved
ISBN-13: 978-1548564193
ISBN-10: 1548564192
Dedicated to my wife Ann, and to the readers of my books. To you it is a passing entertainment, but to me it is the fulfillment of a lifelong dream.
The plot so far… (Spoiler alert)
While every author hopes that his words will burn themselves into his readers’ psyches, healing their spirits and uplifting their lives by the sheer power of his genius, the simple fact is that when you write the third book in a series you should lead with a recap.
Four ordinary guys (Shad, Derek, Fred, Jeff) fell asleep in the real world and awakened in another land, known as the Prison to the locals. The Prison is the place where magic, the practitioners of magic, and legendary beasts were banished. The four learned that the rise of role-playing games (including console, computer, and online games), fantasy fiction, and similar trends in the real world had translated into a quasi ‘belief’ which had transformed the Prison, forcing a level-based learning system upon the descendants of those who had been banished.
The four, along with numerous other gamers, had been abducted to deal with a group of people who had forced their way from the real world into the Prison, bringing with them powers which could not be matched by the locals. Calling themselves the Black Talons (after their gaming group) the four eventually fought their way to a solution and manage to return home.
Three years passed in the real world and the four went about their lives until Fred’s infant daughter was kidnapped; the abductors left a note behind demanding that the Black Talons return to the otherworld. The four reluctantly do so, which triggers the release of the child.
Upon their arrival they learn that past escape attempts from the Prison have created new worlds, called spheres, and that they had been brought to a sphere known as the Realm. To the Talons something seemed wrong about the entire business, and they eventually realized that they had been duped by a magic-wielder named Cecil Standbry. They pursued Cecil, having learned that Standbry had nefarious (if unclear) plans for yet another sphere called the Isle.
This pursuit culminated in the four choosing to walk through a temporary portal connecting the Ream with the Isle, knowing that Cecil has preceded them.
The Black Talons
The four friends connected in the Texas National Guard, serving in the same Infantry squad on a combat deployment to Iraq.
Shad: The group’s squad leader in the Guard, and the de facto leader of their milsim paintball team as well as the Game Master of their gaming group. Shad is cynical, judgmental, and utterly convinced of his own rightness in nearly any situation. Shad served an enlistment in the Regular Army as a Military Policeman before joining the Guard, and still misses the military. Before the Prison he managed a security systems company; after returning from the Prison he became a Constable.
Shad is thirty-three and of average height and unremarkable features, with dark hair worn as short as he can manage; a thick scar bisects his left eyebrow where the explosion of an IED slammed his head into the breech of an M-2 heavy machinegun. Shad seldom looks directly at those who he talks to unless he is irritated or angry; people are generally unimportant to him, and he often seems to be thinking about other things even when talking.
Derek: The group scapegoat and conscience, Derek is a quiet, generous man who has not yet lost his sense of wonder despite the trials that life has thrown at him; he also has an inner core of anger within him which is seen only rarely. In his role as the butt of the group Derek labors under allegations of a sexual attraction to goats and reminders of a deeply embarrassing moment at Gen Con. Thirty years old, Derek is slender with blondish hair, slightly shorter than average, a neat freak who manages a Radio Shack and lives off stress and caffeine. The same IED that scarred Shad left Derek with fused vertebrae and a steel rod along his spine.
Fred: A SAW gunner in the squad in Iraq, Fred is the calmest member of the group and something of a thinker. An ex-bouncer and long-service warehouseman for the Coors distributorship, Fred lives in epic squalor with his wife and infant daughter. Jeff is his closest friend and is the reason Fred joined the Guard in the first place. He is the only married member of the group, although Jeff has been divorced.
The biggest of the four, Fred is six-two and solid from years of warehouse work; before entering the Realm he had a growing beer gut from his Coors employee discount, but hard living and extended travel has slimmed him down. When possible he wears his brown hair cut in a burr on the sides, with the top long and braided into a rat tail.
