Legend of the Sword Bearer: Tempest Chronicles Book 1

by Jeremy Fabiano

  “Still liking those odds? Or do you want to call it a draw? I'm not really in the mood to clean blood off of my sword at the moment.”

  The two looked at each other. “Naw, I don't feel like getting barbecued. Watch your back, kid. Next time we sees ya, put a knife between your shoulders.” They slowly dragged their unconscious friend off the road and down a side trail.

  “It's a date!” I called off and got the bird in return. Huh. That was a rather Human response, not at all what you’d expect of an NPC. Nor was the fact that he’d referenced being barbecued, something else foreign to Tempest. I think I’d found my first target. And I had two names. Flint and Slag. Original, for criminals, I suppose. A notification informed me that my main questline had updated and that I should dig around for more information regarding Flint and Slag.

  We headed off, and after a few minutes, we turned to see if they were following. The criminals were nowhere to be seen. We waved toward Ashley. A lance of fire shot into the sky and detonated like fireworks. She was just a kid, but she was good.

  We walked in silence for a few miles of the dirt road. The air was chilly, and I could see my breath, but it wasn't too uncomfortable with the new leather armor Evans had set me up with. We had stocked up on provisions; however, we decided to hunt for lunch and dinner. We practiced our coordinated attacks by tracking and killing a buck.

  “Morogan cut. Aba cook. Okay?” he asked as we carried the buck within view of the road.

  “Sure thing, big guy. Just slice some smaller pieces and some bigger pieces. We’ll make some good food for dinner and sandwiches for the road. How much longer until we reach Bridgeport?”

  Morogan looked around a bit, looked at the sun, and counted on his fingers, twice. “Morogan think Bridgeport one day. Camp, sleep, walk more.”

  “Sounds good. Let me make us some sandwiches, and we will get moving.”

  “Morogan like sandwiches.” He licked his lips in anticipation and hopped around a little.

  I had bought some rolls, some eggs, some pork fat, cheese, butter, miscellaneous dried herbs, and vegetables for the trip. I even got ahold of a cast iron frying pan. The item descriptions on our foodstuffs showed that without some kind of preservative, food wouldn't last anywhere near as long as it could with salts or ice. The steaks would last maybe twenty-four hours. Plenty of time to chow down.

  I started a fire and began to cook some of the smaller slabs of meat in the pan along with a little bit of the pork fat since venison was so lean. I added garlic, onion, and pepper to the pan.

  “Mmmm, smell good!” Morogan could barely contain his excitement by the look of it.

  I toasted two of the rolls in the fat and added the meat, some cheese, lettuce, and a slice of tomato.

  We cleaned up the fire and the pan and headed out, each with a big sandwich in hand. It was delicious.

  “Morogan love Aba sandwich. Best sandwich ever!” His compliment echoed all around us, birds flying from the trees.

  5

  .: Tales ’Round The Campfire :.

  We marched on until dusk and decided to make camp. I dug a hole in the ground and lined the hole with rocks. I dug a second hole next to it, and I dug out the bottom so they were connected. We gathered up some twigs and branches and leaves, and I added them to the pit. I made fire the old-fashioned way with a stick and twine.

  Morogan looked over curiously. “Why Aba put fire in holes?”

  “It makes it harder to see the fire from afar, it burns hotter and makes less smoke. That'll make it harder for anyone to spot our camp and sneak up on us.”

  “Aba smart. Morogan learn from Aba.”

  “Thanks, just something I picked up from my dad before he died. He was big into survival camping. What about you? You haven't mentioned where you're from or anything about your family.”

  “Aba cook. Morogan tell story.” He started unpacking the slabs of venison we’d butchered earlier.

  “Fair enough. Let’s see what we can make for dinner.” I prepped a nice stew with garlic, carrots, potatoes, onions, and, of course, more garlic. I tossed in chunks of venison and sat back. “All right, this will take a little while to cook, so we have some time to kill.”

  Morogan sat cross-legged in front of the fire, opposite me, his back straight. “Morogan come from strong family. Warrior family. Mother was great Orc warrior. Strongest woman in tribe. Pretty too. All Orcs want marry, but she not like because too weak. Mother say ‘Only marry Orc stronger than me’ but no Orc stronger.” Morogan sniffed the stew. “Morogan yummies ready yet?”

