The Emissary Bard (World Of Chains Book 3)

by Lars M.

  The Emissary Bard

  World of Chains, Book 3

  By Lars M.

  Copyright © 2020 by Lars M.

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover by William Blake

  Ebook ISBN: 978-87-970409-2-8

  Summary of The Wayward Bard and The Fallen Bard

  Chapter 1 - Pep Talks

  Chapter 2 – Hammering

  Chapter 3 – House Of Horrors

  Chapter 4 – Have Goods, Will Barter

  Chapter 5 – Mrs. Bertinga Has Wares If Council Has Coin

  Chapter 6 – Different Strokes…

  Chapter 7 – Taking Stock

  Chapter 8 – Team Building

  Chapter 9 – New Tenants

  Chapter 10 – Happy Hour

  Chapter 11 – Clearing The Air

  Chapter 12 – Door-To-Door Salesbard

  Chapter 13 – Schooled

  Chapter 14 – On A Schedule

  Chapter 15 – Tinker, Terror, End Is Nigh

  Chapter 16 – NDA

  Chapter 17 – Off To See The Birdies

  Chapter 18 – First Encounters Of The Feathered Kind

  Chapter 19 – Detour

  Chapter 20 – Peak Efficiency

  Chapter 21 – Plotting, Planning, Playing, Plastered

  Chapter 22 – Highschool Flashbacks

  Chapter 23 – Them’s The Rules

  Chapter 24 – The Magic Of A Good Book

  Chapter 25 – The Magic Of Actual Magic

  Chapter 26 – Progress? Progress!

  Chapter 27 – Complications And Complexities

  Chapter 28 – Rolling With It

  Chapter 29 – Nightly Excursions

  Chapter 30 – Braving The Heights

  Chapter 31 – Audience

  Chapter 32 – Showdown

  Chapter 33 – Swift Departure

  Chapter 34 – Bitch Of A Homecoming

  Chapter 35 – Unreveling

  Chapter 36 – World Of Chains? Mo’ Like World Of Trekking

  Chapter 37 – Why Can’t We Be Friends?

  Chapter 38 – Outclassed

  Chapter 39 – Cleanup

  Chapter 40 – A New World Opens

  Postscript

  Appreciations

  Active Quests at the end of The Emissary Bard

  Character Sheets

  Character Overview

  Glossary

  Summary of The Wayward Bard and The Fallen Bard

  It started out just fine. I, Daniel Hawthorne, stole the money and got away with it. End of story, right? Of course not. See, I messed up in the process, and the criminals discovered not only who I was, but also that I was laying low inside the World of Chains, this fancy VR-MMO. Still, that was equally fine and dandy. I could play incognito and just enjoy myself for two years, until the crooks had forgotten all about me. Except all did not go according to plan.

  I ticked off the first boxes just fine. Create a bard, focused on the charisma stat. Name him Arcangelo, after the first composer who truly made me appreciate the violin. Then things started going downhill. First off, I didn't start out in the center of society, but right in the middle of nowhere, with a population count of 300 and a banjo. 'Grant's Crossing' they called it – a speed bump in the middle of a danger-filled forest. Every player who was unfortunate enough to land there was quick to complete their intro quests and earn a ticket out of the place. The village had been founded in support of an alternate trading route through the Dawnlight Forest. Unfortunately, they weren't doing too hot on that account. You couldn't blame everything on the villagers, though. Not only were the woods filled with monsters, but a demonologist had been preying on the village, attacking every other caravan, abducting guards, and stealing the goods. Not good for growth.

  I helped with that, though. I chased off Othell, that filthy ratling demonologist, inadvertently saving Benneth, the town’s catfolk hunter, who was being set up to take the fall. With Othell gone, the village was finally flourishing, and the mood was much improved. In the process, I also discovered that Grant's Crossing wasn't a horrible place and ended up as the village bard. Strange turn of events, there. The villagers were my kind of weird, and I found other likeminded people who joined me on my forays to keep the village safe and boredom at bay. Lyle - my trusty meatshield with too much of a conscience - had my back, while Chertog, a Dwarven Chronicler, taught me all about horrible puns. My drunken bard teacher, Greck, also taught me a few things, I guess. Mostly, he loved being a nuisance. Oh, and Naevys. That lovely hippie elf who shared my love for music.

