Unlucky Dead: A LitRPG Adventure (Liorel Online Book 1)

by M B Reid

  He looked at me like I’d gone insane.

  “Colour me crazy, but I’d rather test Jira’s disguise theory than have to avoid every town for the rest of our lives.”

  Logan just looked at me in silence for a moment, then seemed to let the matter go.

  “Okay, but if you’re going into town tomorrow, you better help me put together some defences today.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  I rose with the sun the next morning. Logan was snoring quietly in one corner of the room while our new undead kobold companion sat at the foot of the stairs and watched the door. The damned thing only took orders from Logan, which made it rather useless to me, but it was still an extra pair of hands for manual work.

  We’d all spent the evening barring the door and lining the staircase with spikes. The dungeon felt properly secure now, the only thing that would improve it was having an extra escape route built in somewhere. Maybe Logan would be able to get his minion to dig us a tunnel.

  I made my way to the surface. The trees cast their long shadows over the clearing, like the tendrils of an ethereal kraken reaching for the dungeon door. They no longer seemed spooky to me. In fact, this little gathering of dead trees was starting to feel like home. I pulled my hood over my head and carefully inspected myself. My hands were gloved, with my sleeves tucked into them. My pants were tucked into my boots, and my cloak bulked me up - hopefully making me look a little more intimidating.

  With my clothing in order, I started the short trek toward Whiteridge. My plan wasn’t particularly detailed - I was going to investigate the church, and hopefully find some priests of Animasto. I’d then work out what was required to earn extra lives, and Logan and I would make that our top priority. If I could find a tavern, or some sort of noticeboard, I’d do my best to pick up some quests. Neither of us wanted to take up the heroes journey to gather the stones of Animasto, but I didn’t want to stay at level one forever. The higher we could get our levels, the less likely we were to die to a kobold raid… or a pitchfork wielding mob of misguided NPCs.

  I was so busy thinking about the future that I failed to notice the farmer approaching until he was within speaking distance.

  “Ahoy there traveller” the old man said, giving me a wave.

  It took every ounce of self control to return his wave without freezing in place.

  “Good morning” I ventured, keeping a close eye on his expression. If he started to act like he recognised me for what I really was, I wanted to be ready to act. I had no idea whether I’d lunge towards him, or turn tail and flee. I didn’t want to find out either.

  “It’s early in the day to be seeing one of your sort” he laughed, and fear rippled through me once again.

  “Sorry?”

  “Adventurers. Don’t see too many of you around here, and never so early in the morning.” He tapped a finger on his forehead.

  “Wine sick every morning seems more common. Mind if I walk with you?”

  “Sure” I didn’t really have any reason to ignore him. Besides, he was one little old man, how much of a threat could he pose?

  “Are you staying in town for long?” The old man asked as he fell into step next to me.

  “Looks like it could be a while.” I answered truthfully. Logan and I had little reason to stray too far from our safe little dungeon-home for the foreseeable future.

  “Will you be helping us with the kobolds then?” I saw a glimmer of hope in his eye as he asked.

  “We ain’t had no-one respond to our letters. The lord has no time for the folk in his care.” The old man spat a ball of phlegm onto the grass at the edge of the path.

  “I haven’t heard about them. What’s the problem?”

  “Kobolds have been growing bolder. Normally they’re a prickly bunch, quick to swing punches, but still open to discussion. Lately they’ve stopped trading altogether. Ol’ Dave got close enough to ask one why, and got a sword in the stomach to show for it.” The old man shook his head, as if it were a great shame that this mysterious Dave got stabbed.

  “How many are there?”

  “Oh, maybe a few dozen that I’ve seen. Not enough to pose a threat to the lord mayor himself, so he’s got no interest in helping. If the kobolds banded together though…” He trailed off with a worried frown drawn across his forehead.

  “They don’t normally work together?”

  “Oh no. They’re normally in small tribes. No more than five or six at a time. Any more and they tend to fight each other for dominance. And they don’t fight clean. By the end of that their tribes back down to size.”

  Shoot, we’d been lucky running into a small tribe in our little dungeon. If there had been a full sized tribe we mightn’t have made it through our first day!

  “What do you need an adventurer to do?”

  “As horrible as it might sound, we need the kobolds killed. If three or four tribes were to fall, it might convince the others that it’s in everyones best interests to get along peacefully.”

  “So you want peace through violence?”

  The old man grimaced, but nodded. We walked in silence for a while after that, and I didn’t feel comfortable offering any new avenue of conversation. This was the adventurers life after all - most games started with a “go kill X weak monsters” type of quest. But this old man NPC actually seemed to feel bad for suggesting it, almost as if he genuinely respected the lives of the kobolds.

  The bridge across the river came into view downstream. The town looked far bigger than I remembered it. The gate on the far side of the bridge loomed like an enormous maw. We were walking beside the burbling water now, and I was feeling much calmer.

  “What are you doing out here by yourself if there are kobolds to worry about?” I asked, breaking the awkward silence.

  “I’ve been walking this trail for twenty years. Even the angry kobolds seem to respect that. I’m coming for my money.”

  He fell silent, as if that explained everything.

