Demonborn's Fjord

by Dante Sakurai

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “You didn’t hear? A player was attacked in the back-alleys.”

  “Attacked? By other players or—”

  “Other players. The Royal Guard found her body in a ditch.”

  Tasha’s heart palpitated. “Oh my god.”

  “Relax I’m just kidding.”

  “What?” Tasha hissed. “That’s not fu—”

  “I’m actually serious. Check out the thread.” Ayla smirked deviously. “But she’ll be fine.”

  “You.” Tasha grabbed her by the shoulder. “You are what is known as a troll to gamers. Cut it out, and why are you even smiling about this?”

  “One, you should see your face. That infuriating smile widened. “Two, she apparently this world is so realistic she forgot she could log out.”

  Jaw dropping, Tasha needed to step back to stop from slapping Ayla. “And what do you mean by that?”

  She pouted and muttered that magic word to unlock a door. “Oh, you know.”

  “Know what?”

  “That she had a particular kind of dark fantasy that she needed to—”

  Clings and squeaks of boots sounded from around the corner.

  With amazing speed, Ayla’s hand seized Tasha’s elbow and yanked her into the room of crates. Her other blurred hand grabbed the door by a groove in the wood, holding it shut.

  Tasha’s pulse spiked to maximum for a moment, her hand on her mouth to prevent a yelp. She didn’t need to be told to keep quiet. She knew this was trespassing, and she knew very well that only Ayla’s Rogue class skills were keeping Detection Wards from going off.

  “What is it?” an old man said.

  A younger man answered, “Thought I heard something scratchy. Must’ve been rats.”

  The old man sighed. “Sanitation lapsed last night. I’ll have a word with the Enchanters.”

  “Lazy gnats.”

  “No, no. They are far from lazy.”

  “Then what?”

  A moment of silence passed. “Keep this to yourself, but runestone supplies have been dwindling. Our relations with the Lunar Elves have strained. They don’t approve of our policy of accommodating every last adventurer. Or accommodating them at all. They have already raised an adventurer settlement in their woods to the ground.”

  How handy it was for them to stop and have a conversation right here instead of moving on. Stupid NPCs. Tasha’s eyes rolled.

  The younger man said in a formal tone, “Would you like me to send an envoy?”

  “No. No.”

  “Eric. You cannot stand by when our ally is mistreating—”

  Eric was suddenly breathing heavily, his nostrils raspy.

  “What do you see?”

  “I have been a Diviner for all my life. Never have I felt such darkness in the world, like a dagger teetering over the edge of a bottomless pit. I fear for Trollheim.”

  Diviner was one of the advanced professions, Tasha recalled.

  The younger man said in a lighter tone, “I think that may be because of where we are standing.”

  “Oh. Oh, yes. Yes. You are correct.”

  The younger man laughed, and they started walking again with brisk steps.

  Only when the sound of their clinking armor was inaudible did Tasha move her mouth-covering palm. She inhaled a massive breath. A drop of sweat rolled off her chin.

  Ayla’s face was ecstatic as she kicked open the door. “There’s something dark nearby.” She made a bee-line for the opposite wall. Her fingertips rand along every last nook and cranny.

  “That was…” Tasha’s head shook. “Way too convenient.”

  Ayla pulled out a necklace from under her leather jacket. An onyx the size of a flattened golf ball sat in a gold rim, hanging from a thick steel chain. It gave off gentle waves of magic when Tasha held out her hand. Two cloverleaf runes sparkled in sky blues. “Maybe this helped.”

  Enchanted Onyx Gold Amulet of Greater Luck and Greed

  Type: Accessory (necklace)

  Quality: 821 (Greater Masterwork)

  +16 Luck (Enchantment Quality: 813)

  +14 Luck (Enchantment Quality: 722)

  Greed: +20% effective Luck stat points. -10% effective Health and Flow stat points. Loot Gems are twice as more likely to hold something worthwhile to you and your party.

  “Whoah,” Tasha breathed. “Where’d you get that?”

  “Boinked some dumb-ass for it. He was way too desperate to think straight.”

