Temple of Sorrow: A LitRPG and GameLit Adventure (Stonehaven League Book 1)

by Carrie Summers

  Chuckling, the woman pulled the bag from her grip and tucked the edge into the waistband of her pants. Though it didn’t seem like it should stay that way, it didn’t slip.

  “Gotcha,” Devon said. “So I’m not allowed to leave until I repay the Tribe of Uruquat for help I didn’t ask for?” She sidled to the door, an opening covered with a flap of dried leaves.

  “Like I said, it’s not up to me,” Hezbek said. “Uruquat was not pleased to learn I’d used so many resources to rescue you and reset your spirit’s binding point away from that dangerous ruin.”

  “Wait, you reset my spawn point, too?”

  The woman nodded. “In case you got into trouble again.”

  “Shouldn’t I have control over that?”

  “Ordinarily. But seeing as you were unconscious…”

  Shaking her head, Devon lifted the flap and stepped into the late-afternoon heat. A wide circle of bare earth had been cleared from the jungle, and small huts stood in a loose ring around the open area’s edges. In the center of the circle, a massive stone chair carved with intricate designs towered over a fire ring filled with dead coals. The chair’s back was to her, but judging by the hide-clad elbow resting on the arm, it was currently occupied. As for the rest of the tribe, either they were away on tasks, or they were resting inside the huts.

  The sun hadn’t yet fallen behind the tree canopy, and flies buzzed lazily in the sweltering heat. Sweat beaded on her forehead, stinging as it ran into her eyes. Devon glanced longingly at the shade within the forest. There didn’t seem to be anything actually keeping her here, despite Hezbek’s claim. Over the tops of the trees, she spotted a few of the spires in the ancient city. What had the wisp called it? Ishildar? It might be an interesting place to visit later, but right now, she needed to get outfitted. The village didn’t appear to have shops, and the only quests she’d been offered had been for the creation of foul potions.

  Better to move on.

  Devon slipped toward the edge of the encampment, gaze flitting between the chair and Hezbek’s tent. Just as she stepped into the shade of the jungle, a roar came from beside the fire. Slowly, a gray-green head with scraggly hair rose above the back of the chair. The head sat on a squashed neck and shoulders as wide as a semi-truck’s grill. Devon swallowed as the figure turned, ungainly feet kicking stones from the fire ring.

  Tusks stuck up from the thing’s lower jaw, and a heavy unibrow beetled over beady little eyes.

  “You defy Uruquat?” the creature—okay, if Devon was honest, she was pretty sure “ogre” was the appropriate description—yelled.

  “I… uh.” She turned and ran, crashing into the tangle of brush beneath the trees.

  Vines grasped at her legs like steel cords. Heavy footfalls pounded the packed earth behind her. Devon dove, trying to swim through the dense thicket. An iron grip closed around her ankle, and Uruquat dragged her back into the clearing. She squirmed and raised her hands in self-defense. The heavy club—more of a tree trunk really—slammed down on her face.

  You have gained a special attribute point: +1 Bravery.

  Though often leading to ill-advised acts, Bravery gives you a bonus in challenges beyond your experience.

  Congratulations! Special attributes are rare traits. Unlike basic attributes, you may only increase special attribute scores via your actions—you will not be able to spend points to raise them.

  You take 135 damage.

  You have been slain by Uruquat.

  Respawning….

  Devon came to on Hezbek’s cot. She sighed. “So what am I supposed to do in order to repay your tribe?”

  Hezbek sucked her teeth and pounded at something with a mortar and pestle. “Perhaps you best go ask Uruquat.”

  Chapter Four

  DEVON TIPTOED TOWARD the fire ring and Uruquat’s throne. She really wasn’t eager to strike up a conversation, much less eat the end of his club again. Fortunately, she seemed to have lost aggro when she died, meaning she was no longer the person he wanted to kill more than anything in the world. The ogre simply looked down on her, beady little eyes narrowed in a glare. His weapon leaned against the far side of the stone chair.