  “Coming for your money?” I prompted.

  “My boys and I send logs down the river. Once a week I walk to town to get our pay.” He eyed me for a moment.

  “And if you’ve got any thoughts of robbing me on my way back, you’d best think again.”

  I held up my hands in mock surrender.

  “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

  He studied me for a long moment, then nodded.

  “I believe you. Tell you what, come find me at Dora’s tavern and I’ll shout you some lunch.”

  My stomach chose that moment to grumble. Loudly. The old man burst out laughing.

  “Well that sounds like a yes to me.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  We covered the rest of the distance to Whiteridge with amicable chit chat. I learnt that the old mans name was Warren, and he had three sons that helped him with his lumber. They all lived in the forest upstream from us, the same forest Logan and I had been too scared to approach.

  “Well, I’ll see you for lunch then” Warren announced as we stepped onto the bridge leading into Whiteridge.

  Ahead of us a great portcullis loomed like a giants jaws. Two guards leaned on their spears underneath it, smiling at Warren and casting friendly eyes over me. Up on the wall above the portcullis I could see one guard with a bow. I wasn’t sure whether this was the normal number of armed guards for a small town like Whiteridge, or if the kobold activity had put everyone on high alert. Whatever the answer, it was clear I didn’t want to go revealing my true face to anyone in town.

  I waved goodbye to Warren, and headed for the tall church spire in the centre of town. There were a few people moving about, though none seemed particularly well off. I could see a few squads of guardsmen patrolling, but their routes seemed to restrict them to one end of town. I got the sense that there was an extreme class divide in Whiteridge - that only the rich could afford the luxury of the guards. I decided I had no interest investigating the rich areas, the last thing I needed to do was draw attention to my
self.

  The church looked to be the oldest building in the town by a long margin. In my opinion it looked a little rough. Moss clung to the stone walls, and tendrils of ivy were working their way up to the roof in places. The windows, however, were all made from stained glass and polished to perfection. The enormous double doors at the front of the church stood wide open, and I could see candles flickering from inside. The building itself seemed to be calling to me to step inside.

  I got as far as the first step leading up to the open doorway before I stopped. I had a sudden flash of concern for my own safety. This was holy ground and I was an undead creature. If I were alive I’d be sweating bullets. It was kind of ironic - I was scared that stepping in to the holy building would kill me, but I had come here to seek out a priest to give me an extra life.

  Maybe I should try finding a blacksmith or something first. Work my way up from the mundane tasks to the existential-crisis inducing spiritual tasks.

  “Can I help you?” A womans voice said from behind me. I definitely didn’t jump with fright.

  “I - I was wondering if there’s a priest of Animasto here.” I managed, as I turned around.

  The woman standing behind me was dressed in a blood red robe that hid every inch of her body. A scarf of embroidered gold silk wrapped around her neck and fell to her hips. Something about the way she held herself screamed priestess in my mind.

  She bowed slightly before responding “There are no priests here, but I am a priestess. As is Sister Sharon” Her answer implied that the two of them were the only people that tended to the church. I was hoping for gender equality now.

  “I received this letter. It says that a priest of Animasto can grant resurrection.” I offered her the letter Jira had given me when I’d tried to log out. She studied the parchment for a moment and then returned it to me.

  “We have a lot to discuss.” She stepped around me and strode up the steps to the front door.

  “Step inside, my child”

  This didn’t feel like a trap. In fact, this felt like the first positive step in an otherwise shitty few days. Still, convincing myself to step onto holy ground wasn’t easy.

  “You have nothing to fear. Animasto opens his home to all, even your kind.”

  The way she said that left no doubt that she knew exactly what I was. Strangely she didn’t seem bothered by it.

  I took a step forward. Nothing happened. I followed her to the top of the staircase, and then gingerly stepped through the threshold into the church. There was no flash of light, no sizzling as my unholy flesh erupted into flames. Nothing at all. I audibly sighed with relief, and the priestess laughed.

  “As I said, Animasto welcomes all. Please, follow me.”

  She led me through the rows of pews to the far end of the church, where a small podium stood awaiting the next sermon. As we passed the front-most pew, the priestess turned to the right and led me towards a small door. I’d never been to a church in real life, not a proper one anyway. This door looked a lot like the entrance to a confession booth from a movie, though it was set into the wall, rather than a small booth. Yeah, I don’t know the first two things about religion.

  The priestess pushed open the door and then gestured for me to walk through before her. Trusting that I wasn’t about to be murdered by a priestess in a church, I stepped into the room. It was a small office, with a desk facing the wall at the far end, two small chairs tucked under the desk, and a bookcase built into one wall. It’s shelves sagged under the weight of countless old tomes.

  “Please, take a seat” the priestess said as she pulled the door shut behind us and locked it.

  I pulled the two chairs out from under the desk and sat down on one of them. A moment later the priestess lowered herself onto the other one.

  “I know you are undead. You needn’t hide it from me. No one will interrupt us here.” She whispered.

  I hesitated for a moment, trying to study her body language. Her face was hidden in a hood much like my own and she sat upright with her shoulders back. That was meant to be a sign of confidence, or openness or something right? Hell, she seemed to know everything already. And she’d locked the door behind us. What harm could come of seeing her better?

