Homebrew (Metagamer Chronicles Book 1)

by Xavier P. Hunter

  Zeeto shook his head. “Wow. Eighty years’ worth of childhood among humans and you don’t even know a fairytale when one’s sleeping it off in your paladin’s arms.”

  “Kurgath knew her,” Sira pointed out. “And he would have asked for more than one lousy thief if she was an elven princess.”

  “I can hear all this, you know,” Nethel said without turning back.

  Zeeto glanced back up at the lair’s entrance, now barely visible up the trail behind them. “How long before that scaly bastard starts sending assassins after us?”

  “He won’t,” Gary promised. “I made sure of that.”

  Sira laid a hand on Gary’s shoulder. “You know, sooner or later that dragon might figure out he’s been had. Whatever power you convinced him you had, he might discover you’re just a know-it-all cook from Palo Alto who can play a little music.”

  Gary had rarely heard himself summed up so succinctly and accurately.

  “I didn’t convince him I’ve got any special power aside from the ability to write and plan ahead.”

  “Huh?” Braeleigh asked. “Why would a dragon be afraid of that? Did you threaten to nail a letter about his love life to the walls of a tavern?”

  There was no point in omitting the truth this time. “No. I told him I’d written a note to be delivered upon my death or disappearance, telling a certain someone that a dragon had kidnapped Miriasa. Even once she’s safe, the threat will still carry weight.”

  “Letter to who?” Braeleigh asked. “Oh! I know. Duke Althius! He’s super scary. Even dragons might be afraid of him. Or King Munson. He’s got a whole army.”

  “Munson was two kings ago,” Sira pointed out.

  “Doesn’t matter,” Zeeto said. “Neither of those stuffed shirts would care about an elf everyone thinks is dead.”

  “Luin of Fernwind would though,” Gary said.

  Braeleigh smirked. “That crazy old huntsman? What would he do to a dragon?”

  “Kurgath’s mother was twice the dragon he is,” Gary said. “And that ‘crazy old huntsman’ killed her singlehandedly.”

  Braeleigh gaped wide-eyed at Gary. “History is so cool! You need to read me some of those old stories.”

  “You can read,” Sira said sourly. “I’ve seen you do it.”

  Braeleigh shrugged. “Yeah, but reading’s boring, and bards love telling stories—especially to pretty young girls.”

  Sira rolled her eyes. “You’re four times his age.”

  Gary patted his mandolin. “Once I get this thing fixed up the way I like it, I’ll sing some tales from my world.”

  As they headed down to the valley, Gary knew that he was done playing by the rules. There was power in Pellar, and since whatever was creating this place or keeping him here showed no sign of being done with him, he was going to settle in and take whatever power he could get.

  59

  Weeks later, Gary paced the kitchens back at 14 Zephyr Street. Miriasa claimed she’d be done today, but the sounds from inside her room had ceased and there was no sign of her coming out yet.

  Everyone else had already gotten their rewards from her. Only Beldrak had refused Miriasa’s generous offer. The elven wizardess had allayed most fears of her arcane magic by providing enchantments they could all use.

  Zeeto had wanted his boot silenced, and now the already-quiet rogue could only be detected audibly when it was quiet enough to hear him breathing.

  Sira had asked Miriasa to imbue her holy symbol of Sevius with +2 Spell Power. Everyone was on board with that since the priestess was often the only lifeline between them and death.

  Braeleigh had tried to refuse the gift as well, but Miriasa wouldn’t hear of it. It was one thing for a starch-britches paladin to say no, but she wasn’t letting the only elf she’d seen since her stasis go unrewarded. The two of them had spent an evening alone together, and despite Zeeto’s lewd suggestions to the contrary, Gary knew that Miriasa had shared a lifetime’s worth of missing cultural heritage that Braeleigh’s adoptive family couldn’t provide.

  But Gary had given the wizard a legitimate challenge. While the others’ demands had been quick and simple enough, this was Miriasa’s fifth night of work on Gary’s new instrument.

  He’d tried to hold out, to stay strong and not commit to the Path of Power while he was still unsure how this world’s take on a guitar felt in his hands.

