Couch Potato Chaos- Gamebound

by Erik Rounds

  “So what about the last one?” Tasha said. “The Orb of Death?”

  “An age ago, there was a being who possessed the Orb of Death who came to be known as the Lich Queen. She drained the lifespan of others to add to her own. The player who proceeded you, Jak, slew the Lich Queen. All that remained of her was a single eye, which resisted every attempt to destroy it. In the end, the eye had to be stored in the Hallowed Chapel with the other dangerous artifacts.”

  Tasha’s stomach twitched at the name. “I can’t be sure, but I think this player named Jak was my father.”

  The king shook his head. “I’m afraid that’s impossible. Humans don’t live that long, and these events took place many hundreds of years ago.”

  “I see,” said Tasha, but she wasn’t really convinced.

  The king continued. “After the Lich Queen was slain, we had the Orb of Death deposited in the moon’s core to keep it out of the wrong hands. In those days, the dwarves made excursions to the moon on a regular basis, but that was a different age. Nobody has been to the moon in centuries. Getting you there will be tricky, but not impossible.”

  Tasha’s face brightened. “Are you saying I’m going to get to fly to the moon?”

  “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” the king said, holding up a hand. “At the moment we lack the ability to do anything of the sort. We should focus on the other orbs for the time being. The Orb of Life would be a good place to start, since we know where it is.

  “Player Tasha, I must ask you to travel to the Spiral Tower to retrieve the Orb of Life for us.”

  “Must I do this alone?” Tasha said.

  The king shook his head. “No, it is doubtful that any single traveler would survive the journey without escort.” A grave look came over his face. “In fact, I fear that I must send my own daughter along with you. Long has the Orb of Life served the Questgiver line of kings. For a time it served me, but I haven’t felt its presence in my heart for a long time. I believe that it may have changed allegiance to my daughter.”

  The princess nodded. “Then I will go in your stead.”

  “Is that wise?” Tasha asked, making a face. “She’s being hunted by ninjas.”

  “There’s little choice in the matter,” Kiwi said. “Besides, next time they try to take me, I’ll be stronger. Tasha, you will escort me to the Spiral Tower.”

  Tasha nodded. “I’ll do my best.”

  “Count me in as well,” Prince Hermes said. “I shall see you safely to the tower.”

  Slimon hopped up and put a tentacle on the princess’s shoulder. “Pfffpt!”

  “That makes four of us,” Tasha said.

  “Six,” a small voice said. Pan stood up from behind a nearby shrub and removed the hood from her cloak. “C-count me and Ari in.”

  “How did you get i—” Tasha started to ask.

  “I’m a thief,” Pan said by way of explanation. She cast her eyes to the ground. “It’s what I’m good at.”

  “Are you sure you can speak for Ari?”

  Pan nodded. “We t-talked about it.”

  Kaze, the small dragon whom Tasha had spoken with earlier, approached. Make it seven. I want to come too.

  At this declaration, the large red dragon who had been overlooking the meeting turned his head to face the smaller steam dragon. No. I forbid you to travel with them. I understand your desire to become stronger, but they will travel far too close to the dwarven realm. We dare not approach the dwarven kingdom, lest we make them angry.

  The deeper thought-voice of the older red dragon was replaced by Kaze’s own. I won’t go as far as Dwarselvania—only as far as the edge of the slime kingdom.

  NO, the red dragon thought-spoke. It is far too dangerous. You will return with us to Dragonholm once this meeting is concluded.

  “That’s too bad,” Tasha said. “We could have used him.”

  “It is just as well,” King Questgiver said. “You should be traveling in secret, and dragons will be a rare sight in the lands to the east.”

  He turned to the slime minister. “Your Slimeliness, please arrange for appropriate travel passports for these six adventurers into your kingdom.”

  “Pfffpt. Pfft, ffpt,” the slime minister responded sagely.

