Civil War
Page 34
Zyra leaned closer, inspecting it. “From the poison on them, maybe. Not from the claws themselves.”
“Just thought you’d like to know it’s safe to get closer.” He grinned and slipped the ring on. “For me, anyway.”
He caught a glint of tooth inside the hood, and when she spoke again, he could hear the smile in her voice.
“I wouldn’t be so sure of that, Griefer.”
“Attention!” a croaky voice rang out. In the throne room’s arched doorway stood a level 2 Changeling in a sauce-splattered apron. “The Feast of Saint Kaz the Gourmet is served!”
Roark sketched a courtly bow and offered Zyra his arm. In response, she fiddled with the leather wrappings on her palm, exposing the row of stickdeath needles.
“Give it your best,” Roark teased.
The walk to the Keep’s newly added great hall was enjoyable in spite of the row of needles in his bicep, and over all too soon. Kaz and Mai and their bevy of apprentice chefs bustled around, serving plates of roasted meats, bowls of stew, colorful vegetables, hunks of fresh bread, sweet pastries, and filling flagons of ale. The fifth- and sixth-floor Trolls took some convincing, but as soon as they sank their teeth into their first bite of food, Kaz’s cooking won them over. Trolls from every floor gathered around the long tables, savoring the delicacies and celebrating the end of Azibek’s reign.
Roark ate with them, listening to Griff as the grizzled old trainer regaled them with stories of the arena, and laughing when Mac appeared on the ceiling, convincing Zyra to restart the familiar game of tossing scraps up to him and the Stone Salamanders, Hellbenders, and Reaver Bats. But all the while, in the back of his mind, Roark was turning over the threat of Lowen and the Vault of the Radiant Shield.
The celebration carried on into the night, with only one drunken brawl breaking out—and that was quickly broken up when Roark dragged Zyra away before she managed to poison her opponent.
Dawn was fast approaching when the revelers finally began to disperse, returning to their native floors, and Roark found himself alone with his honor guard and the citadel’s only human residents. Mai was nestled in Kaz’s pillar-sized arms, half asleep, and the Behemoth didn’t seem in any hurry to go anywhere. Zyra lounged on the table, empty dishes and flagons knocked aside to make room for her, her head and shoulders resting on what was left of a roasted boar. If the Reaver hadn’t occasionally tossed a scrap up to Mac on the ceiling or tossed back another flagon, Roark would’ve thought she’d passed out.
Across the table from Roark, Griff had turned pensive and quiet, staring into his ale for long stretches between sips.
“You’ve been quiet all night,” the trainer finally said, fixing Roark with his piercing gaze. “What’s on your mind, Griefer?”
“This was good,” Roark said, glancing around at the remnants of the festivities. “They needed a chance to blow off some steam.”
“A pleasant to-do ain’t what’s got you broodin’, boy. Out with it.”
“This was just the first war. There’s another one waiting for us out there.” Roark gestured vaguely toward the ceiling, meaning wherever in Hearthworld the Vault of the Radiant Shield sat manned by that horse’s ass, Lowen. “And I’m afraid we’ll have to start it sooner rather than later. There’s another man out there from my home, and he’s been gathering his army, too. Every day we wait to strike, he gets stronger.”
The one-eyed trainer scratched at his bristly chin. “You’re thinkin’ throw the first punch and as many follow-ups as you can before he catches on.”
Roark nodded.
“But we need information first. Intelligence that I can’t gather even under a Glamour Cloak because this other man, Lowen, he knows my face. Both of my faces.” Roark sighed in frustration and scratched the back of his neck. “I need a spy, someone he won’t recognize who can get into the Vault of the Radiant shield, then report back—”
“Say no more.” Griff drained the last of his flagon and stood up. “I’m your man.”
“Are you sure?” Roark asked.
The old trainer stifled a rolling burp. “Ol’ Griff’s got a few good licks in him yet.”
Roark’s mind leapt to the good men and women the T’Verzet had lost to the Tyrant King’s torturers.
“If Lowen realizes you’re with me, you’re not likely to die fast,” he warned.