  I checked the pan to see if the venison was cooked yet and stirred it, adding some flour and cheese to thicken it. “Not yet, still have a bit to go.”

  Morogan didn't look happy with that answer, and his stomach growled in agreement, but he continued. “One day, Mother hunting, found shiny Human in Orc forest. Human fight Mother five days. At end, too tired. Both not move. Both hungry. Both hunt and cook and sleep. Mother fall in love with Human. Only one strong enough. Human and Mother marry, other Orcs not like, but grandfather Orc chief. Say Mother free choose mate. Mother join Human party, go on adventures. Human die in great war. Mother say Human great fighter. Morogan father, great fighter. Morogan never meet.” He looked solemn and grew quiet but only for a few moments.

  “I’m sorry, Morogan, he sounds amazing. Is your mom still around?”

  “Morogan nodded, “Mother at Orc village. Maybe one day go. But Orcs challenge Aba to fight. Prove strong or die. Orcs not like visitors.”

  “Maybe one day. Stew’s done.” I served a bowl to each of us and a buttered roll as well. “Morogan, try dipping the bread in the stew.”

  He shoved the entire roll, up to his fingers, into the hot liquid. The intense heat of the scalding liquid didn't seem to bother him. It reminded me of a kid drowning a cookie in a cup of milk. He pulled it out and took a bite. “Mmmm, Morogan like!” He proceeded to meticulously eat the roll before starting with the spoon. “Aba turn. Tell Morogan Aba story.”

  “Well, there isn't much to tell really. I left the Village of Origins a few days ago for the first time. Before that, I’m not so sure.”

  He looked at me like I was an idiot. “Morogan not dumb. Sound dumb, not dumb. Morogan know Aba not from here.” He waved his arms about, implying the whole world. “Where Aba from before village?”

  I thought about that for a few moments. Should I tell him the truth? We were supposed to be friends, after all, even if he was just an NPC. “I'm not really sure you’d believe me if I told you.”

  Morogan huffed. “Aba try Morogan. Morogan have open mind. Seen lots of things. Aba not believe stuffs Morogan seen. Mans made of fire, dragons made of rocks, mans made of metal, like Aba armor.” He pointed at my bracer.

  I stood up suddenly startling him a little. “You've seen more like this? Where?!”

  Morogan belly laughed at me. “Aba tell Morogan story where Aba come from, Morgan take Aba to metal mans. But no lie. Morogan can tell.” He half-glared at me, but I could see the smile twitch around his fangs. He knew he had me. A quest notification popped up.

  Quest: Ancient Upgrades

  Tell Morogan your tale

  Rewards: 1500 XP, Quest - ancient armor piece (2)

  I accepted. I told him everything and explained even more. He laughed at the idea of cars and trains and planes and people riding inside of them. The concept that his world was a game created by Nelson, however, kind of dazed him a bit.

  He looked very serious for a few solemn moments. “Morogan believes. Had dream. Vision. Morogan met Caretaker. Talked long time. Caretaker create Morogan. Create everything. Save Morogan from slave pit. Show Morogan how fight. How be brave. Caretaker show Morogan level 15. Morogan be 15 one day. No one stop Morogan then. Caretaker give Morogan this.” He showed me his amulet and I examined it.

  It was made of the same metals as my bracer. And it gave a +10 to strength and armor. It also gave the wearer limited night vision. Combined with
his half-Orc traits, it was pretty overpowered. “That’s amazing. I need to get me one of those OP pieces one day.”

  He grinned enthusiastically. “One day, Morogan take Aba. When Aba ready. Maybe level five.” He stretched and yawned, his back and neck popping in several places. “Morogan sleep now. Aba sleep too.”

  I nodded. We set out our bedrolls and Morogan was quickly asleep. The sounds of nature added to the crackling of the fire and sight of the stars was too perfect and serene. I actually didn't miss the real world one bit. Well, except for cheeseburgers. With bacon. Hmm, maybe I could figure out how to make one here. I was asleep the next minute, dreaming of bacon cheeseburgers and fries.

