Troll Nation

by James A. Hunter

Aching, cold, exhausted, and full of holes bleeding little clouds of selkie green into the icy seawater, Roark kicked his way down to the corpse and removed the helmet. He got a fistful of Bad_Karma’s hair and started sawing his way through the hero’s neck with his Kaiken Dagger. It was no easy task, removing a head underwater, but eventually he cut through the last string of muscle holding it to the body.

  Prize in hand, Roark swam to the portal plate that had transported Bad_Karma into the crypt. With his free hand, he flipped it over. Another Curse Chain was inscribed on the back. Not a destination definition, but a transport chain connected to a portal plate in the Dungeon Lord’s throne room. This one affected only Jotnars level 36 and above.

  The Grand Prize

  ROARK HAD HOPED TO arrive in the throne room with a little more ceremony, but with the entrails spilling out of his gut and the rush of seawater that was transported through the portal along with him, he spilled out onto the floor like a fish from an overturned barrel. And since he was still in selkie form, the comparison was even more apt. Reversing the Transmutation magick, Roark quickly found himself back in his own shape, though covered from head to toe in frigid water, his armor smeared with blood and guts. He floundered to his feet, water sheeting from his badly damaged wings.

  A scaly mass of shell and claws sprinted across the floor and skidded to a stop at Roark’s side, for once not taking him to the ground. Roark grabbed onto one of Mac’s larger shell spikes with his free hand to hold himself up. Bloody hells, he needed a Health potion.

  A throat cleared impatiently. Thirteen Infernal Dungeon Lords—the original seven had invited friends, it seemed—lounged on the multitude of cushions once occupied by the Troll High Court, staring at Roark.

  “The head of Bad_Karma, as promised,” he choked out.

  Roark tossed the head to Shess the Shrewd, wincing at the pull of his torn abdominal muscles even though his Rapid Regeneration was already working desperately to repair the damage. The snake woman caught it easily, inspecting the thing as if to make certain it was no trap. Maybe she’d heard about his cursed heads. Hells, since Bad_Karma hadn’t been able to shut his mouth about viewers, it was possible she’d even seen the fight firsthand.

  “It isss him,” she hissed, turning to the other Dungeon Lords. “Sssee for yourssselvesss.”

  While the head was being passed around for verification, an Absolute Health potion appeared in Roark’s wavering vision.

  “Drink this before you fall over, Dungeon Lord,” Zyra whispered, her voice both pleased and teasing.

  He accepted the brew gladly and downed it, so grateful he hardly grimaced at the taste. His hanging guts all pulled themselves back into their proper positions, and the hard muscles of his stomach laced themselves up tight. He sighed with relief as the pain disappeared and his filigreed Health vial topped off.

  “Thanks,” he told the hooded Reaver.

  But she was stepping away from him like a servant being dismissed. He started to move toward her, but Mac began to growl at something behind him.

  A deep, raw voice like river stones rasping over one another spoke up.

  “Roark the Griefer, Lord of the Troll Nation,” Beryl King the Severe intoned, his crystal joints grinding as he held up the head of Bad_Karma. “On this day, we the Infernal Seven hereby swear to fight alongside you as allies.” He swept one crystal hand at Gevaudan the Terrible, Ishri the Cunning, Shess the Shrewd, Rohibim the Deceiver, and Drokara the Gullet, all of whom were nodding. Ko the faceless had no face to nod, but she projected a feeling of agreement into Roark’s mind. The Beryl King turned and indicated the unknown Dungeon Lords, a variety of creatures that looked like they’d crawled out of the depths of someone’s worst nightmare vault. “We bring many mighty associates to join in your war as well. Will you have them?”

  “Of course,” Roark said, patting Mac’s scaly head to let him know this wasn’t an enemy. “As long as they follow the laws of the Troll Nation and agree to aid us in battle, they’re welcome to join.”

  [Congratulations! You have completed the quest Karma’s Head! You have made an alliance with the Seven Dungeon Lords, gained 70,000 Experience, and received the Eternal Blessing of the Seven!