  “Tasha,” he said, “you will leave in two days. I will contact the dwarven ambassador and at least try to get King Dourmal to lend us the Orb of Earth. I will also contact Queen Murderjoy about the Orb of Fire, though I doubt anything will come of it.”

  Tasha’s eyebrows shot up. “Her name… is Queen Murderjoy?”

  “Yes,” said the king, as if nothing was amiss. “Two days will give them time to respond to my request and time to arrange your passport. We can’t afford to delay longer than that.”

  Tasha nodded, despite her qualms about going to see a woman named Murderjoy. “Of course, Your Grace. We’ll be ready in two days.”

  A thought struck her. “How far is this… um…”

  “Spiral Tower,” Kiwi provided helpfully. “It is several months of travel, longer if we have to avoid the main roads.”

  Tasha gawked at her. “Can we fly there? I mean, there are flying dragons, and we’re kind of on a time crunch.”

  We are not beasts of burden, human, thought-spoke the large dragon. Even if we were willing—which we are not—we cannot approach the tower, as close as it is to dwarven lands.

  Well, there went her thoughts of a giant-eagle solution. “Okay, just thought I’d ask.”

  Having come to a plan of action, the meeting ended, and the delegates began to leave. King Questgiver had busied himself with contacting the human and dwarven kingdoms, and the dragons had all taken to the air.

  Tasha left the garden and returned to the castle to meet up with Ari. They spoke at length and agreed to spend the next few days level grinding. The road ahead promised to be full of challenge, and they would more easily face it armed with greater stat points.

  Chapter 22

  The Queen and the Pirate

  Unless you’ve been living under a rock for the last three hundred years, you’ve most likely already heard of the Zhakaran Dominion. Given the living situations of our readership, that may not include everyone, so this month we’re giving a brief overview of Zhakara.

  The continent of Zhakara is situated to the southeast of Questgivria, across Ultros Bay. The only land route to Questgivria skirts the Uncrossable Veldt through the Slime Federation.

  In Zhakara, there is only a single law: No human may claim mastery over another. There are no other laws to govern conduct. In Zhakara, you can commit any action that doesn’t imply mastery without fear of interference by the government. Violent acts like killing and thievery are not punishable by the government and are, in fact, commonplace. Individuals are expected to take care of themselves.

  This has led to a unique form of serfdom. Rich landowners restrict access to their lands for the purpose of level grinding. They wall off NPC quest givers and merchants and charge a portion of any loot found for access. Save points are often camped by the opportunistic for easy experience.

  Although humans in Zhakara cannot be enslaved under the law, that same restriction doesn’t apply to non-humans. The Zhakaran economy is largely slave-based, and slave raids of elven lands has become commonplace. Slave ownership is also considered a desirable status level within Zhakara.

  Amongst the human inhabitants of Zhakara, the divide between rich landowners and the low-level peasantry has led to a large and impoverished lower class. The resulting rampant starvation and homelessness has led to a refugee crisis. Lower-level humans have been pouring into Questgivria by the hundreds, all seeking a chance at a better life than as serfs to the lords.

  Zhakara is known as the land of perfect freedom, but does it live up to its name, or is it a libertarian social experiment gone horribly wrong? That depends largely on who you are. If you are a well-off human with flexible moral scruples, Zhakara could expand your personal liberties. If not, you may wish to c
hoose another place for your summer getaway.

  —From the Billbember edition of Hermit’s Digest, 3187 3E

  The pirate captain K’her Noálin stood upon the deck of his airship. The dark elf looked down upon his handiwork that was the smoldering remains of the city below. The once great city-state of Adreála was now a shattered remnant of what it had once been. Its Crystal Keep had been leveled to the ground, buildings had been reduced to flaming cinders, and the surviving citizens had been imprisoned. His crew waited by a city save point, capturing elven citizens one by one as they respawned.

  He grinned in satisfaction as the captured elves were marched onto his slave transports to be ferried onto his airships. Adreála never stood a chance against his flying armada. Only dragons or other orb bearers could offer any challenge while he was in the air.

