Underpowered Howard: A LitRPG Adventure

by John L. Monk

  Night turned to day with no more enemies until around noon, when I spied a troop of four elementals dusting slowly between the dunes heading my way. Judging by their steady progress, they hadn’t seen me yet.

  Rather than run, I lay down and buried myself as best I could, then waited for their inevitable appearance. They didn’t have eyes, but they could still see. The question was: How perceptive were they?

  Ten minutes later, when I didn’t die, I looked up and saw my immediate area was free of elemental baddies—which isn’t to say I was alone. Far overhead, a golden dragon soared silently through the air, gliding on the desert thermals. A lone figure sat mounted on its back.

  I’d seen that mount on my trek north out of the city when I’d gone to fight the giants. Such a rare mount in Heroes’ Landing was only slightly eye-raising. One would expect so powerful a player to be in Ward 2, or more likely Ward 3, but even high-levels needed a break sometimes. To see the same mount again, way out here in the desert, could only mean one thing: The rider was Jane, the paladin, back from her wild goose chase and looking for revenge or justice or whatever the hell it was that motivated her.

  When the dragon disappeared, I uncovered myself, crept carefully to the top of the dune, and watched as she slowly diminished in the east.

  Chapter Eighteen

  After walking all day and all night, I had one more encounter with fanatics. This group was unavoidable because they leaped up from the sands around me, the same way they’d done with the caravan. They killed me slower than I would have liked, but then I had over 4410 health without gear. They also didn’t disappear immediately, the way the zealots had.

  Upon resurrecting, I quickly cast Return and they killed me again. The next time I rezzed, they were gone.

  Several days passed with more elementals, desert scorpions, and even sand squids. Eventually, I stumbled on the coastal road to Brighton and nearly wept with joy at the sight of an actual straight line after days of shifting sands.

  A few miles down it, a lone rider overtook me.

  “Hello!” I said happily, despite my near nakedness.

  The rider—a woman—slowed and regarded me with obvious suspicion.

  “What the hell happened to you?” she said.

  “Killed and stripped by randoms,” I said, smiling in a way that conveyed just how normal I was deep down inside.

  The woman frowned. “Necro, huh?”

  “A nice necro,” I said. “A friendly necro. I’m trying something new with the class. Hard to explain.”

  “Why didn’t they take your necklace?” she said.

  “Oh, this?” I held up the Amulet of Ethan. “They looted my corpse, but forgot to loot one of their own. So I snagged it.”

  A massive lie. Hopefully she wasn’t a diviner, but diviners generally avoided people. Forcing everyone to be a hundred percent truthful around you a hundred percent of the time does that.

  The woman eyed me skeptically. “I bet.”

  “If you can spare something, I can’t pay you now, but should be able to in town. Uh, that is, in a day or so. I’m meeting some friends there.”

  The woman gazed at me a little more, then shook her head. “Hold on…”

  She reached into a bottomless bag and pulled out a pair of yellow pants and a green cloak.

  “No boots, sorry,” she said.

  “This’ll do perfect, thank you. I’ll make it up to you.”

  She shook her head. “Don’t sweat it. Saves me a trip to Crunk’s.”

  She’d read my class and level, so she was higher, but I had a good guess as to her class: powerful charger, brilliantly crafted black saddle … lacquered blowgun cinched just behind it … traveling leathers … brace of throwing daggers strung across her chest on a bandolier … short sword in a leg holster for riding…

  “Death hunter?” I said. “Ranged and poison?”

  The woman regarded me with a different expression this time. Less amusement, more interest, and a hint of caution.

  “Good guess, mister necro. What tipped you off?”

  “I played one nine years ago. Leveled to a hundred, then quit. Oh, I’m Howard, by the way.”

  The death hunter inclined her head. “Lilly. 207. If you’re curious.”

  “Mind if I travel with you?” I said. “Just to the town?”

  Yes, I was still afraid of random encounters.

  She watched me for several moments, her face an inscrutable mask.