  To Maintain the Alliance: Allow the subjects of the Seven Dungeon Lords to shop, trade, train, and dine at the Troll Nation Marketplace.

  To Break the Alliance: Bar the subjects of the Seven Dungeon Lords from the Troll Nation Marketplace, or challenge one of the Seven for Dungeon Lord of their native dungeon.]

  As Roark closed his mystic grimoire on this page, a scrap of parchment appeared, this one with a much shorter note.

  [You have received the Eternal Blessing of the Seven! Recruit willing monsters from any aligned dungeon, adding them to your permeant roster.

  Congratulations! You have leveled up your Troll Leadership Skill to level 5! Even other Dungeon Lords recognize your authority and unparalleled leadership! Infernal monsters across Hearthworld hold you in the highest regard and will flock to your cause!]

  And as he put that scrap of parchment aside, an ascending chime rang through the throne room and golden light shined from his skin.

  LEVEL UP!

  Not wanting to spend too much time with his face in his mystic grimoire while the rest of the Dungeon Lords were waiting on him, Roark quickly glanced over his character page.

  ╠═╦╬╧╪

  ╠═╦╬╧╪

  ALONG WITH NOT ONE but two new levels, Roark had also received new spell slots—including, finally, his first level 9. His heart raced, pumping burning blood through his body, as he realized he could write a portal spell back to Traisbin right then. The image of Marek putting Talise on his hip and walking out of the gates of the von Graf Manor played through his mind like a snatch of haunting melody he couldn’t shake. He could go back tonight—if the portal didn’t kill him horribly—and find out the truth about what had happened. He could finally have his revenge on the Tyrant King for everything the bastard had taken.

  Except, he realized, it would be a pointless endeavor while Lowen was still out there. Roark could jump back and forth until his luck ran out with portals, but that horse’s ass would thwart his every attempt to kill Marek. It was the reason the Tyrant King kept him around. Besides, Roark couldn’t leave the Cruel Citadel unprotected—Lowen would attack sooner or later, and if he found Roark gone, there was every chance he would use Roark’s friends as leverage to get the World Stone Pendant. And truthfully, if Zyra or Kaz was in Lowen’s hands, Roark wasn’t sure he’d be able to stay away.

  No, the only way past Lowen was through him. Roark would have to kill the mage and secure Hearthworld against further invasion before he could take down Marek Konig Ustar.

  An impatient throat clear snapped Roark’s attention back to the Keep’s throne room. He would have to assign the points later, when he wasn’t entertaining thirteen Infernal Dungeon Lords who wanted to pledge their allegiance to him.

  He closed his mystic grimoire, and one by one, he accepted the pledges of each of the Dungeon Lords in the throne room, blessing them with his Lesser Vassal Authority, ensuring they would be well and truly bound to his cause. Mac stayed at his side, the dutiful guard dog protecting his master until he was certain none of the new arrivals would try to attack. Though most of them barely glanced at the Young Turtle Dragon before continuing with their pledges, Roark let the bloodthirsty little beast think it was him they were afraid of.

  When the oaths of fealty were finished, the throne room’s doors opened and a Knight Thursr in a white chef’s toque appeared.

  “The celebration feast for Roark the Griefer’s victory is now served in the Troll Nation Inn and Café, if the Dungeon Lords would like to retire to its common room.” Kaz caught Roark’s gaze and grinned. “The meal features the newest discovery of the Troll Gourmet and that greatest of all savory meats: bacon.”

  Mac chirped gleefully at the word bacon, then looked up at Roark, tail slapping against his shell
with enthusiasm.

  Roark chuckled. “Let’s go, mate.”

  The Young Turtle Dragon let out a joyful bark and bounded toward the door, nearly knocking Kaz off his feet.

  The Mighty Gourmet huffed indignantly, then raised his chin and proceeded to lead the way out of the Keep and across the fifth floor, his white hat a beacon to the following Dungeon Lords. There was much excitement among the ones who had tasted food before, and many of the Seven spent the walk to the Troll Nation Marketplace explaining to their new associates about eating. Ko the Faceless in particular seemed overjoyed, her scythe-like mantid hands scraping over one another eagerly as she projected food-related emotions to the new Dungeon Lords.