  But as the anticipation grew to bursting inside him, Gary knew that leveling up was the only activity that might distract him.

  Player Name: Gary Burns Character Name: Gary Burns

  Level/Path: Bard 1,2,3B, 4A, 5B XP: 18,106/16,000 Race: Unknown

  STR: 7 DEX: 9 CON: 8 INT: 21 WIS: 17 CHA: 18

  To Hit: +2 Weapon: Hair Splitter (1d8+1)

  Armor Rating: 11 Armor: Leather (+2)

  Path Powers: Inspire (+2), Lullaby, Fascinate, Historian, Befuddle

  Skills: Persuade (+9), Music (+9), Study/Search (+9)

  Tricks: Fast Talk

  Profession: Cook (+1)

  Special: Fate’s Blessing

  Earlier, he’d planned ahead, knowing that 6C along the Path of Music would place him adjacent to the Path of Arcana. Golden Tongue was a fine and useful skill, but as level-up bonuses went, a little disappointing.

  Thanks to Fate’s Blessing, Gary didn’t have to play strictly by the rules.

  Fate’s Blessing was a catch-all reward he’d come up with to allow heroes to be heroic on demand. Bard the Bowman from The Hobbit, Luke in Star Wars, any incarnation of Robin Hood splitting his own arrows at the archery contest. Leaping from a burning tower onto the back of a dragon. Guessing the villain’s secret password on the first try. The ability to just set the dice aside and do something…

  That was what Fate’s Blessing was meant for.

  But it had other uses. In Gary’s notes, he’d made a short list of pre-approved general uses for the blessing. Among them was a provision for jumping positions on the Path of Power. By using Fate’s Blessing, a character could advance to any point on any ring they’d revealed on the Path of Power. Gary didn’t have to slog through 6C on the Path of Music, then over to 6A on the Path of Arcana. He could see the sixth ring already.

  Closing his eyes, Gary examined his options on the Path of Arcana.

  His breath caught short.

  Gary didn’t see the sixth ring of arcana. Or, at least, he didn’t just see the sixth ring. He’d always been able to see all nine rings, right from first level.

  When his lungs started again, his breath came quick. This wasn’t possible, was it? Surely this was a game-breaking mistake.

  Or was it?

  The Path of Power was carefully designed for multi-class balancing. Skipping to the ninth ring wouldn’t make him the wizard that he’d have been heading straight up the Path of Arcana from first level. He’d be missing out on Language (arcana), not to mention a host of useful spells along the way up the rings. More importantly, he’d miss out on numerous boosts to Spell Power that the Path of Arcana scattered like breadcrumbs across the levels.

  If Gary could skip to the end, he’d have access to awesome spells but at discount power levels.

  “Fuck it,” he muttered to himself. “You only get to live in your own campaign world once.”

  Player Name: Gary Burns Character Name: Gary Burns

  Level/Path: Bard 1,2,3B, 4A, 5B, Wizard 9E XP: 18,106/32,000 Race: Unknown

  STR: 7 DEX: 9 CON: 8 INT: 22 WIS: 17 CHA: 18

  To Hit: +3 Weapon: Hair Splitter (1d8+1)

  Armor Rating: 11 Armor: Leather

  Path Powers: Inspire (+2), Lullaby, Fascinate, Historian, Befuddle, Master Elemental Spell, Greater Arcane Spell, Spell Power +2

  Skills: Persuade (+10), Music (+10), Study/Search (+12)

  Tricks: Fast Talk, Disguise Casting

  Profession: Cook (+1)

  Gary’s hands were shaking.

  It worked. He couldn’t believe it. It worked. He’d have to ditch his armor to cast spells,
but that was a small price to pay.

  Disguise Casting: Perform or Sleight of Hand check to cast a spell without anyone identifying the caster. Does not disguise effects of spellcasting.

  He could hardly wait to try it out. If the party had been unimpressed with lullabies and hypnotic fascination, just wait until they got a load of what he could do with his new instrument.

  Master Elemental Spell: Choose a Master-rank spell from the elemental school to add to your repertoire.

  With thoughts so fast they sizzled along his synapses, a persona came together. Gary knew what he needed to take.