“Well, a smart man’s got his ways of gettin’ around that, if you know what I mean,” Griff said, giving an exaggerated blink of his eye. It took Roark a moment to realize that was the one-eyed trainer’s version of a wink. “I might need a bit o’ rest, though. I’m not as young as I used to be. Can’t feast all night and fight all day anymore.”
“That’s fine. It’s probably best if you don’t head out until nightfall anyway,” Roark said.
The grizzled old arena vet excused himself, slapping Roark on the shoulder on his way out.
When he was gone, Roark turned to his best friend. The Behemoth was staring down at the cook busy snoring in his arms, his black eyes starry.
“Kaz,” Roark said, keeping his voice low so as not to disturb Mai. “Could you check something in your Cartography Skill for me?”
“Kaz will check any Trade Skill for Roark,” the Behemoth whispered back. “Roark is the reason Trolls can even have Trade Skills.”
“See if there’s a level where you can make accurate maps based on an eye witness’s account.”
Kaz stared off into the distance for several moments, his eyes roving over unseen words.
“Yes!” A triumphant grin stretched across his huge face. Mai stirred in his arms and he flinched, quickly lowering his voice back to an excited whisper. “At level 6, Kaz can map dungeons or cities from the descriptions of those who’ve visited them!”
Roark nodded, the cogs turning in his mind. Leveling Kaz’s Cartography before Griff got back from the Vault would require another trip to the market, but perhaps while he was there, he could speak to Variok. Expedite the merchant’s move to the citadel.
Decided, Roark stood up from the table and cast Glamour Cloak on himself, hiding his Jotnar Defiler form behind what used to be his true face.
“We need to get you some books, mate. There’s a lot of work yet to be done.”
FORTY-SIX:
Deep Dive
Epilogue
Randy Shoemaker marched down the wide linoleum-covered hallway, the halogen lights overhead buzzing with frantic life. He walked away from the work cubicles and the glass-fronted offices that were his natural environment. This was a part of the building he rarely visited—a part of the building that few people rarely visited, save for those with the very highest level of special clearance. This way lay the VIP lounge. The playground of directors and executives. Of people who made more in a month than he did in a year. But he had special clearance. Had it for the first time ever, even though he’d been a loyal employee of Frontflip Studios for years.
Randy clenched down on his ID card, soothing his jagged nerves. Yes. He had every right to be here, and his ID card—updated with a new set of permissions—said so.
Situated at the end of the hallway was a single wooden door, elegant and expensive, with a card reader set into the frame near the door handle.
He took a deep breath, readjusted the glasses on his nose, straightened his pocket protector, then finally swiped his badge. For a tense beat he was sure the light would flash red, cruelly denying him entry and proving this was all some elaborate joke played at his expense. But no. The light flashed green and he heard an audible click as the master lock disengaged. He reached out a quivering hand and pulled the door open, admitting himself to a paradise he’d dreamed about, but had never expected to see no matter how faithful his service was to the company.
He choked up a little as the glory of the VIP room washed over him like a tidal wave.
Plush carpets in deep grays lined the floors, while the walls were immaculately white, though accented with clean lines of gray, black, and chro
me. The furniture was all white—posh and terribly uncomfortable looking, though undoubtedly expensive. The wall adjacent to the door was one giant Vidscreen, though it was currently off since the room was unoccupied. A fireplace, lifeless and cold, was built into the left wall; in front of it were a pair of white-leather club chairs and a shaggy black rug as big as Randy’s living room. The right wall boasted a full bar along with a sleek chrome expresso machine, perfect for an afternoon pick-me-up.
It was nothing even remotely similar to the employee lounge. They were planets apart.
Frankly, though, Randy didn’t care for the modern décor, nor the classy furniture.
He only had eyes for what lay at the back end of the room, behind a wall of spotless, gleaming glass. Eight Deep Dive capsules, like futuristic coffins, arrayed in a straight line. He’d been told that there was an attendant present to help the execs and influential visitors with the capsules, but the post was now abandoned. And no wonder. It was creeping up on midnight and the staff had all long since gone home, except, of course, for Randy. He was the lead responsible for fixing this problem.
