Homebrew

by Xavier P. Hunter

  Gary yelped and shielded his face with his arms. Next thing he knew, a crushing grip took hold of him. Stinking, carnivorous breath washed over him. With a painful, stabbing jerk, he was borne aloft and arced through the air to land heavily on the forest soil.

  Damage Taken: 18 (sharp)

  Damage Taken: 3 (blunt)

  Just before the darkness took him, simple math passed through Gary’s head.

  I have fewer than 21 hit points.

  52

  Gary woke to the ecstasy of Sira’s healing magic. He shuddered a gasp of relief from pain his body had experienced without a waking mind to evaluate and appreciate its horror. The near-fatal injury was healed before Gary could fully experience its agony. All his body had left was a rapidly fading soreness where teeth had punctured his flesh.

  Before he said a word, Gary scanned the vicinity. He was right where he last remembered. Well, perhaps a few dozen feet away, where the beast had hurled him. However, he found what he was looking for. The dread badger lay motionless, bloody, and very clearly dead. Beldrak was tugging to free the Shard of Pellar from the creature’s skull, where it had lodged, presumably upon the fatal blow.

  “Everyone accounted for?” Gary asked.

  “You took the worst of it,” Sira said. “And here you are.”

  “It didn’t even try to eat Zeeto,” Braeleigh said with an air of disappointment clear in her voice. “It was definitely big enough. I’m calling this oh-for-one. Better luck next encounter.”

  “Stop wishing for things to eat me,” Zeeto griped as he wiped his dagger clean on the dread badger’s fur. “Hey… you think this thing’s pelt is worth anything? Best washcloth I’ve used in months. Dagger’s looking good as new on one pass.”

  “Stop trying to eat, skin, or sell everything we kill, and maybe I will,” Braeleigh countered. She scanned the woods. “There must be a shortage of prey animals in the area for these large carnivores to risk attacking us like this. It’s unusual behavior, for sure.”

  Gary didn’t bother trying to explain an encounter table. He wasn’t sure if he’d get as far as explaining the dread badger existed solely as a listing of stats on a sheet of paper in another universe. Trying to assign random dice rolls to essentially pick it out of a hat when there was need of a battle was too meta for Braeleigh—or any of the others, for that matter—to understand.

  Of the topics Gary had to keep to himself was his character sheet. He took a quick check to verify that he’d received XP for a fight during which he’d been unconscious.

  Player Name: Gary Burns Character Name: Gary Burns

  Level/Path: Bard 1,2,3B, 4A XP: 7,346/8,000 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

  Skills: Persuade (+8), Music (+8), Study/Search (+8)

  Tricks: Fast Talk

  Profession: Cook (+1)

  Yeah. 150 XP since last check. He wondered whether the XP payouts across the campaign were maybe a bit low. Either that, or the rewards always seemed a bit harder earned when it was pulling triggers, swinging swords, and getting bitten instead of just rolling dice and jotting down battle results in pencil.

  Still, progress was progress. Whoever was in charge of making sure Gary and the others all leveled up before their next major plot battle was pacing the XP gain to make it dramatic, no doubt. That’s exactly what Gary would have done if it were him in charge.

  He froze.

  Am I in charge?

  The pieces fit. Gary had long suspected that this was all taking place within the confines of his own unconscious. The insights from his fellow players would probably seem childish and obvious once he woke up—like much of logic contained within a dream. Unknowable facts would turn out to be incorrect. His inferences about their personalities would wind up reflecting on his own id and ego.

  If Gary was the one pulling the strings, the constant failures were likely a symptom of self-loathing. The sudden insights were the enforcement of his will masquerading as a near-flawless memory of this world he’d created. Which was more likely: that he’d retained detailed information about monsters he’d jotted down on paper and solutions to puzzles he’d designed months ago or that he’d been making it up as he went and imposing reality on his fellow adventurers?