  The sound of birds chirping woke me. My eyes were still closed, however. My covers were wrapped tightly around me, and I relished in the warmth. I didn't want to get up and go to work today. I wasn't even sure what time it was. I slowly opened my eyes expecting to see the familiar stale-white popcorn ceiling of my apartment but was instead greeted by a beautiful forest. I realized I was in a bedroll and I was lying next to a smoldering campfire near a road. This was life now. This was my job now. If I wanted to eat, I had to work for it. I turned over and spotted Morogan a few feet away, cleaning his hunting knife. A rabbit lay at his feet, already gutted and ready to cook. He’d noticed I was awake.

  “Morning, Aba! Morogan catch breakfast!” he exclaimed excitedly, dropping the knife and holding up the rabbit by its hind legs.

  “Morning,” I said through a yawn. “Rabbit for breakfast?”

  Morogan grinned. “Have more spider if Aba want?”

  I gave Morogan my deepest scowl, but the grin slipped through my façade. “Yeah, no thanks, man.” He laughed heartily. Morogan genuinely seemed to find joy and laughter in almost every situation. The world, both this one and the one I was born into, could use more people like him.

  Using some of the eggs and vegetables, I made us some rabbit omelets, and we ate them in silence, enjoying the brisk morning. After cleaning up, we doused the fire and headed up the path toward the city of Bridgeport. We had walked for a couple of hours when we came across a peculiar sight. Pieces of splintered wood, broken off something, littered the road.

  “Morogan, what do you make of this?” I pointed at the scraps.

  He took a knee and examined the pile. “Wagon. Maybe attacked. Tracks here. Go into forest.” He motioned to a pair of ruts I hadn't noticed, leading into the dense foliage. “Fresh. Maybe three hours. Morogan not sure. Ice still in dirt. Not melt.”

  “You want to follow them?” I asked, pointing at the ice-filled tire ruts. “Whoever it is may need help.”

  “Morogan not have plans. Go see.”

  [ Group Quest Received: Investigate the suspicious tracks ]

  He took point and tracked the trail for a while. “Footprints. Two mans.” Several footprints intersected, but I couldn't make out if it was one or one hundred people. I’m glad one of us was good at tracking even if it wasn't me. Hey, I didn't have to be the best at everything; as long as we had the skills in the group, I was happy.

  We pushed farther into the forest, wary of dangers, but nothing stirred. Passing a rocky outcropping, we found the wagon. It’d seen better days, that was for sure. Arrows riddled one side, and slash marks, likely from an axe, cut deep into the wheels. The driver was missing. Checking the cargo area, we discovered it was empty. Blood was smeared on one of the walls and the floor. The blood smear streaked out the back door, and drops of it riddled the dirt.

  Group Quest Updated: Follow the trail of blood and search for survivors.

  Cautiously, we followed the spatter of blood in the dirt. I supposed it was a good thing we were wearing leather armor, rather than full plate mail. I doubted we could have been sneaking around otherwise. As we pressed forward, we came across several skeletons, hidden in the undergrowth. They had been picked clean by scavengers. By the look of things, this was how the bandits were disposing of their victims. The sound of people arguing profusely greeted our ears. We moved off the path and tried to get as close as we could without being heard. Taking cover behind a rather large tree, we stopped and listened quietly.

  “What should we do with the merchant? Kill him?” asked the first man.

  “Naw, man. We should hold him for ransom. C’mon, learn some business sense. It’s good business.” I recognized that voice. Flint. “Someone should know who he is. If no one pays up, then we can kill him.”

  The other man asked, “What about the wagon? The wheel’s busted, it’ll barely move.”

  “Strip it for parts. Use the rest for firewood. And send a couple guys back to the road to clean up the mess they left out there. The wood and ruts might lead a patrol to us if we aren’t careful. Slag would be pissed as hell if one of you screwed this up.” It seemed to me Flint ran this little camp. Time to fix that...

  Main Quest Notification: Disrupt the bandit camp to upset Slag; If you hurt his economy enough, he’ll be forced to face you!

  Group Quest Updated: Infiltrate the camp and free the captured merchant

  I motioned for Morogan to follow me, and we began to make our way back to the road. “Let’s wait for their goons to come and clean up the ambush on the road. If we can take out whoever comes this way, there’ll be less to deal with at the camp. And we need to take Flint alive.”