A profitable problem, it turned out—at least according to Danny in Marketing—but a problem all the same.
One Randy would fix. Though admittedly, he hadn’t made much progress so far.
The Cruel Citadel had fallen. Roark the Griefer—anomaly and possible modder—had somehow managed to depose Azibek the Cruel in single combat, despite the fact that the Dungeon Lord had been nearly twice his level. If that didn’t prove this Roark was heavily gaming the system, nothing would. And worse, now that Roark had taken over, his errant, anomalous code had spread like a cancer, infecting every creature that called the Cruel Citadel home, not to mention a pair of NPCs who had no business being in that location in the first place.
The Vault of the Radiant Shield wouldn’t be far behind.
And since Randy hadn’t been able to figure things out on the backend, it was time to get up close and personal. “Boots on the ground,” CEO Michael Silva had called it.
Randy pulled open the glass door leading to the Deep Dive chamber, then made his way over to the first capsule in the line.
His fingers full-on trembled as he ran them over the smooth capsule lid. With a gentle nudge, the lid rose, revealing the hardened gelatinous muscle memory bed within. Sweat beaded on his forehead and his pulse quickened, heart laboring in his chest. This POD was a thing of beauty. He played Hearthworld, of course. He loved Hearthworld. Why else work for the company if not for the in-game employee perks? But he’d never played in a Deep Dive capsule. Randy had his own custom Voyage Haptic feedback suit and a Unity Framework Omni-Directional Treadmill for optimal play experience.
Well, optimal was rather subjective.
His rig was optimal if you weren’t a multimillionaire with a hundred grand to spend on a Deep Dive capsule. This thing, this POD, was as different from his haptic rig as the VIP lounge was from the employee lounge.
He headed over to a gear locker on the left wall and quickly changed into an overly snug Voyage sensory suit, then slipped into the POD, easing himself down onto a bed of semisolid blue goop that conformed to his body. Once he was settled, it felt a bit as though he were floating, unconstrained by gravity. The capsule lid lowered on its own, and white light, utterly blinding, enveloped him. In a few blinks the light disappeared, replaced by Hearthworld’s familiar loading screen, though rendered in a thousand times greater detail.
A breeze blew across the landscape, bringing the scent of charred meat and spring grass to his nose. Incredible. The haptic suits let users experience most sensations, though they were much weaker than real life—almost shadows of the real thing. Memories playing across the nerves. But this was the real thing. Nearly indistinguishable from reality.
“Welcome, Randy Shoemaker,” the announcer’s ever-familiar voice boomed around him. “The battle awaits! Which character would you like to select?”
With a thought and a flick of his wrist, Randy brought up his original character—his most powerful character. His Arboreal Herald. He selected yes and felt power wash over him as the world spun and dissolved, the loading screen giving way to the sprawling cobblestoned streets of Averi City.