  Tasha didn’t know what to think about that. Maybe this friendship wasn’t going to work out long-term. They had such differing values and life beliefs. It couldn’t last. Oh well. Friends would always come and go. For now, however, remaining agreeable was fine. “Nice. He probably still thinks he got lucky.”

  “Yeah, I’d say. I am a redhead goddess.”

  Tasha gave a sheepish look. “If you say so. How much do you think it’s worth? In terms of credits.”

  Ayla shrugged. “Probably a few hundred. Maybe a few thousand right now while the market’s going crazy.”

  Thousands of credits! Not bad. Not bad indeed. “You going to sell?”

  “This? Likely never.” Ayla crouched by wall, checking cracks and seams in the stonework. “Can you feel the dark magic here?”

  “Thousand of credits though. You could go on vacation with that.”

  “I’m saving for a house.”

  “Oh… What do you do for a living?”

  “Assistant attorney, but I want go full time with gaming.”

  “Real?”

  “Yeah. Not getting many clients these days. It’s only getting worse with all these new AI helpers coming out. Anyway, this amulet will help. And do you feel any magic? I’ve got no points in Mysticism.”

  Wires sparked in Tasha’s head. “Ah. Is this why you’re so desperate to meet up with my sister? So she can carry you while you stack Luck?”

  “Yes, yes. We can split the loot. Do you feel—”

  “She’s also stacking Luck. Rowan’s carrying her.”

  “Oh,” Ayla whispered in a hollow tone. “Then she’ll need a Reset Tome. Get one while they’re cheap.”

  “Or you should get one.”

  “Why?”

  “One, I read Rogue doesn’t make for a good Luck character, and—”

  “Hello? My Fate is Thief.”

  Tasha held out a finger. “And two, Gab likes to be in control. She doesn’t know you.”

  “You know me.” That fiery eyebrow arched.

  “I barely know you.” Tasha crossed her arms. “And three, Gab’s booked extended immersion. You’d have to share that amulet anyway.”

  “Booked how long?”

  “Until mid-July.”

  Green eyes widened. “Wow. That long?”

  “Inter-semester college break. They’re young, remember?”

  Ayla’s lips were pinched while she though it over. Her head shook, eventually. “We’ll work something out. It’s no biggie. Anyway, do you feel anything?”

  “You better.” Tasha shot her a serious look, because Rowan might end up torturing Ayla if she was going to be difficult.

  “Don’t worry. I handle asshole well.”

  “You said that before.”

  Tasha knelt by the wall. She felt nothing—even with her cheek pressed against the stone blocks. She stood. “Nope.”

  “Keep trying.”

  “Fine.” But the next yard of stone was also barren of dark magic. And the next. After the third yard, her cheek was complaining from the mistreatment. “Any ideas on what it could be?”

  “I hope it’s a powerful dagger.”

  “Of course you hope for that, but what could it be realistically?”

  “How should I know? Keep checking.”

  Tasha did as asked, because why not? And, honestly, she did want to know what was hidden. What kind of dark magical secrets had these medieval Humans put away? She, for what little she knew about this game, only had one g
uess: “Could it be cursed gold?” Yes, a terrible guess, but she had seen this in a movie once.

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Why would they protect that in a keep? Just throw it in some distant cave.”

  Eyes rolling, Tasha went on. She crouched every three yards, her cheek against both walls, but she sensed no magic, let alone dark magic, for dozens of yards. She wasn’t sure if she could sense dark magic.

  Ayla said, “It better not be that guy’s dragon egg.”

  “He’s here?” He as in Jonathan Bladestrider, the lucky guy. Tasha kind of wanted that Fate. Raising a baby dragon had been her one-time childhood fantasy.

  “Apparently,” Ayla muttered. “I haven’t seen him around. I heard he’s a bit of a wimp.”

  “Real?”

  “It’s what I heard.” Ayla shrugged. “Hurry up.”

  “Fine fine.”

  Tasha hopped to the next yard, crouched. Her cheek was less than an inch from the warm stone as a deep-seated feeling of carefree elation and anger overcame her, the feeling more intense than any magic she had felt so far. Yet the magic was saturated with a tone of acrimony and pathetic apathy for nothing in particular—for everything in general. The polarized combination tore rifts into her heart. She fought off a shiver.