  “Only if you tell me about necros,” she said finally.

  With Brighton several hours away, it didn’t take long to exhaust everything I knew about necromancers—their skills, how they fought, and various strategies for dealing with lucids versus players. Naturally, I downplayed any suggestion that I would ever engage in PVP. Whether she believed me or not, I couldn’t tell.

  It was tough looking up at her as we went. Perhaps sensing this, she dismounted and joined me in walking. Without being led, her intelligent horse, Strawberry, followed along beside us. Occasionally, Lilly would materialize a big, fat strawberry from thin air and feed it to her. This was a starter perk, earned from completing the Under Town exploration. During my long trek to level 3000, I’d envied those who could summon fruits and drinks. But then anything was better than the Summon Jerky perk I’d been saddled with. Even back then, my luck had been bad.

  Maybe I was trying to impress Lilly—a ghost of my loneliness from the other night—but I went on to talk about the other classes I’d played since my high-level days: monk, alchemist, shaman, runemaster, evoker, sorcerer, wizard, assassin, priest, berserker, enchanter, death hunter—and necromancer, which she knew about. Add to that warrior and thief, and I’d played seventeen classes since my first hesitant steps down Heroes’ Approach.

  “You should play a casanova,” Lily said with a teasing smile. “I heard they’re fun.”

  I smiled back and tried not to blush. Casanovas and seductresses were something, all right. They were the game’s only comeliness-based class, and you became one or the other based on your sex.

  “Maybe one day,” I said.

  Naturally, I had to explain why I’d played all those classes. I took a chance and told her something of the truth, as I’d done with Parker, with no mention of lich armies or anything that’d turn her against me.

  After the part with the Domination, Lilly said, “Are you sure it’s glitched?”

  I could tell she was skeptical, so I went into the math—how yes, it was possible to lose all those matches, yet incredibly unlikely. I backed this up with my only other evidence: that anyone who’d ever returned from fighting the Domination did so with but a single remaining life—that something strange happened to you when you fought it, causing you to keep going back right until the end.

  “But if they’d succeeded,” she said, “you’d never know. Right?”

  I nodded. “That’s true.”

  “So maybe…”

  “Maybe,” I said and left it at that.

  People had to decide themselves, and most would resist any attempts at convincing. For now, she was safe. At 207, she had a long way to go before getting to Ward 4. If I succeeded in my mission, by the time she got there, the game would already be fixed.

  When we reached town, Lilly asked where I was staying. I explained I was meeting some friends at the Briny Scalawag and didn’t elaborate.

  “What if they’re not there yet?” she said.

  I shrugged. “I’ll relax by the docks.”

  “I have a place…”

  I gazed into her eyes and found nothing but human compassion, and the promise of friendship. Was she offering something more? Possibly. But if I indulged myself now with the work still unfinished, I might never go through with it. Being Underpowered Howard wasn’t very fun or fulfilling, and I was definitely feeling my years. And though I thought Bernard was out of his mind with his “destroy the world” stuff, the short-term misery I’d cause might be all for nothing.

  “I’m sure
they’ll be there when I arrive,” I said lamely and stuck to the plan.

  Lilly was far less lame than me. She acted pleased that I wouldn’t be waiting too long and jokingly wished me well on my “noble quest.” Then we parted ways.

  The Briny Scalawag looked about as briny and scalawagy on the inside as the name implied: poorly lit, smokey from the pipes of crusty lucid seafarers, the walls covered with netting, stuffed swordfish, brass portals, big thick ropes, and driftwood carvings of tall ships on stormy seas. The clientele appeared to be fifty-fifty lucid-to-player, many of whom sat drinking and chatting.

  Brighton was a seagoing town dominated by the Crimson Sigil—a powerful guild with a membership always at full capacity. Any players in a dive like this were likely those hoping to join, or castoffs trying to worm their way back in.

