“You were asking about supplies?” he said.
“Before getting to resource stuff, mind telling me a little bit about where you come from? I know your people used to live in the Stone Forest, but it sounds like your settlements are in the Skargill Mountains, now?”
He nodded. “Our histories from the migration have been passed by mouth through the generations. I gather there is as much myth as fact. Regardless, we retreated into the chasms shortly after Ishildar’s fall and the great petrification.”
“When the forest turned to stone, you mean?”
He nodded. “I assume you can imagine the difficulty in finding food where nothing living grows.”
“Yeah. Got a decent handle on that.”
He smirked, another departure from the previous smoldering stare. “Anyway, we’ve been in the Skargills since. My family lives in the royal aerie, a cliffside roost we call Chasm View. Those we protect have a home in the bottom of one of the chasms. A few generations back, we tried building another settlement on the walls of one of the canyons. But the site just wasn’t defensible…too prone to attacks by rocs and harpies. Chasm View’s location seems unique in the area, with a set of deep cracks that provide shelter. Anyway, given the choice of enemies, I prefer defending people from basilisks, king scorpions, and sidewinders. The harpies are horrid.”
Devon was trying to pay attention to the history, but all she could think about were these new mob types he was mentioning. Even with the war and Hazel’s disappearance and her people’s status as evacuees, her gamer self immediately itched to head into the Skargills and get some XP.
She took a breath. Later. Hopefully.
Or maybe she could actually justify it as some sort of power-leveling and combat-training exercise.
Anyway… Later. Hopefully.
“You keep calling yourself the protector of your people. So the royal family helps destroy threats. Do you have other fighters?” She’d been hoping for good news on the build-a-worthwhile-army front, but it was starting to sound suspiciously like the Skevalli were a bunch of noob-like civilians.
“A fair question. And the answer is somewhat complicated.” He smoothed his trousers, then plucked at the fabric, rubbing it between his thumb and forefinger. Given how slathered he’d been in oil, Devon wondered whether the cloth was getting all gooey and stuck to his skin. It didn’t sound pleasant, but she wasn’t going to back down now that she’d managed to get him dressed.
“Common Skevalli aren’t helpless. They have a standing militia that fights off many of the attacks—”
“Actually, another question. You make it sound like the attacks are constant.”
He shrugged, finally letting go of his trousers, but then starting to fuss with the sleeve of his tunic. A toss of his head sent a puff of some sort of scented oil fragrance from his mane. How much time did he spend oiling his body and working scent into his hair every day? Way longer than it took her to pull on yoga pants and run a brush through her hair, that was for sure.
“My father, the king, would be sorely disappointed to hear that I’ve been so lax with my tongue. I wasn’t supposed to mention our difficulties.”
Oh. Great. She’d heard this sort of game storyline before. Player meets a new character, representative of a settlement she hasn’t visited before. The settlement is in trouble and in need of a hero.
Normally, she wouldn’t be bothered by the cliche plot. It was always nice to have an objective, a good reason to head out and kill monsters for fat loot and glorious XP. But she’d kinda hoped that the Skevalli would be helping her, not the other way around.
Or maybe she was just being cynical, reading too much into what he’d said.
“But since you mentioned them, might as well finish the job then, eh?”
He sighed and twirled a strand of hair around his finger. “It’s always a struggle, scratching out a home in the Skargills. I’ve mentioned how my people’s stories may be as much myth as truth. In any case, when the stone sickness began to creep through our forest, freezing the trees and sending their leaves cutting down through the air as stone blades, the royal seer retreated to the reflecting pool and fasted for fourteen days. When she returned, she declared that our people would be isolated in the Skargill’s maze of rifts for centuries. We would be in constant danger from the fearsome beasts that inhabit the gorges. The attacks would worsen up until the very end, and the royal family must devote everything to protecting the innocents, especially those with no griffons to call their own. And we must preserve the First Son’s Duty. Someday, a hero would come, the seer said. And the eldest prince of every generation must stand ready to bind our people to her in the most enduring manner possible.”