  Sira shook him gently by the shoulder. “Gary? You in there? Snap out of it. You’re alive. That thing didn’t eat you. Get your mind back here with the rest of us.”

  Gary blinked a few times, struggling to focus on Sira’s face, just inches from his. Their noses nearly touched. He looked into those deep, rich brown eyes before pulling back to a less intimate distance. “Right. Fine. Sorry. Getting a little philosophical in there. Thanks for reeling me back.”

  “That’s the old Gary for sure,” Zeeto said. “Half the words are just shoveled into a nonsensical pile that I’m not going to bother sifting through. Just like his song lyrics.”

  “We hath retrieved thy belongings,” Beldrak said.

  d20: 5 + (Perception +4) = 9

  While the words seemed helpful, Gary picked up on a note of regret and guilt that Beldrak was ill equipped to hide from even a shitty roll like Gary’s.

  “What happened?” he dared to ask.

  Braeleigh had her hands behind her back. When she showed them, they were holding the shattered remains of a lute. If not for the strings being attached at both ends, it would have been little more than a sounding board and a neck as separate entities.

  “My lute,” he whispered. There was an unexpected sense of loss at the instrument’s destruction. He’d all but stolen it in the first place, barely knew how to play it or any songs appropriate to it and had never grown to appreciate the feel of the instrument in his hands. And still, for some unfathomable reason, he was saddened to see it ruined.

  Beldrak came over and clapped him on the shoulder. “My friend, if thee needeth accompaniment, mine order doth train us in certain chants that might serve a counterpoint to thy melodies.”

  “Let’s just moving,” Gary said, holding up a palm to ward off any further offers of help. He could go a cappella if he had to. It wasn’t like spellcasting, where there was a need for a focus item. Worst case, he might get a skill penalty for a song that didn’t work well without accompaniment.

  As the party traipsed through the woods and the day wore long, Gary felt both naked without his lute and a curious second sensation that he struggled to explain.

  He felt free.

  53

  Over the remaining journey back to Durrotek, Gary adapted to life without a lute slung across his back. Hair Splitter was his weapon, paltry though the crossbow was in his hands. Unfortunately, “practice” wasn’t a thing in this campaign world. Getting better with his aim would only come with level advancement, better equipment, or loaded dice.

  But leveling up came with XP, and they came across enough of that on the cross-country expedition back to their mutual adopted home. None of them was from Durrotek but buying property there had made it into a newborn home, still weak and whiny but growing on them by the day.

  In their tracks, the party left the carcasses of another half dozen overwolves, a few dozen more undead pieces ground to dust and ash, a canopy lurker, and a half dozen scipsies that Zeeto had ghoulishly cremated to recover the gold from their bellies.

  Now, Gary stood with a bottled-up level waiting to burst forth.

  Player Name: Gary Burns Character Name: Gary Burns

  Level/Path: Bard 1,2,3B, 4A XP: 8,106/8,000 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

  Skills: Persuade (+8), Music (+8), Study/Search (+8)

  Tricks: Fast
Talk

  Profession: Cook (+1)

  All that remained was to find a quiet time to review his options and plan out his next advancement.

  Durrotek looked emptier than when they’d left. The gate guards allowed them in without comment. They were known, now. Familiar faces in a shrinking city. Those with the means to flee south had done so by now. Anyone remaining was liable to be in for the long haul.

  How long that haul lasted, Gary could only surmise. Durrotek was the epicenter of an RPG campaign, which was never a good thing for civilians.

  When they reached 14 Zephyr Street, everyone headed off to their bedrooms to collapse. Road travel was exhausting. Overland doubly so. But while the rest of them climbed two flights of stairs to the luxurious upper floors, Gary shuffled through the kitchen to the servants’ quarters.

  He was the one adjacent to the room where Kurgath had stolen Miriasa. He was the one who put back the cookware their intruder had scattered in careless handling of the limp and barely conscious elf.

  Two hours.