Jeff: A high school Shop teacher, Jeff is the self-appointed intellectual of the four, and Fred’s best friend from childhood. Like Shad he completed an enlistment in the Regular Army, serving as a Ranger-qualified air defense operator. In Iraq he was the assistant squad leader, and a man with an uncanny knack for finding trouble.
Six foot, lean, and balding, Jeff wears his hair cropped short and keeps reaching for glasses that aren’t there; in the otherworlds both he and Derek have 20-20 vision. A man of bookish mien, Jeff makes an effort to maintain some style within the group.
As a group the four are as close as brothers, but are careful to conceal their feelings under a façade of bickering, put-downs, and ritualized insults.
Chapter One
Shad, an indistinct figure under a broad straw ‘coolie hat’ and a heavy fur cape, stepped out of a copse of leaf-less trees, his boots crunching on the snow-covered ground. After scanning the snowy landscape he moved forward and picked up a bundle of scrolls by the red cords that bound them together.
Hearing footsteps, he glanced to his right, spotting Fred trudging out of the trees fifty yards away, a bundle of books dangling from one large hand, Derek close on his heels. The slender Radio Shack manager was carrying two bundles of scrolls.
Shad headed in their direction. “Seen Jeff?” he asked when they were close enough to hear him without having to raise his voice.
“A hundred yards behind us,” Derek grinned. “He doubled back to get the last bundle while we got these and went to look for you. Best I can tell we were strung out on a line about a quarter mile long.”
“Your calculations weren’t far off.”
“More Cecil’s than mine-I was just applying his figures. The good news is that even with his tracking beads he’ll have a helluva time finding the bundle that Amid threw into the portal before we arrived. This is more screwed up than the D-Day airborne drops.”
“That works in our favor, although it being winter isn’t great news.”
“And late in the day,” Derek nodded. “We need to find a night camp.”
“There’s Jeff,” Fred observed as the Shop teacher emerged from the trees leading a donkey carrying a pack saddle.
“Where did he get a donkey?” Shad frowned.
“She’s mine,” Derek shrugged. “Starting gear.”
“Why is Jeff leading her instead of you?’
“Look, let’s find a place to camp and I’ll explain.”
“Good idea. This looks like a man-made trail,” Shad pointed at the narrow gap in the trees he had followed to join the others. “An old trail, but a trail all the same. We should follow it, see if anyone is still around. Or at least a place where we can camp.”
“I thought I mentioned a snow-free environment as a requirement,” Jeff said as he caught up with them. “This is clearly Derek’s fault.”
“I agree,” Shad conceded as Fred nodded. “Let the record so state.”
“Bite me,” that worthy sai
d absently. “Is that a building?” he pointed ahead.
Fred squinted through the growing shadows. “I think ‘ramshackle hut’ is the technical term.”
“It has a roof so it’s good enough,” Shad lengthened his stride. “No smoke that I can see.”
It was indeed a hut which had seen better days, with a small lean-to nearby that was in no better condition. Jeff unloaded the donkey and housed her in the lean-to while Derek cleaned out the single room dirt-floored hut and the other two gathered firewood.
Soon the four were gathered around a fire in the hut, the smoke escaping as best it could through a hole in the roof.
“Well, this is one thin step above sleeping in the open,” Shad eyed the sagging thatch overhead. “At least we could survive the roof caving in.”
“One good spark could cause us serious difficulties, though,” Fred observed as he stirred the stew he was making. Despite his slovenly living habits (which did not extend to personal hygiene) the big man was the best cook amongst the group.
“OK, let’s get our feet on the ground,” Shad rubbed his hands together near the fire. “We’re on the Isle, a sphere created when a group of predominately Asian banish-ees tried to escape the Prison; instead of getting back to Earth they just created another world.”
“Have any of you guys really considered the implications of that sort of thing?” Derek sighed, eyes glowing.
“No. And shut up. OK, I chose Panatiko, all seven levels; to judge from the red line around the ward-mark on my wrist I didn’t lose any experience. Anyone else lose any?” No one had. “OK, a Panatiko is a specialist magic-user who deals with curses, spirits, and Undead; we’re more commonly called warders.”