  Uruquat wore just three pieces of clothing, thick pants that ended in a ragged hem just below the knees plus a pair of forearm guards that extended over his elbows. The armor looked well made, and the ogre probably got a defensive bonus from his thick skin. But he didn’t appear as powerful as the rest of the tribe seemed to think. She wondered what had made a group of humans decide to swear fealty to a semi-intelligent brute.

  “You sorry for disrespect Uruquat?” the ogre said, leaning forward as he laid a hand on the club.

  “Uh, yeah, I suppose so,” she said, shuffling her feet before adding, “Sorry.”

  “No more run away without paying debt?”

  “No. I’ll pay first.”

  He sat back with a satisfied look and snorted.

  Devon waited. At least the sun was sinking behind the treetops now, and the air had gone from sauna-hot to almost tolerable.

  The ogre yawned. His open mouth smelled like onions and stagnant water.

  She took a step back before speaking. “So, how do I repay you?”

  “You not ready for that.”

  “Uh… but you said I owed you.”

  “Must prove being sorry first,” he said as a popup appeared in her vision.

  Uruquat is offering you a quest: Repent your grievous error.

  Before repaying the copious material expenditures and sizable opportunity cost involved in your rescue from Ishildar’s Stone Guardian, you must first regain esteem with the tribe’s leader.

  Objective: Gain 500 reputation with Uruquat.

  Reward: Congratulations, you’ll be back where you started.

  Accept? Y/N

  Devon blinked. Seriously? Opportunity cost?

  With a sigh, she focused on the prompt and selected ‘Y’ to accept the quest.

  “Who came up with this stuff?” she muttered.

  Uruquat gestured toward a small tent. The flap lifted, and a slight man shuffled out, looking down his nose despite his stature.

  “I am in charge of the tribe’s administration.” He spoke with ill-concealed pride. “Our glorious leader was rightly impressed by the precision in my communications. Before leaving Eltera City to join the tribe, I managed legal dealings for the city’s guild of bankers.”

  A lawyer in charge of her quest objectives. Fantastic.

  “Fine, whatever. Can you tell me how I’m supposed to gain these 500 reputation points?”

  The man sneered. “Well, now please don’t take this as formal legal advice, seeing as you have not officially retained my services. But I will disclose the following: our esteemed leader has a particular loathing for snakes.”

  Uruquat’s fist tightened around the end of his club. His calves clenched and bulged. Devon took another step back.

  “Slidey things,” Uruquat growled. “Not natural.” His tiny eyes grew distant as his cheek twitched.

  “And there are… snakes in the surrounding jungle?” Devon asked.

  The lawyer’s eyes flicked to the ogre. He nodded quickly but sliced the air with his hand as if to suggest she speak no more of it.

  Devon’s gaze strayed to the wall of greenery at the edge of the village. As much as she’d enjoyed her “training” in unarmed combat, she wasn’t keen for more.

  “Can the tribe spare a weapon? I’d be much more effective that way.”

  Uruquat shivered as he shook off his paralysis. He picked up his club, looked from it to her, then shook his head. He flicked a finger in the lawyer’s direction. “Give something to starborn. She serve Uruquat’s glory now.”

  With a beleaguered sigh, the lawyer pulled a rusty blade from a sheath on his belt and handed it over.

  You have received: Rusty Knife.

  This blade looks as if it has opened many letters over t
he years. Perhaps while in a swamp?

  1-3 Damage | 5/10 Durability

  Devon looked down at her feet. “And perhaps… shoes of some sort?”

  Uruquat’s face turned a mottled brown as blood rushed to his cheeks. He leaned forward, snarling, then lifted a single foot. His black toenails were cracked, and calluses on his heel had split and bled and split again. When he wiggled his toes, the stench of ripe cheese assaulted her.

  “You think you better than Uruquat?” he bellowed. “Deserve shoes when esteemed leader wear none?”