  Roark hung back, letting the lot of them draw ahead a good distance before following. Though he’d tried to push it back, thoughts of his eventual return to Traisbin kept churning to the surface of his mind.

  “Look, dude”—PwnrBwner_OG fell in beside him, dragging his focus back to the present—“you’re still a major pain in the balls for griefing me all those times, and a total dickhead, and nobody but a total tard would buy your fake pirate accent...”

  “If this is your attempt at flattery, I think you’re misunderstanding the concept,” Roark said.

  They stepped onto the transport plate outside the settlement walls and were instantly teleported into the outskirts of the marketplace.

  PwnrBwner snorted. “What I’m trying to say is, from one gamer to another, your skills are pretty decent. Especially considering you’re not even from a place with video games. And the way you killed Karma? Pretty epic.”

  “So, what’s next?” another voice asked.

  Roark managed to stifle his reflex to cast an Infernal Torment, but only just, as Randy the Arboreal Herald Admin appeared at his opposite side.

  “Could you give me some warning when you’re about to do that, mate?” he asked.

  “Oh, yeah, sorry.” Randy blinked owlishly.

  Roark paused, surveying both heroes carefully. After a long beat, he extended his hand. “I wanted to thank you both. I know this has been difficult, but I couldn’t have accomplished any of this without you.”

  “You’re damn right you couldn’t,” PwnrBwner said, shaking his hand.

  Randy was a bit more gracious. “I’m happy to do it. To actually make a difference for once, I mean. I think... I think you’re doing something good, and I’m glad to be a part of it.”

  “Be that as it may,” Roark continued, “you both took tremendous risks to help me, and I know there are likely going to be consequences for your actions. Betraying your guild’s founder won’t win you any favors, PwnrBwner, and Randy, going against the gods of Hearthworld themselves...” Roark shook his head in awe. “Although it’s a bit unorthodox, I want you both to know that you have a place here in the Troll Nation. And to that end, I have a gift to bestow. I’m not sure what exactly this will do to heroes, I’ve only ever tried it on Hearthworld beings, but if you would let me, I would knight you both as my Greater Vassals.”

  “Greater Vassal,” PwnrBwner said, rolling the words across his tongue. “Not sure I like the sound of that. I mean, we’re like cool or whatever, but I ain’t your bitch, dude.”

  “What would that entail, precisely?” Randy asked, ignoring the High Combat Cleric.

  “Honestly,” Roark replied with a shrug, “I’m not sure exactly. It’s magick of the World Stone Pendant”—he pulled the amulet out from beneath his armor—“but Kaz, Zyra, Griff, Mai, even Macaroni, they are what they are in large part because they became Greater Vassals. As I said, I’m not sure what effect it will have on beings from your dimension. You both already have awareness and abilities. Maybe it will do nothing, though I wouldn’t put my money on that outcome.”

  Randy dropped to a knee at once, bowing his head.

  PwnrBwner remained firmly standing, arms crossed, a glower plastered on his face. But after a handful of seconds, he too nodded in agreement.

  Roark placed one claw-tipped hand on each hero and focused his will, his intention. The World Stone Pendant burned ice-cold through his leathers, and tawny light flared from the stone and from beneath each of his palms. When he let go of the pair, the glowing imprint of his hand remained for several seconds before disappearing.

  “Huh.” PwnrBwner stared at his until it disappeared. “Weird.”

  “So, what do we do now?” Randy asked, getting to his feet. “Do we go after Lowen right away? Or do we have more prep work to do?”

  They resumed their trek into the marketplace.

  “We won’t go after Lowen tonight,” Roark said. “Tonight, the troops need to celebrate their victory.”

  They stopped outside Kaz and Mai’s inn. As if to punctuate Roark’s claim, the chaos of the cheerful celebration inside spilled out into the street in the form of several drunken low-level Thursrs and high-level Changelings crowing a bawdy song at the top of their lungs. While the door stood open, the merry din of laughing and shouting from the common room washed over them. Inside, Roark could see Kaz and Mai making eyes at one another as they bustled around with plates of sizzling bacon. Overhead, the spiky mound of Mac’s shell traversed the ceiling of the common room while Changelings and Dungeon Lords alike tossed morsels of food up to him. Roark searched for Zyra’s dark hood and snowy curls among the throwers, but couldn’t find her.