  K’her regarded the orb affixed to his wrist. Patterns of flowing wind danced within. It had come into his possession centuries ago, when he was nothing more than a seafaring trader. Oh, how far he had come since then. King of the Pirates, they called him. The orb had bonded with him and with it he could control the ebb and flow of the very air around him. This was vital, as it allowed him to control the air pressure below his dirigible fleet, providing lift. It also put the wind to their backs, allowing them to move at great speeds. He could even enchant regular objects with the ability to levitate.

  Although both Zhakara and Questgivria had agreed to a cease fire, a proxy war between the two great empires was in full effect. Queen Murderjoy promised good money for each and every elf that he captured and brought to her. Moreover, she offered a small fortune in GP for any of the elven royalty. That’s why he’d chosen to attack the city-state of Adreála—the Crystal Keep was home to Count Sigred Elsander and his family.

  At the save point below, there was a flash of light as another elf appeared wearing nothing but the plain sleeveless shirt and short pants that everyone resurrected with. One of his pirates on the ground used a large wooden device to clamp an iron collar around the elf’s neck, then pushed him outside the circle. Another one spawned, this time a young elven child. The captain turned away. Slavery was dirty business, but it was against his ethical code to turn down cash.

  “Mr. Malarkey,” he called, “where ’ave ye gone?”

  “Here, sir,” a small gnome replied, running up to his captain. He held his hands together nervously.

  “’Ave ye done a proper accountin’ o’ th’ plunder?”

  “Indeed, sir. Though many of the citizens have yet to respawn, I can confirm that we have captured three members of the nobility. Our lookouts report three lightning dragons to the south, but I don’t believe they have noticed us.”

  “An’ how long will it be afore we can be underway?”

  “The rate of respawns has already begun to slow. I recommend we wait for another hour before leaving so’s we can pick up the stragglers.”

  “Nay,” Captain K’her said. “Hoist th’ mainsails ’n prepare t’ set out at once. I’d be loathe t’ risk a confrontation wit’ dragons while weighed down wit’ elven cargo.”

  Though his mastery of the orb allowed him to repel dragons and let his fleet escape into the stratosphere, flying creatures were still dangerous. A single burst of dragonfire would be enough to destroy one of his dirigibles, and that would cut heavily into his profit margins.

  “Aye, sir,” the gnome said. “Shall I set a course for the Zhakaran capital?”

  “Aye, Mr. Malarkey. Let us offload this merchandise as swiftly as possible.”

  Ten minutes later, the elven slaves and ship’s crew were loaded aboard their ships, and the armada was airborne. The captured elves had been crammed into cargo holds, shackled and drugged into a state of unconsciousness to keep their fighters and casters from resisting. An unconscious prisoner was one unlikely to attempt escape.

  Captain K’her called upon the power of the Orb of Air to propel his fleet of ships southward along the coast at best speed. The fleet continued on this course for nearly a day before crossing eastward in order to stay well outside Questgivrian borders.

  Three days of flight elapsed before the fleet crossed into the continent of Zhakara. During flight, the prisoners were woken from their drug-induced slumber in small groups. They were fed and rehydrated before being put back to sleep.

  It wouldn’t do for their elven livestock to expire before reaching their final destination.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  Deep within the kingdom of Zhakara, in the capital city of Bastion, an evil queen sat upon her throne. She didn’t self-identify as evil, but just about everyone viewed her in that regard. Given the fear and respect that the moniker “Murderjoy” implied, she didn’t object to its usage.

  The queen was receiving supplicants, but so far there hadn’t been any. Apparently, word had gotten around that she had incinerated the last group, and nobody wanted to take the risk of being her next victim.

  Queen Murderjoy sighed. Being a tyrant wasn’t as easy as she made it look. The rabble probably thought it was a walk in the park, and while she did find wanton destruction and recreational murder enjoyable, the day-to-day operations of running a kingdom tended to drag on. While it was true that she could reduce anyone who glanced at her the wrong way to cinders with little more than a thought, the logistics involved in running an evil empire was the very definition of tedium. She left such minor details of governance to her trusted advisors.