  Devon backpedaled so fast her heel caught on a stone from the fire ring. She toppled backward, landing hard on her butt.

  “No, your esteemed—of course not. Please accept my apologies.”

  “Your Gloriousness,” the lawyer hissed.

  “Please accept my apologies, Your Gloriousness.”

  Slowly, Uruquat relaxed. “Fine. Now go. You now conquest for Tribe of Uruquat.”

  Devon scrambled to her feet and hurried away from the throne. Beneath the forest canopy, the shade was deepening as the sun sank lower. A quick look at her fatigue bar showed it was 30% full. Maybe she should rest before beginning her war on the fearsome jungle snakes. It was probably time grab some real-world sleep, too. She headed to Hezbek’s hut.

  “I was wondering if I could borrow your cot,” she said. “I need to rest.”

  Hezbek snorted. “You’re welcome in here, but you’re not taking my bed.”

  “Where, then?”

  Hezbek pointed at a relatively flat section of the earthen floor.

  With a sigh, Devon shuffled over and laid down. She closed her eyes and focused her awareness on the logout button.

  “When you hunt,” Hezbek said, “save what you can from the kills. Some among us have coin or items to spare… and personal interests beyond Uruquat’s desires.”

  “Oh?” Devon opened her eyes.

  Hezbek shrugged. “A few of us wonder whether we made the right decision in coming out here.”

  Interesting. “Thanks, I’ll salvage what I can.”

  With that, Devon logged out.

  Chapter Five

  I THOUGHT YOU said the game content was created by an AI.

  The message from Devon came across Emerson’s view while he was eating a late dinner and watching the news headlines scroll by, projected onto his vision by his new Entwined hardware. He swallowed a bite of pot pie and washed it down with a swig of lukewarm beer before responding.

  “I did,” he said aloud. Since Emerson lived alone, he usually dictated his communications. “I think I mentioned this already, but I call her Veia. And yes, except for a couple areas of world content we hand-crafted to test the VR technology against, she’s responsible for everything you experience. She designs the mechanics at this point, too, building off an initial stab at character progression laid out by humans.”

  A chime echoed through Emerson’s condo, followed by a cheerful voice from the speakers in the ceiling. “I understand that you need a mechanic to progress your character. Might I suggest a therapist as a better profession to aid you in this?”

  Emerson shook his head. “Deactivate home assistance, Veia.”

  Recently, he’d been experimenting with adapting Veia’s general consciousness to function on a tiny fraction of the hardware used for the game. The original instance had been designed to create an entire world populated by entities with their own desires and emotions. Theoretically, she should adapt well to evaluating his desires and molding his “world”—as in his apartment—to satisfy them. But the limitations of his smarthome hardware were proving to be an obstacle.

  Where the hell did your Veia get the idea to use a lawyer character to draft the quest text?

  Emerson laughed. “That’s awesome. Must be from when we seeded the NPC profession table with a combination of professions from across history and literature.”

  You have an interesting definition of awesome.

  “Seriously, Devon, how did day one go?”

  Quite a few news stories scrolled past before she replied. After a while, Emerson shoved them away with a mental gesture and waited in the silence of his own mind for her response. Recruiting these players had been his idea. He’d also decided to start them in the sandboxed areas of the world. The content out there was more freeform than in the cities and villages Veia had populated with guided content to ease people into the game. Emerson was sure that the dynamic content was where the game would really blow up. Once Devon and her old guildmates established footholds, they’d be able to show other players the good stuff. E Squared’s stock price and profits would go through the roof.

  It’s… I’ve run into a few problems, but I’ve got some direction now. There’s one issue, though. The pain sensitivity, dude.

  “What’s going on with it.”

  You clamped it, right?

  “Of course. It’s in the user agreement.”

  Well, it’s not working.

  “You’re sure?”

  Yes, I’m fu—I’m sure. I got hit in the head and it felt like my skull got stuck between a railroad track and a train.

  “Shit. I’ll look into it. Sorry about that.”