  Roark’s expression darkened along with his grim vision of the battles to come. Even with their wave of new allies, he felt certain the Troll Nation wouldn’t have much cause for revelry once the war began. Lowen would make Azibek look like a childhood bully.

  “Tomorrow we’ll prepare for war,” Roark said. “It’s time Lowen fell on his blade and drowned in his own blood. And when that’s done, I intend to head back to Traisbin and bring the battle to Marek.”

  “Sweet,” PwnrBwner said, smacking a gauntleted fist into his palm. “Asshole hunting season’s about to open.”

  “Wow,” Randy said. “I don’t know. You might want to rephrase that. It sounds... gross.”

  “Shut up, Randy.”

  The Arboreal Herald muttered something under his breath.

  Roark smiled. “Why don’t you enjoy the feast, gentlemen,” he cut in before a real fight could break out between the two heroes. “You earned this as much as anyone.”

  “I’m already late for work,” PwnrBwner said. “Might as well go full hooky and skip tonight. You in, Randy?”

  “Eat, drink, and be merry, gentlemen, for tomorrow we might be fired,” Randy said with a wry shrug.

  “Whatever, weirdo. Come on.” PwnrBwner nodded at Roark. “Catch you inside, jerkbag.”

  “That’s Dungeon Lord to you, Greater Vassal,” Roark said with a smirk.

  PwnrBwner held up his middle finger in a way Roark sensed was supposed to offend him.

  With that, the High Combat Cleric and the Arboreal Herald climbed onto the inn’s porch and made their way past the group of raucously singing Trolls to the feast inside.

  A curl of inky smoke wafted over Roark’s shoulder.

  “Are you going to make an appearance at the festivities, Dungeon Lord, or just stand out here and brood all night?”

  Roark turned to face Zyra. “I haven’t decided yet. If I’m honest, neither sounds particularly appealing.”

  The hooded Reaver ghosted up to him on silent feet.

  “Then allow me to suggest a third option,” she said, taking hold of him by his rapier’s belt and pulling him closer. “Collect on your bet.”

  The bottom dropped out of his stomach and his throat went dry, but he slid his arms around her waist as if he had all the confidence in the world. She leaned into him, warm and soft, her lips a breath from his. The scent of sweet, poisonous blossoms filled his nose.

  “You don’t know what I want yet,” he said.

  She nipped his bottom lip, then pressed a kiss to it. “I’m willing to go double or nothing with you that I can guess.”

  Books, Mailing List,
and Reviews

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  Looking for more litRPG and need it right this minute? Check out James A. Hunter’s Bestselling litRPG epic, Viridian Gate Online: Cataclysm (Book 1)! Or keep reading to take a sneak peek!

  An extinction-level asteroid is blazing toward Earth. Collision, imminent. The world is doomed, and only a select few lottery winners will be saved.

  UNFORTUNATELY, JACK Mitchel—a down on his luck EMT from San Diego—isn’t one of those winners.

  Still, there might be a way for him to survive the impending cataclysm: a slim chance, requiring a radical leap of faith. Through a connection at Osmark Technologies, Jack’s acquired a NexGenVR capsule and with it, a one-way ticket to the brand-new, ultra-immersive, fantasy-based VRMMORPG, Viridian Gate Online. Taking that leap of faith, though, means permanently trapping his mind in the game, killing his body in the process.

  Worse, one in six die during the transition, and even if Jack beats the odds, he’ll have to navigate a fantastical world filled with vicious monsters, domineering AIs, and cutthroat players. And when Jack stumbles upon a secret conspiracy to sell off virtual real estate to the ultrawealthy—transforming V.G.O. into a new feudal dark age—the deadly creatures inhabiting Viridian Gate’s expansive dungeons will be the least of his concerns.