  “Found it,” Ayla breathed, then muttered that magic word, her finger pointing at a tiny hole between two slate blocks. Her plasma-like magic pierced the wall, and invisible runes in the shape on an arch lit up, flashed twice.

  Groaning, stone blocks split vertically along a perfect seam. Two sections pressed inward, then parted, revealing a hidden compartment less than a few square-yards big. A closet. Less than a closet.

  A dusty bookshelf was home to a single tome and a glass sphere. The tome’s cover was old black leather gilded with reddish gold. A horned skull engraved on its front cover over demanded Tasha’s eye. Her heart skipped a beat.

  Advanced Profession Tome: Demonology

  Requires character level 20 and level 15 in Enchanter

  Demon race exclusive

  Exactly what Gab and Rowan needed!

  “Aww, that’s a shitter,” Ayla remarked. “Demon race. That has to be a legendary Fate.”

  Then before Tasha could mask her emotions, Ayla glanced at her face. Instantly, she whispered a different magical word, her fingers reaching for the shelves. A circle of gray mana eclipsed the Tome, snagged without triggering wards. She dropped it into her pouch, which gobbled it up in a cartoonish manner.

  “What?” Tasha tried.

  Eyes dangerous, Ayla said, “Fortunately, I happen to know two players with legendary Fates causing trouble in Trollheim.” She smiled crazily, her white teeth straight and perfect.

  Tasha resigned, her posture slacking. “Yes, they’re Demons.”

  Ayla whistled. “What kind of powers do they have?”

  “Dunno.”

  “How can you not know?”

  “They’re busy.” Tasha’s attention was on the sphere. Dark-blue mana swirled within. It was giving off a different feeling, desolate, depressing, hateful. There was little to no joy mixed in.

  ???

  Three question marks? A first. Tasha refreshed the label half a dozen times so she was sure that the interface was not having issues. But there were no issues. Everything in this game worked flawlessly. She exhaled, pointing, “Anywho, what’s this?

  “Who knows?” Ayla’s hand lazily waved, that word spoken. Mana closed in on the sphere.

  It shattered.

  Everything spun, a slapping wave of force throwing Tasha backward. Howling gale-force winds stormed into the corridor. A tare in reality expanded, bridged this keep into a dark void. Much of the wall crumbled away into black dust. The stench of rotting flesh seeped from the void.

  A fat thing made of stitched skin and bone and rancid meat, over ten feet tall, lugged though. An icy mace was stapled to its flailing arm. Filthy magic thickened exponentially in the air, vomit-inducing. The temperature fell off a cliff to sub-zero degrees.

  Stitched Mauler, Undead (Level 39)

  Health: 100%

  Undead. Multiple Undead. An army was marching through the void.

  “Go,” Ayla whispered, a touch fear in her voice.

  Tasha was already running. She reached for a ruby-tipped yew-wood staff that was magically attached to her back, defying physics. Three Arcane Bolts were tossed over her shoulder, sparked onto the ceiling. Useless aiming!

  Ayla was nowhere to be seen, and around a corner, she ran head-first into one of those animated suit of armor. Game over.

  33

  Browning leaves strayed onto Rowan’s face in the evening breeze coming from the fjord. A change in the seasons was here, marked by a line of snow and ice that had descended the mountains overnight. His Demonic skin was more much more sensitive today; goosebumps were permanent, and not only because of the cold.

  Maybe the Trolls gave up, he wanted to consider.

  “Back straight,” Luthias commanded.

  Snapping out of the stupor, Rowan held his training stick by his ear, parallel to the ground. An Ox Guard stance. His feet were far apart, knees slightly bent, his back straightening. Honestly, it looked and felt quite ridiculous; everything under his armpits were exposed, and holding the stick above the head with the wrists crossing over each other made for a potentially clumsy grip.

  But Luthias had assured an Ox Guard was an easy transitional stance, which may allow for a range of possible follow-ups.

  “And strike,” Luthias said, demonstrating a wide circular cut in front of him.