“So you’re a Ghostbuster,” Jeff grinned.
“Yeah, in job terms. What it means is I have access to a broad range of anti-Undead magic; to use ordinary spells I bind them to these little coins,” Shad displayed an etched brass coin about the size of a quarter with a square hole in the center. “The great thing about this class is that I have minimal weapon restrictions, and access to trap disarming skills because apparently some ghosts are really tricky.”
“What sort of weapon restrictions?” Fred asked as he started filling bowls.
“I can’t use a straight blade, and no missile weapons.” Shad displayed a forward-angled sword that looked like a long, less-broad-bladed Kukri. “It’s called a grass blade. I also have a cane dagger,” he drew a guard-less dagger whose blade was curved downward like a hook, with a large ring in the hardwood handle. “Plus a jitte, a sword-breaker.” He drew a short steel bar with a handle and a parallel hook.
“You can’t use a sword with a straight blade, but you can use a straight bar of steel?” Fred frowned.
“No edge. I didn’t make the rules,” Shad shrugged. “It makes sense if you understand the philosophy behind the local approach to the use of magic, which would fill a very thick book and is boring as hell.”
“Can you use regular magic?” Jeff asked.
“Yeah, some. Enough for our purposes,” Shad dumped coins from a pouch into an extra bowl. He was wearing a dark blue tunic, a brown leather harness with many tiny pockets, gray canvas trousers, and tall black boots that buckled. “I was surprised to find real boots on the price list. But I couldn’t find armor.”
“The culture seems to have merged with the cultures of other peoples caught up in the escape attempt and adapted to the new conditions,” Derek shrugged. “Nippon was a series of resource-poor islands, whereas this place…well, isn’t. What about your social class?”
“Koke, whatever that is. I don’t have all my class knowledge settled in yet.”
“It means ‘set apart’,” Derek accepted a bowl of stew from Fred. “Society consists of the Samurai, or noble class, the Hiemin, or peasants, and the Hanni, or non-persons. The Hanni are beggars, petty criminals, and the holders of certain occupations. The Koke are the exceptions, non-nobles with important skills.”
“Thank you, Mister Wizard.” Shad tasted the stew. “Pretty good, Fred.”
“This stuff is important,” Derek sighed. “What about skills?”
“Still settling in, but my class skills cover everything Undead and all things arcane. I put a point each in short edged weapons and the jitte, three points in swords, two points each in Identify, Etch, and Traps, and three points in History. I plan to pick up Otherworld Lore next level. Fred?”
“I am a seventh level Lamad, a healer specializing in battle wounds and buffs, basically a Jinxman; my charms are these hardwood disks. I can’t use edged weapons longer than a dagger and no missile weapons. I bought a full set of cooking gear, and some extra rations; by my count we have enough food for five days.” The big man leaned forward to dump his money into the bowl. “Oh, I’m Koke, too.” He was dressed much as Shad was except that his harness had larger pockets, and a tetsubo (a massive club whose eight flattened sides each sported a vertical row of rounded brass nail heads) leaned against his shoulder. “The neat thing about some of my healing charms is that they are line of sight up to thirty feet. I put anti-bug wards on you guys while I walked.”
“That is pretty cool. What did you go with in skills?” Derek asked.
“Four points in blunt impact, one in short edged, two in Footwork, three in Creature Lore, two each in Tracking and Wilderness Lore.”
“Good choices,” Shad nodded. “Derek, start counting the money.”
“No way.”
“What?”
“I’m a Samurai: I don’t deal with money, I have people for that,” the Radio Shack manager said with great dignity.
“You’re kidding,” Shad did a face-palm.
“Which leads to me,” Jeff grinned. “I am a seventh level Kambal, or personal retainer, specifically to Derek, who I knew would be a Samurai. I’m a combination valet and bodyguard, which makes me a Hiemin-ra, the upper class of the peasants.”