“Uh…?”
He nodded. “All my life, I’ve been groomed to become your consort and…to offer myself in marriage to the Keeper of Ishildar so that our fates might be—”
“Hold on a second. Sorry, but I’m not hunting for a husband.” Especially not an NPC. What the hell was Veia thinking?
“Then I’ve failed. I was trained in the arts of wooing. Every morning, the royal servants have exfoliated my skin, rubbed tonics into my scalp to encourage my mane.”
“Okay, lemme just stop you there. Can’t I help you guys without this whole marriage thing? If it’s just a problem with basilisks, I have a hundred or more starborn who need something to hunt. And if you guys have food and supplies and stuff, it benefits all of us to get rid of your problems.”
“Every day at noon, I have retreated to my chamber to execute one thousand crunches.” He lifted his shirt to expose his flexing abs.
Devon grabbed his wrist and pulled the hem of his tunic from his fingers. The cloth fell back to cover his stomach. “Isn’t there some Skevalli maiden you want to marry? Maybe someone that rides around in a leather bikini?”
“I suppose I’ve never thought of it. My parents would have cast me out had I shown the slightest inattention to my duty and birthright.” He sighed and dropped his head. “They may cast me out still when they hear that I’ve failed to charm you.”
“Dude, listen. We’re going to help your people anyway.”
He cast her a look filled with hope. “And you’ll explain to my father?”
Prince Kenjan is offering you a quest: Nobody’s Boy Toy
Convince the Skevalli king and queen that their son hasn’t failed them when his attempts to woo you were unsuccessful. Ishildar and the Skevalli people can stand together without the rite of marriage to formalize the alliance.
First Objective: Eradicate the basilisk nest nearest Vulture’s Rift
Reward: An audience with King Jildan and Queen Kiela
Accept? Y/N
With a sigh of relief, Devon accepted the quest.
“I’ll make plans with my fighters tonight. We’ll show the basilisks what happens when they mess with Ishildar’s vassals, okay?”
He growled and gave her a smoldering look.
“Uh, hey…not necessary, okay?”
“Right.” He pressed his fingers to his temples. “Habit. I may require help in re-learning my mannerisms.”
She clapped him on the shoulder. “Maybe you should spend a little time with Greel.”
Chapter Sixteen
“HEY, SO SORRY about Stonehaven. Sucks,” Jeremy said as he trotted up to her. “What are your plans, boss lady?”
Something about his ever-present, shit-eating grin was just too much for Devon today. She shook her head as she tried to step around him. Jeremy sidestepped to keep her attention.
Devon gritted her teeth. Greel, Hailey, Torald, and his druid friend Magda were waiting for her at the edge of the city. Between Greel, aka “the chicken whisperer” and the druid, someone in the party ought to be able to speak to the windsteed herd and figure out Hazel’s whereabouts. Devon already regretted the time she’d lost in finding out answers about the little scout’s fate—she shouldn’t have needed Prince Kenjan to r
emind her about the windsteeds’ special capabilities. And she most definitely didn’t need to waste time satisfying Jeremy’s idle curiosity.
“Now we solidify defenses here and ready our forces to strike back at the demons,” she said. “Honestly, Jeremy, it’s not a good time.” As she spoke, she pulled up the settlement interface to check on Jarleck’s progress. Before meeting with Prince Kenjan, she’d spoken with her fortifications master about constructing defenses around Temple Square and its immediate surrounds. They couldn’t count on the repelling effects of the Veian Temple to hold back the demons indefinitely.
Settlement: Ishildar
Fortifications
Status: Unfortified
Completed:
7 x Stone Guardian
Required for advancement to Fortified Camp:
1 x Bulwark (in progress - 10%)
3 x Watch Towers (in progress - 20%)
4 x Archer Platforms with Screens
Dispelling the interface, she managed to sidestep and squeeze by Jeremy, but unfortunately, he turned and fell in beside her. “So that’s it? That’s your strategy?”