  Other players, fresh from the high seas, usually frequented nicer places deeper in town. That way, they could more easily trade with lucid merchantmen. There were island nations off every coast, peopled by elves, woggims, or tribal humans reminiscent of pre-colonial Polynesians. Many of these places provided rare materials used in alchemy, enchanting, jewel-crafting, runecraft, blacksmithing, and many other crafts.

  Sarah and Zor were nowhere in evidence, but I wasn’t worried. They would have spent at least a day in Zha’daran while the merchant concluded his business. Two if he got too drunk to travel—Mythian’s way of telling players to take it slow and explore. After that, they could be delayed by sandstorms…

  Or attacked and looted by zealots without you there to help them.

  No, I didn’t think that was the case. They should have been perfectly safe after I’d left their group. Also, I’d saddled them with a quest. If I’d misread them and they decided to abscond with the money, their quest status in the Ambulareum would turn from ONGOING to FAILED.

  “Hey, you!” someone shouted from between a row of tables farther in. The shouter was a dwarf, as well as a lucid, based on his clothes, which appeared better suited to running an inn than adventuring. “No shoes, no service!”

  I looked at him strangely, then remembered I was still barefoot. Given how dirty the floor was, I was surprised at the pushback.

  “Just kiddin’!” the dwarf said, laughing and pointing at me. “Name’s Tranter. I run this dump. Pull up a seat, lad. Put yer feet on the table, I don’t care, so long as you’re paying in gold.”

  “What if I’m broke?” I said.

  Tranter’s grin turned to a scowl. “What? No gold? Off with ye! No beggars in me fine, upscale establishment. Git gone or ye’ll wind up on the menu! Come back when ye got two coins to rub together! Hah!”

  In retrospect, I should have asked Lilly for a small loan. She would have given it, of that I felt positive.

  Unbothered by the lucid’s behavior or that of the clientele, I left to the sound of raucous laughter. Never take the ambiance personally, that’s my motto.

  A cool breeze blew in from the east, raising goosebumps and causing me to rub my arms.

  “Where to now?” I wondered.

  Storm clouds were gathering over the water. If I didn’t find shelter, I’d be huddled and miserable under the docks tonight. This was a player town, which meant no sanctuary, and thus no Slaughtered Noob. On the other hand, it did allow for scavengers, thieves, and other nasty surprises.

  Like a field mouse caught in the open, I glanced overhead. Jane's golden dragon was nowhere in sight. This time she’d use good old-fashioned chains and manacles. Or maybe she’d hire mercenaries to follow me everywhere, interfering with whatever I tried.

  A wistful part of me thought I should have taken Lilly’s offer, at least for one night.

  The wind picked up. I turned my back to it and started south through the town, passing the wharf on my left with its many tall ships and barges. Beyond it, perched on a rocky promontory, was a castle: the Crimson Sigil Stronghold, headquarters of the Crimson Sigil.

  The road leading to it ascended a fortified switchback—the better to defend against attackers, as well as easier for animals or players with low vitality scores to traverse. It was also an intimidating vantage point from which to view the grandness of the fortifications. Well, everything except for the tower. It looked to have been blasted at some point in the past. Whoever restored the top had done so with a darker stone and not the peach-hued limestone the rest was constructed from.

  “Lo, the castle!” I shouted ten paces out from the raised black-iron gate over the entrance.

  “Lo, yourself!” someone inside shouted. “Who’s that?”

  “Just some guy,” I shouted.

  “Well, what do you want?”

  “I wanna bind, that’s what. Can you let me in?”

  “You a member?”

  I thought about that, then shook my head. “No, not a member. But this is the only stone for miles!”

  “That’s why we put the castle around it. To protect it!”

  “From what?” I shouted.

  The man inside didn’t answer for several seconds, and I felt it safe to walk closer.

  “All I know,” he said, “is I’m not supposed to let people in. I get paid good money for it, too. Otherwise, I’d be off doing something else.”

  “Are you guys at war or something?”

  “Nah, just keeping up appearances.”

  “Well, if I can’t come in, do you have any money you can lend me?”