  As long as you fix it, we’re good. Hey, did you know the NPCs think Veia’s their god? Kinda weird.

  Emerson grinned. And if Veia was their god, what did that make him? “It makes sense, I guess. Veia does give them life and purpose. Have you heard of any other… never mind.”

  He stopped himself from asking about Zaa. Clearly, Penelope’s AI hadn’t come nearly as far. The competition had been a good idea on the part of his bosses. They believed that the best way to create dynamic content was by pitting two artificial consciousnesses against each other, each motivated to fill the world with entities—and gamers—who would win out in an eventual war. But the power calculation the engineers had built into the overall system seemed to be seeding all the players into Veia’s domain. Which meant it had concluded that Veia was smashing Zaa in the contest to create sophisticated content that would challenge the gamers.

  He’d have to be careful not to rub it in next time he saw the other coder.

  Any other what?

  “Any other players? I wonder if you’ll end up hooking up with your old guildmates.” He hoped she couldn’t hear the fib in his voice. He’d made sure that his all-stars were seeded far away from one another to widen their potential influence.

  Nah, but that’s okay. I’d rather play solo for a while as long as that’s cool with you guys.

  “Well, your employment contract doesn’t specify one way or the other. I say knock yourself out.” He winced. She’d reached out to him kind of like a friend, and he was wrapping the conversation up with a discussion of her terms of employment. Smooth.

  Yeah. So. Thanks for the answers. Please look into the pain thing.

  “Will do.”

  She disconnected from the messaging app, her icon going gray. Emerson sighed and reactivated the news feed as he swallowed his beer. It was warm.

  “Activate home assistance,” he said.

  The house chimed.

  “I really would like to purchase a pint glass with built-in cooling and easy recharging,” he mused aloud, hoping mini-Veia would get the hint.

  “Are you having financial troubles?” the home asked. “I see that pint glasses aren’t classified as a luxury item, so if you are unable to purchase one, it suggests you lack solvency. I can provide a list of employment opportunities if you are interested.”

  Chapter Six

  EZRAXIS HUDDLED AGAINST a cold stone wall, shivering. One of her wings was broken. Ichor leaked from a gash on her scrawny right thigh.

  Her name. A pair of injuries. The pain of having failed. That was all she knew.

  She raised her face to the sky, a roiling mass of yellow clouds shadowed in purple where the darkness pooled. Lightning flashed and seared her eyes.

  She�
��d failed. But how? What had been her task? She couldn’t remember anything before coming to awareness, broken and bleeding, in this space between buildings.

  She pushed up, standing on twisted feet, talons scraping the black stone beneath them. A wash of brimstone-scented air gusted through the alley.

  Are you ready to try again? The voice pressed into her skull, into her soul, touching the deepest part of her core. She shivered in both agony and ecstasy.

  Zaa. Her god spoke to her. His name echoed in her mind, awakening her to the world around.

  Yes, she would give anything to please him. It was her sole and guiding purpose.

  She gibbered, words of an unknown tongue falling from her lips. But the meaning was clear.

  “Guide me, master.”

  You are weak. Useless. Seek one who would teach you to heal your injuries. Do nothing else before you have made yourself worthy of serving me.

  A strangled cry escaped her throat as she began to limp out of the stone corridor. Fresh ichor spurted from her wound with each step, and her broken wing dragged on the ground behind her. Her body wasn’t made to walk without lift from her membranous wings. It didn’t matter. She would prove to Zaa that she was worthy. She wouldn’t fail him again.

  Chapter Seven

  MOONLIGHT FILTERED THROUGH holes in Hezbek’s thatched roof. On the other side of the hut, the medicine woman slept on her side, a thin blanket covering her legs. Her light snores joined the buzzing of night insects from outside.

  Devon sat up and pushed her hair out of her eyes. Gathering the loose strands, she pulled off the leather cord that held a disintegrating braid, rewove the strands, and tied the braid back in place.