“Right now, yes.”
“I…see.”
“Listen, I’ve got a lot going on. A follower to find. A society of griffon riders to protect. And I’m stressed because I always do crappy at base battles. I never know when to play offense or defense, and this case is way worse than a typical battle for control of a base. Obviously.”
“If by obviously, you mean that the other guys outnumber us like ten to one and have an undefeatable archdemon, yeah. Obviously.”
“Do you have anything useful to say, Jeremy?”
“You mean my sparkling wit and great fashion sense aren’t enough anymore?”
Devon didn’t answer, but rather hung a sharp right onto a cross street, her sudden movement cutting him off. Never one to get the hint, Jeremy hurried around to her other side and drew even with her again. His ridiculous feather hat plume bounced as he walked, occasionally kissing the top of her head.
She batted it away. “I’m serious when I say I don’t like base battles, actually. If you have any suggestions on defenses, I’m all ears.”
“And actually, I didn’t chase you down just to be annoying. It turns out I do have a few ideas.”
Just a few more blocks separated them from the edge of the savanna and her designated meeting spot. She slowed her steps. “Okay, spit it out then, I guess.”
“Okay first of all, you’re not off to a terrible start. Abandoning Stonehaven wasn’t the best opening to a protracted control battle, but if you hadn’t kept the pressure on by teleporting people in and striking out from the Shrine to Veia, you wouldn’t even have a toehold. The problem is, you’re still losing ground.”
“I got that much, genius.”
He smirked. “So now you have to change things up. The thing with this kind of control mechanic is the demons can’t actually move Stonehaven from contested to neutral and start their possession timer as long as you keep just one structure contested. One-percent contested even. So I think from here you should do the bare minimum to hold control or partial control of the Shrine to Veia. It’s the hardest structure for them to take because of its natural defense against demons, and you have at least two people who can teleport in there, straight into the heart of Stonehaven.”
“And then I redirect my strike teams elsewhere?”
He nodded. “Exactly. The problem with attacking inside Stonehaven is the demons are way too strong there. It’s a suicide mission every time. But they have the same problem you were running into with a hamlet-sized settlement, only it’s worse for them. They don’t have room inside the walls for their full army. If I were you, I’d start sending parties of players to make guerrilla strikes at the edges of their force. There might be ten times more of them than us, but as far as I know, the demons can’t respawn. They can’t even rez the higher-level NPCs like you can.”
“A war of attrition.”
He shrugged. “For now I think it’s your best bet. Plus, your guys will gain XP.”
“Okay, I guess that makes a little sense.”
“I’m more than a pretty face and a songbird’s voice, you know.” He patted his cheek and made a little kissy face.
“Ew.” She pushed him back. “So do me a favor, then.”
He took off his hat and bowed. “Yes, boss lady?”
Devon rolled her eyes. “Let Hezbek know she can slow the teleportations into Stonehaven. Then can you please work with Aijal and Chen and get a couple of parties together to start attacking from the fringes. Advanced NPCs and players only, got it? Aijal was supposed to be organizing raid groups before all this happened anyway.”
“As you wish, Highness.”
***
“Man, talk about addicted. You’re worse than me—sleeping in-game. That’s dedication.” The druid, Magda, laughed as she nudged Hailey with her elbow. None of the waiting party members had noticed Devon’s approach, and they stood in a loose semi-circle at the end of Ishildar’s street, their gazes turned to the savanna and the dark patches where demon groups gathered.
Hailey shrugged and laughed, but it seemed a little forced. “I guess I wasn’t paying attention to my Fatigue bar. That and the sunbeam felt pretty good.”
“What’s this?” Devon asked as she stepped into the circle.
“When you sent me to round these guys up, I found Hailey totally conked out on a bench. Her inspect window even had a sleeping status.”