  They’d agreed that a two-hour recharge was all they could spare before hitting the road once more, this time bound north for Cloudspire Peak, the tallest mountain and namesake of the entire range.

  With a sigh, Gary sat at the end of his bed and closed his eyes. He’d only meant to envision the Paths of Power, but soon he found himself lying with his head on the pillow.

  Next thing he knew, a bucket of water splashed over his face.

  “Rise and shine, buddy-boy,” Zeeto said, still holding the bucket over Gary’s head and shaking it to dislodge the last few clinging drops.

  Gary sputtered and coughed out a mouthful of water. “What the hell, man?”

  “Time’s up,” Sira said from the door. “Rest of us are ready. I don’t suppose you took the time to advance on the Paths of Power before dozing off.”

  “I… uh,” Gary said, struggling to account for the two hours he’d been promised.

  “Sounds like a ‘no,’” Zeeto proclaimed. “C’mon, doofus. Leigh and Drak are outside waiting for us. Go ahead and tell choir boy you’re late because you had to take a leak. Love hearing that dung-shoveling tongue of yours in action.”

  Doofus? Gary echoed in his head. I’ve got twice the brains you do, small-fry. But that same intellect reasoned that insulting the halfling gained him nothing. Gary no longer felt the speed of his thoughts careening ahead, but that was more to adapting to the quicker wits than any slowing of his cognitive powers.

  Closing his eyes, Gary took one deep breath, then opened them. “Good to go.”

  Player Name: Gary Burns Character Name: Gary Burns

  Level/Path: Bard 1,2,3B, 4A, 5B XP: 8,106/16,000 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)

  He’d passed up Ancient Historian at 5A and couldn’t cross from A to C to reach Confidante at 5C. His route was locked in ahead of him. Next level, he’d have to take 6C, which was Golden Tongue. Not a bad power compared to many of the others, the bonuses it gave to social skills alone was worth it. Befuddle, for all its basic utility, was merely a necessary stop to cross over to 6A on the Path of Arcana at level 7.

  Befuddle: Perform check against a single target. Test willpower to resist. Victim unable to form coherent thoughts for as long as performance is maintained.

  Sira narrowed her eyes. “What’d you do?”

  “Advanced.”

  “That quickly?” she asked skeptically.

  Zeeto waved off the notion. “Nah. You missed where I just told him I liked watching his bullshitting in action. You fell for it, but I’m nobody’s fool.”

  “I take offense at that,” Gary said. “You’re our fool.”

  Sira snickered. “You two just keep it civil on the trail, OK? I don’t want to get caught in the middle of an alpha male comedian war.”

  “No risk of that,” Gary promised, unsure whether he’d just insulted Zeeto, himself, or both of them in the process.

  Still, it felt good having a plan. Because once they got to Kurgath’s lair, being quick on character sheet upkeep after leveling wasn’t going to impress anyone.

  54

  Gary’s tips from a lazy afternoon playing in Sillimar’s taverns went to purchasing provisions for the trip north. Salted meats, spices, and root vegetables would feed them better than jerky and stale bread. Furred cloaks would keep them warm enough on the hike to higher elevations. A sixth cloak drew raised eyebrows until Gary reminded everyone that they were planning on adding a member to their journey home.

  Then it was back onto the trails.

  North of Durrotek, the Yellow River—named for the gold once panned there—wound its way up into the mountains, shedding tributaries along the way. The mighty trade waters made their way to the Tumul Sea filled with cargo barges and sailing trade ships became a trickle of an overflowed sewer drain in a rainstorm.

  Aside from the wind and the crunch of footsteps on the frozen soil, the wilds were silent and still.

  “Any more messages from Miriasa?” Gary asked, calling ahead to Braeleigh, whose task as guide was merely to keep track of which tributary they followed on their northward march.

  She stopped. “No. And I’m getting worried. I mean, what if Kurgath killed her? Or… or worse?”