  Thunderstrike: 4d6 lightning damage to any number of targets within 50 feet of one another. Max Range: 200 feet.

  With a paltry +2 total Spell Power, Gary wasn’t going to be bowling over armies with it, but he knew that it was better than any holy spells Sira could sling. The massive area of effect alone made the relatively light damage—compared to a single-class wizard’s version, at least—more than worth its while.

  Greater Arcane Spell: Choose a Greater-rank spell from the arcane school to add to your repertoire.

  He’d picked this one out even before choosing Thunderstrike.

  Sonic Boom: 3d4 blunt damage to enemies in a 90° arc within 60 feet. Victims test fortitude against your caster power or stunned for 1d6 turns.

  Gary had been to concerts where the giant speakers flanking the stage had that kind of effect.

  His reverie was broken when Miriasa’s door opened. When she emerged, she held Gary’s new instrument perched atop a pillow as if unworthy to touch it—except that he knew she’d been manhandling it both physically and magically for days now.

  “Is it—?”

  “It is ready,” Miriasa said. She took a long, weary breath. “It is finally ready. I hope you find it worth the trouble I’ve gone to. Curious instrument.”

  Gary nodded. It had taken days to explain it to a local luthier and over a week for him to make it. Miriasa had merely pillaged the enchantment from Kurgath’s mandolin to power it.

  When he took the guitar in hand, it felt like home.

  Plucking the strings ever so softly, he turned the keys at the head to bring it into perfect tune.

  Miriasa covered her mouth with a hand. “I’m so sorry! I don’t know what I did to ruin the quality of the tone. Please! Don’t allow the others to hear this until I’ve had a chance to—”

  As the elf reached for Gary’s guitar, he turned to hold it out of reach. “Relax. That distortion’s the whole point. It sounds perfect. This is the iconic instrument of my people. My culture worships this thing.”

  Miriasa eyed him warily, eyes narrowing. “Yes. I think in one regard, your world is no different than ours, outlander. The bards of this land often ply the targets of their seduction with song. It is the historical shame of every great bardic legend—the inability to restrain their powers or their libido.”

  Gary held up both hands, letting the guitar dangle from the strap over his shoulder. “Look, I don’t think we know each other well enough to be discussing my—”

  “Braeleigh is off limits,” Miriasa whispered harshly with a quick glance at the door to the rest of the manor house. “I’ve talked with her at length. She so wishes to do right by her people, carry on her bloodline. But most of all she doesn’t want to watch her own children grow old and die. But she was raised among humans, flowered to womanhood among your kind. She does not see your kind as inherently uncouth or barbarous. For while I’ve known enough humans to realize the broad slander against your kind oversimplifies things, that inherent bias would also have shielded her from your charms.”

  Gary chuckled. “My charms? My charms? I wasn’t exactly—”

  “I don’t care about your world,” Miriasa snapped, keeping her voice low and in check despite the hard edge in her warning. “I’ve seen her look at you. One of her own kind would woo her for a decade, but she wasn’t raised with that sort of patience. I’m entrusting you with a weapon that might undo her utterly, and I want your word of honor that you shall not put it to that use.”

  Swallowing back his ego, Gary nodded. “You have my word.”

  The idea that Braeleigh—that Katie, when it boiled down to the bone—might have the hots for him was unsettling. She was flirty and overshared with everyone in her life. Gary wasn’t anyone special to her. He could easily refrain from changing that by mind-warping magic. Gods, he wasn’t a monster.

  Miriasa relaxed and seemed satisfied with his word. “I have always considered myself a keen judge of character. But love makes fools and liars of us all. Now, let’s gather everyone and hear you play.”

  “Got any requests?” Gary asked.

  “Something well-honored among your people.”

  As they headed for the parlor, Gary ran through his mental song catalog. He knew just what to play.

  60

  Gary stood perched on an apple crate from the greengrocer, right in the middle of the parlor of 14 Zephyr Street. Never before had so humble a container been as exalted to the status of concert stage for Pellar’s first rock-and-roll performance.

  As the party filtered in, one by one, they gave Gary puzzled looks, but none of them said a word as they took their seats until Zeeto arrived.