  Morogan grunted. “Flint not like. Not make easy.”

  “Yeah, probably not, let’s not give him a choice.” We crossed to the other side of the road opposite the tracks in the mud and waited for about an hour before we heard movement in the forest.

  Two goons walked up the hidden path toward the road and approached the ambush site. We could just make out the conversation they were having under hushed tones.

  “I still don’t likes it. Ain’t natural, it ain’t,” goon one said with a shiver, picking up wood scraps.

  Goon two nodded. “Ain’t like I like it either, but I ain’t tellin’ Flint to shove off. He’d kill us and have that creepy ass in the black cloak turn us into one of them.” They both shuddered. Something had them spooked.

  I nodded to Morogan. He palmed a huge rock he’d found and hurled it into the forest behind us. It crashed through the vines and leaves causing a huge ruckus.

  “The hell was that!” goon two blurted, looking in our direction.

  “Let’s check ’er out. If someone finds the camp, they’ll blame us.” They both began walking toward our hiding spot.

  As they passed, Morogan stepped out from behind the tree, and with a quick motion, he hit goon one on the back of the head, knocking him out. “Bonk!” Goon two turned to see what happened, and I nailed him with a Dash stun. We dragged them a ways away from the road, opposite the camp, tied them to a tree, and gagged them after disarming them.

  When they finally came to, we were sitting across from them on the forest floor. “Sorry about the bruised heads, boys, but we needed your attention. We need to have a chat but can't have you yelling and alerting your friends. I'm going to pull the gags off, but if you try to call for help, my friend here is going to have you for dinner. You know how Orcs are.” Morogan glared and licked his lips, snarling. He added in a ton of drool to make it more convincing. Both men's faces drained of color. “You two behave now.” They both nodded furiously. I removed the gags.

  “Oh, please, good sir, don't let him eat us! We ain't done nothin' wrong!” goon one blurted, eyes full of terror. Could these guys just be casual thieves?

  Goon two joined in. “Aye, we was forced to help the bandits. We swear!”

  My eyebrow twitched up. “What do you mean, forced? I don't see anyone with a knife to your back.”

  Goon two bowed his head in shame. “They’ll kill our families if we doesn’t do what they says.”

  I nodded “Tell me more. Where do you come from, how’d you end up here?”

  Goon one’s eyes went wide. “Ey wait a minute! You’re that Abalonious guy who's killin’ Flint’s men lately! Slag’s put out a hu
ge bounty on yer head, he ’as.”

  Goon two cheered up a little. “’Ave you come to kill ’im? If ya do, then we can go back to our families.”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” I said.

  Group Quest Updated: Infiltrate the camp and free the captured merchant; Infiltrate the camp and free the enslaved peasants

  “Now,” I said, “let’s start with names. In my head, I just keep calling you guys goon one and two.”

  The two of them looked at each other for a moment, clearly confused. “Well, I’m Ben, and my frien’ here’s Chuck.”

  “All right, Ben, tell me what happened.”

  “Slag happened, tha’s what. He came in and killed the gov’ner. Took over the whole city.” He was quiet for a moment. “If ya didn’ do as he says, he kills your fam’ly, an’ his scary black-robed wizard turns ’em into walkin’ monsters.”

  “What does Slag want with slaves though?” I asked

  “Well, ’e’s lookin’ for somethin’. Some kind of artifact, see? If they gets it, that black-robed guy can make more monsters. Withouts it, they can only make a few at a time.”

  “What can you tell me about the prisoners?”

  Chuck looked like he was going to throw up. “There only be a few left. The merchant and his guard. Everyone else's’ been drained of life to power their dark magics or turned into a monster.”

  “And the other workers? Any of them who would fight or run?”

  Chuck shook his head. “No, we’re the only ones left. They turned our friends into them monsters if they didn’ work hard enough.”

  I nodded. “Okay, can you guys lay low while we take care of Flint and his friend?” I untied them.

  “Yeah, we’ll stay out of yer way, we will.”

  Morogan and I left them in our hiding place and headed back into the outskirts of the bandit camp.