  Most players in Mythian were generous if you asked outright. But not this guy.

  The unseen man laughed. “Lend? We both know I’ll never see it again.”

  “Lend, give, whatever… I just wanna get out of the rain. I got looted in the desert and lost almost everything.”

  “That does suck,” the man said sadly.

  I peered through the gates and … yeah, I could see a figure there in the dark, leaning against a wall of the gatehouse. I squinted him and saw he was a 35th-level runemaster.

  “Tell you what,” I said. “I’ve played a runemaster before. If I give you some good advice, would you consider letting me bind, and maybe spotting me fifty gold? And some boots if you have them?”

  “And some warm milk, and a story before I tuck you in bed? Go on, get going.”

  “Did you know,” I said, “that runemasters pair best with the alchemist class?”

  “Hah! Got you there. Everyone knows if you go runemaster, you gotta go enchanter, too. That way you can make magic items more magical.”

  I nodded, pretending to think it over. “True, yes, you can do those things. But can enchanters make class-restricted eyedrops for reading dead languages? What about chitanium? You’d need an alchemist at your side every time you worked with it. Or how about Oil of Destiny? Stick it in a vial covered in gravity runes. Throw it and it’ll blow inward, creating a tiny black hole. We call them implodes. I know a guy who killed the Ward 3 guardian with implodes alone. Kited it back and forth tossing vials behind him like grenades.”

  He started to talk and I cut him off.

  “Lots of other stuff, too,” I said, “but everyone says you gotta off-class as an enchanter. Pretty dull if you ask me. Why, did you know there’s an alchemical ink that turns invisible when it dries? Incredible for traps, but super expensive. As a runemaster-alchemist, all you’ll pay for is the ingredients. But hey, what do I know? Go enchanter if you want, everyone else does…”

  I turned around and started walking away—slowly, dejectedly, shivering a little in the chill rain. I even limped as if I’d stepped on a pointy rock with my bare foot.

  Behind me, the man said, “Oh, all right, I’ll let you in… You’ve given me something to think about at least. But don’t go telling anyone I was nice to you. Got it?”

  I smiled widely as the gate pulled up. “If anyone asks, I’ll say you tried to set me on fire.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  His name was Gunther. My first Gunther. I wondered if it was his given name or self-applied.

  Gunther escorted me from the gateh
ouse into the courtyard, where we crossed from the east wall toward an archway under the north wall.

  Along the way he said, “Sounds like you’ve been here before.”

  I nodded. “Long time ago.”

  “How long’s a long time?”

  Though I enjoyed being honest with people, I worried he’d think I was mocking him if I said more than two hundred years ago.

  “Oh, at least thirty years,” I said, which was technically true.

  Gunther whistled. “Wow, you’re ancient. Gave Up, huh? Some kind of torture? Gotta tell ya, I didn’t think they’d implement pain so … I dunno … painfully.”

  Again, I almost blurted the truth—that all of Mythian was pain if you let it be.

  “What level are you?” he said. “I can’t squint you. Super high?”

  I shook my head. “87.”

  “Some kinda caster?”

  “Yeah … uh… Hey, what happened to the tower?”

  Gunther paused his slow stride and looked up at the multi-hued tower. “Oh, that? They say someone blew it up. That new god everyone talks about. Guild paid to get it fixed but skimped on the stone, so now it looks funny.”

  I quieted after that and hoped he didn’t remember I hadn’t told him my class. Not everyone was as forgiving of necros as Lilly.

  Gunther led me to a rounded-out hollow under the castle wall. Taking up about half the space was a binding stone, and beyond that, a portcullis leading out of the keep.

  “There she is,” Gunther said. “It’s magic—only opens from the inside. If you die, don’t go sneaking into the keep lookin’ for loot or you’ll get me kicked out. There’s nothing much here anyway unless you like furniture.”

  “Thanks,” I said.

  I stepped onto the stone, spun around six times clockwise, and steadied for the impending feeling of vertigo.