  “What’s this?” Zeeto asked. “Usually there’s gotta be drinking before we get Gary dancing on the furniture.”

  Miriasa stood at Gary’s feet, looking even shorter than him for standing at ground level. “As a special thanks for providing Gary with enchantments to make his cultural instrument sound—in Gary’s own words—‘bitchin’,’ he has consented to regale us with a selection of his people’s most treasured compositions. I ask that in the spirit of understanding and goodwill, we all allow him to perform uninterrupted.”

  Gary put up a hand. “Cheering and clapping is cool. This music is fun.”

  “We’ll be the judge of that,” Zeeto said sternly. Though, with a mug of ale in his hand, there was only so much disapproval he could muster.

  Without further ado, Gary plucked out the opening lick of “Layla” by Derek and the Dominoes. The suddenness of it made everyone wince. The volume had Braeleigh and Miriasa reaching for their ears and Caspian slinking from the room with his tail tucked. He could have warned them, but there was nothing he could have said to prepare them for what they were about to hear.

  As the song went on, he noticed them bobbing their heads in time with the rhythm. Beldrak closed his eyes. Zeeto bit his lower lip, and his fingers twitched as if strumming along. Sira remained largely stoic, but Kimberly Tanaka had never been big on his music to begin with.

  It was Braeleigh who promised trouble. Once she got over the shock to her ears, the elven ranger’s eyes glossed over. It was as if she was seeing Gary for the first time, or like she’d finally just peeled the packaging off a new toy she’d kept in mint condition but never dared play with. By the third refrain, she was mouthing along with the words.

  Gary caught Miriasa’s eye. The wizardess cast him a warning look, but while he was playing there was nothing he could do. Unlike Kim, Katie was into Gary’s music. He’d lost track of the number of times she’d brought a date to one of his shows.

  Oh, god.

  He’d never read between the lines before. Miriasa might have been right. As he belted out the lyrics to the Clapton classic, he couldn’t help feeling a flush of embarrassment in realizing he was singing a song of unrequited love to her—well, to everyone, really, but she was among that select group.

  After that song ended, everyone applauded.

  “Go figure,” Zeeto said, cradling his ale to his chest as he put his hands together. “Give the guy a lute and he’s Ten-Thumb Teddie. Give him a funny-shaped version that sounds like a lion gargling a hornets’ nest and he can make me feel like running out and flipping over wagons.”

  “Thy music doth have a certain transcendent quintessence,” Beldrak said, stroking his chin thoughtfully.

  “Thanks,” Gary replied
, unable to come up with any better response despite 22 Intelligence. He turned to Sira. “What’d you think?”

  The priestess of Sevius shrugged. “This is what…?” She circled her hands as if searching for a description. “A tavern song where you’re from?”

  “Well, I suppose you could—”

  “Don’t listen to her,” Braeleigh said. “That was awesome! Play us another!”

  Under the watchful eye of Miriasa, Gary cleared his throat and launched into a rendition of the Edgar Winter Band’s “Frankenstein.” Maybe lyrics just weren’t the thing for the moment.

  But soon, Gary lost himself in the music. He didn’t pause for even the full length of the clapping at the end before launching into a full set of The Who, Black Sabbath, and Metallica.

  At the end of “Enter Sandman,” they realized that the thunderous music had been drowning out a pounding at the front door.

  “Who could that be?” Gary asked rhetorically. They weren’t expecting any visitors. He hadn’t written anything into the campaign notes to fill this particular void. They had at least another few weeks before…

  “Follow me,” Zeeto ordered, drawing his dagger and fading into the shadows once he got clear of the streaming sunlight that invaded through the window.

  Everyone fell in behind him, weapons drawn.

  Surprises in an RPG were rarely safe to meet unarmed. Gary had trained them that well, at least, back in Palo Alto.

  When they arrived at the door, everyone hung back. Gary, realizing that by virtue of everyone standing farther away, he’d been nominated, opened the door.

  The figure on their doorstep was wearing a purple robe with tennis shoes showing from beneath and a satchel slung over his shoulder. When he smiled upon the opening of the door, Gary’s jaw dropped.