“I noted both of you were wearing dresses,” Fred grinned. “I always hoped you kids would end up together.”
Jeff shot the Healer the finger. “It’s a very good class with a bunch of useful skills built-in. Basically I am my master’s representative, so I can talk with anyone, am versed in a lot of etiquette, all sorts of stuff like that. Plus it’s basically a warrior class, so I’m a front line fighter, too.”
“Great, our front line is made up of transvestites,” Shad sighed. “Fred, you take care of the money; Jeff’s about as trustworthy as a torn condom.”
“No joke,” Fred held the bowl towards the Shop teacher. “Pony up.”
“Anyway, I took a point in short edged, four points in swords, two points in Dao-su, two points in Humanoid Lore, one point each in Appraise, Heraldry, and Hunting, and two points in Archery. Dao-su lets me use two dao.” He displayed the pair of single-edged Chinese swords. “I use the short recurve bow instead of the great bow.”
“So, about the dresses…” Fred began.
“They’re kimono,” Derek sighed, cutting him off. “This broad cloth belt is called an obi. Jeff doesn’t wear an obi and his kimono is pale brown to show that he is a household retainer. Ordinary peasants can’t wear them, and even retainers cannot wear silk or colors.”
“Lucky them,” Shad grinned, finishing his stew.
“Look, this place isn’t exactly old Japan, but it still has strong ties to Nippon,” Derek said earnestly. “The social structure is very rigid, and very enforced. It’s not ‘we’ll snub you’ enforced, but rather ‘we’ll gut you’ enforced.”
“Fine with me. I don’t want to wear a dress, silk or otherwise,” Shad shrugged. “Or wear weird-looking wood sandals with fat socks.”
“Whatever. I am a seventh level Ronin, a master-less Bushi Samurai.”
“You don’t look bushy,” Fred pointed out.
“Samurai means I am of the noble class, Bushi means I am trained as a warrior, basically a knight in feudal Earth. Being Bushi means I am an expert with the noble blades: the tanto dagger, w
akizashi short sword, and the katana, or long sword, plus the great bow, the dai-kyu. And I get a huge amount of lore about the noble social structure for free. I took two points each in Study, Fletching, Mon Lore, Law, Aikido, Iaijutsu, and Reading the Air.”
“Reading the Air?” Shad looked up from cleaning the cooking utensils. “That’s a skill?”
“This is a complex society in which appearances are very important,” Derek explained. “The language is high in context, basically ‘not what I say, but what I meant’ or ‘not what I said, but how I said it’.”
“What are those other skills?” Fred asked.
“A Mon is a family crest worn on the clothing, like a simple coat of arms. You also wear the Mon of your master, and other allegiances. The placement and style of Mons says a great deal, and the skill also extends to all Samurai personal heraldry. Iaijutsu is basically the fast-draw skill. Aikido is a martial art derived from the use of the sword; it isn’t usually learned by bushi, but I thought it would give me an edge with swordsmanship. I forgot I was supposed to take Undead,” Derek admitted.
“No harm, I’ve got that fully covered,” Shad stacked the bowls together. “Notice the pottery in our mess kits, as opposed to metal in our last two spheres? And we have spoons and forks-what happened to chop sticks and sushi?”
“Nippon was a rice-based culture with lots of coastline,” Derek explained. “Here we’re inland in a cooler climate. The food will be more Chinese, with a dose of Western fare thrown in.”
“What about other races?” Fred asked Jeff.
“They dragged along a variety,” the Kambal sighed. “Goblins, Elves, Orcs, and Ogres are the main groups. Dwarves came along for the ride, too.”
“We can’t ever get away from the freakin’ Elves,” Shad snapped. “What about dragons?”
“Didn’t make the cut,” Fred shrugged. “But we don’t need them. Otherwise, figure a lot of variety in wildlife.”
“And an even bigger variety in Undead,” the warder advised. “They are thick on the ground. I’ll know more when everything settles into my head.”