  Of course, that was all too good to be true. A visiting caravan carried one very annoying item - a wanted poster of yours truly. Apparently, the mobsters were expanding their search. Initially, I also believed that one of the caravan guards - some elven broad named Sareena - was after me, but I discovered that she really just wanted to know how much the village knew about Othell and the group he was with. In the end, I failed the quest to figure out what else she was up to, but it seemed like she was going to let it go. Live and let live, right?

  The heat was a bit too much for me, however. I used a Council quest as the perfect excuse to get out of the village for a couple of weeks, so as not to be spotted. I had no intentions of discovering what the mobsters were going to do with me if they located me ingame. They were certain to grow bored at some point, right? So off we went. Myself, Darya, a lovely loner playing a half-orc hunter, and Atlas, my new-found companion, part undersized komodo dragon, part chameleon with the temper of a golden retriever. Our goal? Find the kobold city of Nerit and convince them that they should end hostilities and enter an alliance with Grant's Crossing, allowing our village to expand to the east.

  Nerit was not a nice place. Not only were they horrible xenophobes (which led to us almost getting killed before we even got there,) they also had a thing for throwing people under the bus if they didn't toe the line. The Anathema - or the Fallen, as they called themselves - were outcasts, pariahs and... pretty decent hosts, all things considered. Obviously, it didn't take me long to be labeled an outcast myself. In my defense, it really wasn't my fault this time.

  It did allow me to get to know the real Nerit - and it truly was a harsh society. Sure, those on top had it good, ruling the city and the outskirts with an iron fist. It was all done at the expense of the Anathema, however. I soon realized that I would need to climb the ranks in order to cement an alliance between Nerit and Grant's Crossing. I pulled out all stops. Bribes, diplomacy, blackmail, violence, silly ditties and... more blackmail. Whatever worked, I used it - and I lucked out. After a few weeks of toil and danger, I had gained a few things. A few fledgling friendships, a rudimentary understanding of the kobold language, and somehow, a ticket to the kobold Honor Games. There, I faced traps, hunters, and warriors in the bid for the opportunity to gain a place in their society - and I made it! I beat the competition, won the prize and ridiculed the High Priest - just like these things are supposed to happen! Was it flawless? No. But you can't make an omelet without creating a few mortal enemies. Heh. There's no way that was going to bite me in the ass later on.

  Anyway. Once I managed to bypass the Priest and talk to the Chieftain, we actually had a nice chat - and when we entered Grant's Crossing again, it was as victors. Oh, and with a kobold companion, Arack, and some 60-odd additional kobolds in tow, looking for a new home. Odds were that the situation wasn't going to settle down anytime soon, but I had eluded pursuit for the time being and the village
was prospering. I was definitely calling that a win.

  Chapter 1 - Pep Talks

  Video games are easy. Organization-wise, that is. If you want to locate a certain person, he's bound to keep to the very same schedule, day in, day out - no deviation. The good people of Exogenics in their wisdom, however, had decided that World of Chains should stick to the realistic approach. Bloody annoying. Now, from my time in Grant's Crossing, I'd learned a few cardinal rules. Universal truths and acknowledgements of the cycles of the village, as it were, such as where to find which people at which hour. 10 AM meant that Gillem would likely be starting his turn at the bar, while Chertog was sleeping still. Even with this knowledge, however, nothing was set in stone. If, at any time, I needed to locate three different persons, odds were, one of them would be difficult to locate. Today was a happy exception to the rule, thankfully. Within minutes, I managed to find all of the people I was looking for. Not only that, but when we arrived at the agreed-upon clearing, Darya was already waiting, shooting arrows at a distant tree.