  “That brings up a good point,” Zeeto said, taking advantage of the pause to chew on a trail bar. “We’re trying to save the elf lady’s life. Heroic, right? But what if she suffers a fate worse than death, but…” He raised a finger. “We still save her life? That counts, right? Still heroes?”

  Braeleigh stormed up the trail, not looking back.

  Sira followed close behind.

  Beldrak shook his head at the halfling. “Betimes I boggle at thy notions. Ofttimes, I remember thy wit’s edge be poisoned. If thy talk of heroism ring true in thine own ear, practice thou valor among thy comrades.” With that, Beldrak’s long stride carried him off in pursuit of their guide.

  “Not cool, man,” Gary added before joining the paladin.

  Zeeto shot Gary a glare, cast a quick look ahead to the departing members of the party, then lowered his voice. “I’d have thought you’d get the humor in it. All this talk about ‘save her, save her,’ and she might be past the point of wanting to be saved. Those prissy, spoiled adventuring hobbyists think being a hero fixes everything. I got the impression that where you’re from, you got it.”

  Gary kept silent. For the first time, he saw real depth in Zeeto, more even than maybe Marty had in him.

  “Wonderful stuff, saving lives,” Zeeto continued. “Until they have to go back to living. Save a girl from the gangs, and her pa beats her for losing her virtue. Drag some wretch out of the dungeons after a month without sunlight, and some of ‘em never see the sun again even in perfect weather. I don’t want these clean-handed buddies of ours getting their hopes up. Odds are, this delicate flower will never bloom again after what that madman’s done to her.”

  Gary sighed quietly. “Miriasa is no delicate anything.” He beckoned for Zeeto to get moving with him and hurried to catch up to Braeleigh’s lead.

  …and Kurgath is no madman.

  55

  They were halfway up a winding mountain trail when Braeleigh called a halt to their ascent.

  “Does anyone else feel that?”

  Shivering, Zeeto replied. “The cold? Damned straight, I do!” Teeth chattering, he tugged his cloak tighter around him.

  Winds whipped icy spray from the permafrost above the tree line. Gary could hardly feel his fingers or toes.

  “Eyes,” Braeleigh said over the wind. “We’re being watched.”

  Gary cupped a hand to his ear and
angled his head until the howling gales didn’t resonate like notes played across the top of a half-empty beer bottle.

  d20: 16 + (Perception +4) + (You Can’t Hear the Feeling of Being Watched -4) = 16

  “I don’t see anyone,” Sira reported, using her hand as a visor to scan back down their trail.

  “M-m-my eyes are frosted over like w-w-winter w-w-windows,” Zeeto added.

  “Fine statues we shall make, standing hither,” Beldrak said. “I favor a chance of ambush o’er the gallows certainty of exposure in this clime.”

  The five continued on. Only Caspian seemed happy in the morbid cold that clutched Cloudspire Peak in its fist. Gary’s thoughts raced the closer they got to the summit. The entrance they sought wasn’t all the way at the mountain’s highest point—far from it—but he knew the time was fast approaching for a plan that only he could devise.

  Sooner than he would have liked, the party reached a gaping maw that yawned from the rock face of the peak. The opening was large enough to drive a truck through, but the scratch marks crosshatching the entryway hinted at a more sinister traveler passing in and out.

  “Don’t worry,” Sira said, stepping in front of the markings. “I took our break in Durrotek to stop by the library. Don’t look at me like that. It was time well spent. This place was once a dragon’s lair, but the dragon was slain, and its horde looted over three hundred years ago.”

  “Th-th-that book doesn’t happen to mention whether there’s a fireplace in there, does it?” Zeeto asked through spasmodic shivers.

  “No, but it gave a general layout of the place,” Sira said. “The former occupant had servant creatures and underlings housed in a series of chambers along a side tunnel that branches off from the main one a short ways in. Miriasa is probably being held there.”