  Every so often one of her advisors would betray her and attempt to unseat her as queen, but that was a small price to pay to avoid the crippling mountains of paperwork that leadership entails.

  Aralynn Murderjoy was a tall, slender human woman with long black hair. Her most noticeable part of her ensemble was a large headpiece comprised of several levels of concentric golden semi-circles with pointed spikes emitting from the center like rays from the sun.

  Her advisors tried to tell her that it looked ridiculous, so she’d incinerated them, thus solving the problem. It was the queen’s privilege to look as ridiculous as she wanted to, and nobody was going to tell her otherwise.

  The real problem with her headpiece came when she had to cross a narrow doorway. Her headpiece gave her a substantial magic boost, so she never took it off. But it was so large that when she came to door, she would either have to duck and edge in sideways or blast a hole in the wall to allow for easy ingress. Eventually her citizens just started making larger doors to accommodate their queen and avoid the property damage.

  She had been notified by swallow that Captain K’her had arrived in the country and was bringing a fresh batch of elven captives. It was about time, she had grown bored waiting.

  Her focus was on capturing as many members of the elven royal family as possible. If she couldn’t destroy them by force of arms, perhaps she could destroy their government and break the Questgivrian spirit.

  She sat on her throne, examining the artifact known as the Orb of Fire, which was affixed to her staff. It looked like a small glass orb with a ball of fire in the center, and it warmed her hand as she held it. It was this orb which gave her the power to maintain her position of unquestioned authority over her people and the might to challenge King Questgiver. To most people it would just be a pretty ornament, but to her it was the ultimate destructive weapon. And most importantly, it was hers. The orb answered to her and her alone.

  She had managed to reach the exalted level of 107, and she was barely into her midforties. Such a feat should have been impossible—the level curve for humans was such that even the most dedicated level grinders would never achieve level 70 before their bodies gave way to old age.

  Finally a supplicant walked into the huge chamber and approached the throne. It was a teenage human girl. She stopped a dozen paces away from the throne and bowed deeply. “If it pleases Your Majesty, I come bearing a message.”

  The queen looked at the poor girl in much the same way that a bored cat looks at a particularly plump and tasty-looking mouse. “Well? I
s it good news or bad news?”

  “I cannot say, my lady. I haven’t read it. It’s addressed to Your Majesty.”

  “Go on, girl, read it to me, then,” Queen Murderjoy commanded.

  “Yes, Majesty,” she said, producing and opening a scroll. “It’s from the Hidden Smog Ninja Village. It reads, ‘It is to our shame to report that we failed to capture Princess Kiwistafel. Our shinobi took her as planned, but our agents were unable to escape the kingdom and were ultimately killed by adventurers. The princess was lost to us. We already have a second plan in the works to reclaim her. Our agent in the castle informs us that a human woman who self-identifies as a player is currently visiting the castle and will be escorting Princess Kiwistafel on a level grind. We intend to take the princess at this time.’”

  “What?” she screamed. “The ninjas failed me? I’ll have their village burned to the ground!”

  With that utterance, a ball of flame shot from the queen’s outstretched hand and engulfed the messenger girl, who collapsed and was reduced to a pile of ash.

  Queen Murderjoy looked at the pile of ashes where the girl had stood moments before. That’ll teach the girl a lesson for bringing bad news to her queen. Someone would have to clean that up. The cleaning staff would probably take care of it.

  On second thought, perhaps she had been hasty. The ninjas were still her best chance to capture the princess. She would allow them this last opportunity.

  A familiar voice came from the throne room entrance. “Did I come at a bad time, me queen? I hope I don’t find ye in an overly murderous mood this fine evening.”

  She smiled. “It’s never a bad time for you, my captain. Tell me, have you brought the commodities that we discussed?”