  I lowered my hood. The priestess had no reaction whatsoever, which helped with my fears. Since she hadn’t reacted, she must have been pretty confident that I was undead, right? Either that or she had an excellent poker face.

  “There is nothing to fear here. You are among Animasto’s chosen.”

  Wait, what?

  The priestess lowered her own hood, and a skull stared back at me. No fucking way. The priestess laughed, and I realised I’d sworn out loud.

  “Surprised? Animasto is the lord of life and death, his priestesses all hail from the latter.”

  “Do.. Does everybody know?” Call me crazy, but a necromancy based religion would have been cleansed with fire out in the real world. The priestess shook her head, and I could see the sadness in her eye… sockets.

  “None but the priests know of our true form. They accept Animasto’s law, but refuse to work with us. That is why there are no priests here - there are no priests in any church with a priestess.”

  “What about the people of Whiteridge?” This could be my lucky break. If the people of Whiteridge knew that their priestesses were undead, then they’d be much more accepting of me. Of course the rational part of my mind already knew her answer. The screams of the blond woman echoed in my mind. “Undead! Undead!”

  “Nobody outside of the church knows this truth.” The priestess hung her head, and I felt a wave of sadness rush over me. She was in much the same situation as I was, and it sucked.

  “Wait. So you can make the resurrection deal then?”

  The priestess gave me a sad smile.

  “Animasto can resurrect the living, yes”

  “What about me?”

  Her eyes seemed to deform with sadness, as if they were struggling to hold back tears.

  “There is no other life for us. Animasto has chosen us to outlive eternity, and we will not die a natural death. But there can be no resurrection for our kind.”

  Her words hit like a freight train. This was utter crap! These stupid priests were meant to make resurrection deals for us, that was their only goddamn purpose in this stupid game. And here she was telling me she couldn’t do anything at all. What kind of idiot had designed this game? What kind of sadist would send letters like that only to crush all hope.

  My vision was taking on a red hue, and the priestess had suddenly gone quiet.

  “Why?” I growled

  “We cannot know Animasto’s wisdom.” She said quietly, as if I was meant to respect that her stupid made-up god had some sort of plan. She was shrinking away from me, the fear plain on her face, which actually helped to calm me down. This wasn’t her fault, this whole game was rigged. It almost felt like the entire realm of Liorel had been crafted specifically to piss me off.

  “I’m sorry” I huffed, the anger slowly fading.

  “Our kind has a troubled past. But there are some that are sympathetic to our cause. Priestesses the world over will help our kind without question, and the churches to Animasto are spread far and wide. You will have friends no matter where you travel.” She said it as if she expected me to travel, as if it was my role in the world to leave this shitty town behind and gather the stones. Clearly she didn’t know of my real plans.

  “I’ve wasted your time.” I announced, standing up to leave. Perhaps she just wanted to help, but right now I needed to get away from this crappy religion and its worthless promises.

  The priestess stood and unlocked the door for me.

  “Don’t forget your hood,” She warned, lifting her own hood in place.

  “The locals don’t take kindly to the dead.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Whiteridge was much more lively now. For the most part the townsfolk seemed to have woken up and started their day. A few people m
illed around on the street, yawning as they walked from home to work, or whatever other tasks they were scripted to perform. It was hard to believe they were a string of ones and zeros though.

  A grizzled bearded man stomped past me cursing under his breath.. That guy certainly had personality. Curious, and with nothing better to do, I decided to follow him. I kept several meters between us, and kept stopping to glance at other buildings. I was no James Bond, but hopefully that’d be enough to convince an AI character that I wasn’t stalking it.

  The bearded man walked around a corner, fumbling with something in his pocket as he did so. That was enough to make me pause a little. Maybe my spy impression had been as terrible as I’d feared, and I was about to round a corner into an ambush. I looked back along the road to the church, but couldn’t see anyone watching me. The priestess was probably inside doing churchy things. All in all, it looked like a normal morning in a small town.

  I heard a door thump shut and decided it should be safe to peer around the corner. Ahead of me was a shop with an enormous chimney coming off one side, piercing the roof of what looked kind of like an attached garage. The sign above the door was wrought in iron, spelling out Blacksmyth.

  Not wanting to judge a book by it’s cover, I approached the door. The sign looked to be well crafted, even if the spelling was a little off. We were living in a medieval fantasy world after all, it wasn’t fair to expect every Tom, Dick, and Harry to be literate. Or maybe I was the illiterate one, and they all spoke ye olde English?

  I knocked on the door. There was no response.

  I grabbed the door handle and pushed. The big wooden door swung open on well oiled hinges, and I was suddenly glad I hadn’t put more effort into throwing it open. It certainly would have made an impressive entrance, but also probably would have bounced off the wall and came straight back at me. The room beyond looked like a typical fantasy storefront. Swords, axes, and shields adorned the walls behind the counter. In one corner was a dummy fully laden with platemail. Farm tools of all kinds littered the room. It was almost like the blacksmith was trying to prove he served more than just adventuring clientele. A prominent bust on the bench wore an honest-to-god skyrim helmet.