  At my request, we watched for a while and I took the time to check out our merry band. It was the first time we had all gathered, and we proved to be a diverse bunch. Arack - the newest addition to our group - was bouncing about, humming to herself. The tiny kobold was bristling with throwing daggers and her teeth were needle-sharp, but even so, her current mood showcased just how adorable she really was. Lyle was looking awkward, staring at the ground with an uncertain expression. It was a stark contrast to his impressive physique and the heavy armor and shield he was lugging around. Atlas, my beloved chameleon-slash-komodo-dragon was enjoying my scratches, abuzz with energy and ready to go on an adventure.

  I had never actually watched Darya shooting arrows out of actual combat – and now I took it in, awed to the core. There was an economy of motion in her movements that I'd be hard pressed to emulate in ten years. Pick an arrow and nock it without even looking at it. Raise and draw the bow in one fluid motion. Sight along the arrow – for an infinitesimally short moment – and then release. A short glance to confirm the trueness of the shot, then repetition. One arrow after another, they thunked into their targets – a handful of wooden marks dangling from ropes strung from a large branch. The test was incredibly difficult. Anything but a direct hit would cause the arrow to glance off and fail. Her precision was impressive, though. Out of a full quiver, only a handful scored glancing blows and a single one missed the mark entirely.

  When she was done, the brawny half-orc set her bow down and finally noticed our presence. Self-conscious, she adjusted her braids and rubbed her hands on her leggings.

  In order to forestall the worst of the awkwardness, I stepped forward. "That was damn fine shooting, Darya. All right. Gather up, everybody. That includes you, Atlas." They were all looking at each other, slightly awkward. "Okay, get comfortable - we'll spend a moment chatting. Today is just a bit of a social get-together before we start in on the dangerous stuff. Planning out tactics and getting to know each other - stuff like that. Who brought snacks?" I looked expectantly at the others, who in turn looked at me like I was having a stroke. I grinned. "Me, that's who. After the crappy food from Nerit, I figured we earned something good. Sorry, Arack, but Steager cabbage soup? Urgh." I emptied the inventory of the foodstuffs I'd ordered from Gillem earlier and watched in delight as their faces perked up. "So, that's roasted and salted nuts, two types of sandwiches, some fried dark bread things - I don't even know what they are - and every type of fruit Gillem could come up with. Dig in." So maybe I'd splurged. The look on their faces was worth it, and they attacked the selection with gusto.

  "First off. Introductions. Some of you guys don't know each other very well - so why don't you take turns to introduce yourselves and tell us how you excel, in or out of combat."

  Arack jumped up right away, pocketing a handful of nuts in the process. "Heeey. I'm Arack Nerdiz. I'm a damn fine thief, a good dancer, and I'm also getting to be pretty amazing with my throwing knives. Oh, and I hurt myself really bad as a kid, so I have like no muscles in my arms whatsoever. Look." She showed off her arms, completely unabashed - and started juggling the nuts in one hand.

  Lyle asked, "Erm. That's impressive and all - but did you just say thief?"

  Arack smiled toothily. "Yup. Thief, cutpurse, pickpocket, or sneak thief. You name it, I know how to do it. These hands might be tiny, but they're fast."

  The curly-haired knight-to-be did not look impressed. "A gods-cursed thief? Am I the only one who has a problem with this?" He looked at the rest of us.

  The tiny kobold didn't take it lying down, however. "Excuse me? Gods-cursed? I don't know what your problem is - it's not like I was going to steal from any of you."

  "Like that matters? Arcangelo, I'm not going to - "

  I decided to step in before things got completely out of hand. "Lyle. Shut it." The shock on his face indicated that he had probably been expecting my support. "Lyle, I understand your thoughts. But you need to know this: when Arack broke her arms, the leaders of Nerit deemed her worthless and cast her out. Left her to fend for herself in a city where only the strong survive. Yes, she has robbed to survive. She's pilfered, lied, and tricked others. And I blame her not one whit. Would you have her lie down and die?"

  He blanched, stuttering, "Of course not. But to be proud of being a thief..."

  "You're not seeing this. She has managed to survive by being faster and smarter than several hundreds of kobolds who were stronger and older than her. Kobolds who were forced to struggle for the same scraps each and every day. How could she not be proud?" In a softer voice, I addressed Arack, "Because I'm damn proud of you. Enough that I’ll accept responsibility for one vivacious rascal of a kobold. Who is definitely not going to steal anything in Grant's Crossing, ever. Right?"