Time to figure out just who this Roark was and what he was up to. And he would have admin access to help …
Books, Mailing List, and Reviews
If you enjoyed reading about Roark, Kaz, Mac, Zyra and the rest of the crew loitering around in the Rogue Dungeon and want to stay in the loop about the latest book releases, awesome promotional deals, and upcoming book giveaways be sure to subscribe to my Mailing List Your email address will never be shared and you can unsubscribe at any time.You can also connect with me on my Facebook Fan Page: James Hunter Fan Page
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If you love my books and need more litRPG right this minute, then you might want to try my other litRPG series Viridian Gate Online: Cataclysm (Book 1). Already read that? Well, you might also like my Yancy Lazarus Series, which is gritty, tough, shoot-em-up Urban Fantasy at its finest. If Harry Dresden had an older, grumpier, drunker, more gun-happy uncle, you’d have Yancy Lazarus. Get the first book here: Strange Magic (Yancy Lazarus Episode One)
Other Works by James A. Hunter
LitRPG
Viridian Gate Online: Cataclysm (Book 1)
Viridian Gate Online: Crimson Alliance (Book 2)
Viridian Gate Online: The Jade Lord (Book 3)
Viridian Gate Online: Imperial Legion (Book 4)
Viridian Gate Online: The Lich Priest (Book 5)
The Artificer DLC 1.1: A Viridian Gate Online Novel
***
War God’s Mantle: Ascension (Book 1)
War God’s Mantle: Descent (Book 2)
Urban Fantasy
Strange Magic (Yancy Lazarus Episode One)
Cold Hearted (Yancy Lazarus Episode Two)
Flashback: Siren Song (Yancy Lazarus Episode 2.5)
Wendigo Rising (Yancy Lazarus Episode Three)
Flashback: The Morrigan (Yancy Lazarus Episode 3.5)
Savage Prophet (Yancy Lazarus Episode Four)
Brimstone Blues: A Yancy Lazarus Novel
***
MudMan (A Lazarus World Novel)
***
Two-Faced: Legend of the Treesinger
Soul Game: Legend of the Treesinger
Other Works by eden Hudson
eden Hudson
Revenge of the Bloodslinger: A Jubal Van Zandt Novel (Book 1)
Beautiful Corpse: A Jubal Van Zandt Novel (Book 2)
Soul Jar: A Jubal Van Zandt Novel (Book 3)
Garden of Time: A Jubal Van Zandt Novel (Book 4)
Wasteside: A Jubal Van Zandt Novel (Book 5)
***
Two-Faced: Legend of the Treesinger
Soul Game: Legend of the Treesinger
Books from Shadow Alley Press
Aaron Crash
LitRPG
War God’s Mantle: Ascension (Book 1)
War God’s Mantle: Descent (Book 2)
***
Denver Fury: American Dragons Book 1
Cheyenne Magic: American Dragons Book 2
Montana Firestorm: American Dragons Book 3
Space Opera Adventure
Damnation Robot: Galactic Demon Hunters (Book 1)
Neutron Dragon Attack: Galactic Demon Hunters (Book 2)
Black Hole Werewolves: Galactic Demon Hunters (Book 3)
About the Authors
James A. Hunter
Hey all, my name is James Hunter and I’m a writer, among other things. So just a little about me: I’m a former Marine Corps Sergeant, combat veteran, and pirate hunte
r (seriously). I’m also a member of The Royal Order of the Shellback—’cause that’s a real thing. I’ve also been a missionary and international aid worker in Bangkok, Thailand. And, a space-ship captain, can’t forget that.
Okay … the last one is only in my imagination.
Currently, I’m a stay at home Dad—taking care of my two kids—while also writing full time, making up absurd stories that I hope people will continue to buy. When I’m not working, writing, or spending time with family, I occasionally eat and sleep.
eden Hudson
I am invincible. I am a mutant. I have 3 hearts and was born with no eyes. I had eyes implanted later. I didn’t have hands, either, just stumps. When my eyes were implanted they asked if I would like hands as well and I said, “Yes, I’ll take those,” and pointed with my stump. But sometimes I'm a hellbender peeking out from under a rock. When it rains, I live in a music box.
But I’m also a tattoo-addict, coffee-junkie, drummer, and aspiring skateboarder. I love you. Let’s be friends.
Hang out with me on Goodreads
Drop me a line: imedenhudson@gmail.com
Take a look behind the curtain: WhiteTrashCappuccino.com
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Dedication
To all the rebels, revolutionaries, and fighters who just don’t know how to stay down—this is for you. Never quit. Never give up. There is no losing.
Special Thanks
James A. Hunter
I’d like to thank my wife, Jeanette, and my wonderful kids, Lucy and Sam. They are my constant motivation and inspiration. A special thanks to my parents, Greg and Lori. A quick shout out to my brother Aron and his whole brood—Eve, Brook, Grace, and Collin. Brit, probably you’ll never read this book either, but I love you too. I need to say thank you to eden Hudson, who is an amazingly talented author and the best co-author on the planet. Despite what she may say, all the mistakes came from me, and all the exciting, breathtaking, and pulse-pounding scenes came from her.