Devon couldn’t help noticing the little wrinkle that formed between her friend’s eyebrows as she listened to Magda’s explanation. Even if she wouldn’t admit it, Hailey was sensitive. Given Devon’s theory that something in Hailey’s real-life situation was forcing her friend to escape into the game, she wouldn’t blame Hailey for feeling defensive when teased about her play hours.
The best way to help her friend out here was to change the subject, so Devon quickly turned to Greel. “So. Think you can get anything out of the windsteeds? Or do you only speak chicken?”
She noticed that Torald had a hard time keeping a straight face after that comment, so she avoided eye contact. She didn’t want him to bust out laughing; Greel was hard enough to deal with without being the subject of ridicule.
“I suppose your ignorance is understandable,” Greel said, “seeing as you have been unable to acquire the Animal Tongues skill despite a moderate amount of effort applied in that direction.”
Devon clenched her jaw. How did Greel know she’d been trying to pick up the skill after the awakened races arrived?
“Oh yes,” he said, eyebrow raised as he straightened his shoulders self-importantly. “It’s no secret that you’ve been trying. It’s the staring contests with the livestock that give it away. And for your information, as mundane creatures lacking the awakening of the windsteeds and corvids, the chickens don’t exactly speak. Our communication is more of a sharing of emotional states.”
Torald snorted, but quickly covered it by pretending to cough. Devon blinked, clamping her lips into a line. But she finally couldn’t help it, and the laugh came bursting out.
“And how do the chickens react when you share your angst over flaws in the settlement’s legal documentation? Do they transmit sympathy when you rage about imprecise language?”
Greel narrowed his eyes. “I’ll pretend that’s a serious question. For your information, Sugarcakes and I often commiserate over the difficulties in our young lives. She was just a chick when the goblins attacked Emmaree’s settlement near the Fortress of Shadows. Her mother was killed in the attack, and there was no regurgitated mash for her or her siblings. All but one of the other chicks died before we rescued her.”
“Sugarcakes?” Hailey asked. “I’m guessing you named her?”
Greel turned an icy glare on the Seeker. “Her feathers reminded me of confectioner’s sugar when she was young.”
“Ohh…kay�
��”
“Anyway,” Devon said, gesturing toward the savanna where the windsteeds grazed in a loose cluster. “Let’s see what we can find out about Hazel.”
As the group started toward the herd, motion at the edge of Devon’s vision caught her attention. She whirled to see another windsteed approaching from the east—parallel to the city and within the demon-free strip of grass—at a thundering gallop. Froth dripped from the corners of the mare’s mouth, and sweat pasted her coat to her flanks. Strangely, it appeared that the horse was carrying something in her teeth.
All at once, Devon’s stomach dropped toward her feet. She recognized that horse. Hazel had been riding her the last time Devon had seen the little scout.
Chapter Seventeen
DEVON HUNG IN the air twenty feet above the edge of the savanna, her Levitation spell maintaining a soft cushion under her feet. Behind her, the rest of the party waited expectantly for her report. With Jarleck’s spyglass clutched in one hand, she ran her eyes over the grassland to the south.
Before, there’d been a wide stretch of rolling, grass-covered hills broken only by scattered acacia trees, crumbling ruins of the Khevshir vassaldom, and the occasional rock outcrop where lions and hippogryphs lounged. Now, craters pitted the landscape and black scars smeared across the scene, long streaks where the grass had burned. Farther from the site of the former player camp, the burned areas were widely scattered and smaller, little patches where stray embers had landed and caught. But nearer the camp, the char grew denser and denser until scorched earth replaced all traces of grass. As for the player camp, nothing remained except for a glassy black bowl where the earth had been melted by Archdemon Gaviroth’s hellfire.
Devon pressed the spyglass to her eye and examined the bowl. Baking under the midday sun, the wavy surface threw back glints of light. The glass itself was dark, almost black, with just a hint of translucence in the higher ripples. In the center, the smooth crater seemed to glow from within, a deep red that made her think the core of the crater was still molten.
Throne of the Ancients: A LitRPG Adventure (Stonehaven League Book 6) Page 11