  Arack preened. "Why would I need to? Food aplenty, and I can earn my keep as a fighter." The last word came out with barely suppressed glee.

  "There you have it, Lyle. Would you fault her for being proud of her accomplishments? For struggling to survive?"

  Lyle looked crestfallen. "I – I didn't know. I mean, of course-"

  "I don't blame you, Lyle. Besides," I added with a lopsided smile, "you'll get along just fine. Her humor's every bit as horrible as yours."

  "Hey!" The two youngsters complained in unison and then stared at each other before bursting out in laughter.

  "So... Lyle. We managed to derail this introduction. How about you go next?"

  Put on the spot, Lyle blushed. "Erm. Sure. I'm a knight. Or training to become a knight, really. I still haven't found a proper trainer for..." He ground to a stop and groaned. "I swear I'm not as dumb as this, usually. Me Lyle. Smash monster!" He made a face and waved his mace in a threatening gesture. "I also have a couple of skills that let me stun or stagger enemies, or dish out some real damage. Oh, and I'm an armorsmith."

  As he sat down, Darya jumped up, half a sandwich in her fist. "You all know me." She cleared her throat. "I’ve learned a few new things lately, though. Traps. I'm getting good at traps – lethal and otherwise. Got a few new skills, too. Have a hobbling shot, an armor-piercing shot, and a tracking shot. Mostly, I deal damage." She shrugged. "That's all, I guess."

  "You're also good at scouting, and a great teacher." Lyle added.

  The half-orc snorted. "Hah. Whatever he's paying you, he needs to double it."

  That was my cue. "All right, before anybody gets any crazy ideas about wages – my turn. I'm all about damage and crowd control. If we manage to ambush somebody, even better – I'll be able to charm somebody or put them to sleep before the battle starts. I've got a handful of good spells for combat - I just need an unimpeded view of the enemy. Oh, and protection. I'm weak and squishy," I finished with a grin.

  "This brings us to our last participant. Atlas." At hearing his name, he managed to raise his head to reveal where he was lying before it plonked back down. "You wouldn't know it from looking at him, but he's pretty deft in combat. His poison
spit is powerful enough to knock out most enemies - and obviously, his camouflage is efficient enough that he's rarely ever spotted. He's pretty much the perfect scout." The perfect scout stretched at the sound of all the praise and promptly fell asleep.

  Darya raised an eyebrow at me. ”The perfect scout? So what does that make me?”

  I opened my mouth and then shook my head vigorously. ”Nope. Not going there. I can only dig that hole deeper for myself. Besides, you know you’re amazing.” I sat back down and grabbed a sandwich. Between bites, I gestured at everybody. "So - strategy time. I've got a couple ideas, but - mmh - this sandwich is good enough that I'd like to hear from you guys first."

  Darya was quick to enter the discussion. "The way I see it, there's not too much strategy to discuss. We've got tons of ranged damage, and one close combat specialist. So this will be a game of Lyle holding the fort. Meanwhile, the rest of us will stun, incapacitate, and otherwise make the day worse for any enemy who tries to get past Lyle. As for situations when there's only one enemy, it'll be important for Lyle to present his side to us, so we have a clear line of sight. What else... hmm. Oh yeah, the rest of us should spread out as much as possible in order to avoid friendly fire."

  Lyle and Arack nodded, and I prodded them a little. "How about you guys? Anything to add?"

  Arack frowned. "Yeah. I mean, I agree with everything and all. It's just... this only works for attacks where we get the jump on any enemies, and they don't have any spells or ranged weapons."

  Lyle pointed at Arack, nodding. "What she said. Also, plans have a tendency to go south at first charge. Especially our plans. Right, Arcangelo? We probably need a back-up plan or something."

  I shot him a mock salute. "Hear, hear. It shouldn't be too complicated, however. We'll figure out something. As for ranged attacks or spellcasters, I believe we're pretty well equipped. In any shoot-out, I'd put my money on Darya's accuracy and the ability of Arack and myself to not get hit."

  Lyle snorted. "What? You dodge like an old woman."