  A grunt vibrated through Rowan’s teeth as he mimicked the action. The thick piece of wood cut through turbulent air with some resistance, his muscles straining from an afternoon worth of training. If nothing else, the workout helped to fight off an onset of Hypothermia.

  “Hi-ya!” Gabrielle yelled as she did the same.

  Rowan smiled wryly. “What was that?”

  “Huh? What was what? Did I get the move wrong?”

  “The hi-ya?”

  “Oh. Zaine sometimes says it when he plays with his sword. Though I’d try it out. It could be magical.”

  Luthias chuckled. “It is not. He is simply… a young Elf.”

  Indeed. Managing Zaine was a real handful, a real teenager that could rebel any moment.

  Rowan asked, “Do you think we’re ready to spar with him yet?”

  A contemplative expression settled on Luthias’ face. “I suppose you have memorized the training stances—”

  Gabrielle coughed a breath. “These are only training stances?”

  “Training stances.” Luthias smiled. “The point is to familiarize you with how to handle yourself with a blade in your grasp.”

  Ox Guard, Flow Guard, Fool’s Guard, Roof Guard, Tail Guard, High Guard, Longpoint Guard. All training stances? And they were all from the real world. Rowan recognized each. He’d seen them many times in movies and television shows. He mumbled, “They’re not useful in fights?”

  “To an extent, they are, but…” Luthias gave a slow shrug. “I would not advise going at a dragon with a High Guard.”

  Gabrielle giggled. “Toasty Row the dummy Swordsman.”

  “Quiet you.” He blasted her a domineering look. “Then how would I go at a dragon as Swordsman? With my skills? I read Crescent Slash has some decent range.”

  “You can rely on your magical skills, and that is what Blademasters do, but if you choose the other class evolution, Myrmidon, you will be relying on your prowess over your blade alone. Therefore, the question is, which route do you plan to tread?”

  Class evolutions. Each base combat class could ascend into one advanced variant at level thirty, but the trial was deathly difficult. Few NPCs attempted, fewer succeeded.

  “Which is stronger?” Rowan asked like a real dummy. Of course, they were the same strength—game balance.

  But Luthias said, “Myrmidon, by far. The difficulty of the
class is extreme, but so is its potential.”

  A different kind of game balance, then. Rowan could jive with it. “Be honest now. Do you think I could handle it?”

  Luthias stared at Rowan for a good ten seconds, his distant eyes hiding whatever went on in that digital mind. “I cannot say. You have barely learned the basics of sword-fighting. You are an infant in terms of the art. And I repeat, I was never good with swords.”

  “I see.”

  “Hmmmmmm,” Gabrielle hummed. “I think ya should be a Blademaster, Row.”

  He grunted. “I’m kind of thinking that.”

  “Kinda? Ya’d have to have mush for brains to go with Myrmidon.”

  “Maybe I do,” Rowan said seriously. “What are some of Myrmidon’s skills?”

  “Apologies, but I do not recall.”

  “I can answer that,” Zaine’s monotone voice cut in from behind. “Luthias, you can go back to forging. Liluth needs more nails.”

  But Luthias wasn’t going to take orders from from Zaine so easily. “Lord LeMort, are we done here?”

  Rowan’s fingers brushed air, dismissive. “Yeah, good lesson. You can have some free time after dinner.”

  “And can ya make me a frying pan?” Gabrielle asked. “I wanna make mushroom stir-fry tonight.”

  “Should I, Lord—”

  “Yeah, yeah. Off you go.” Rowan’s eyes nearly rolled. “Now, Zaine. What are Myrmidon’s skills?’

  Zaine was slowly flourishing his iron sword like a windmill. His face was serenely calm, tired from the day’s work in the mine. Hopefully he wasn’t going to burn out and have a mental breakdown anytime soon.

  “Come on…” Gabrielle sang. “Spill the beans.”

  A trace of a smile curled Zaine’s lips. He mumbled, “Three passives. One active skill. The first passive multiplies your Agility and Mysticism stats and allows your body to perform greater acrobatic feats. The second imbues your blade with your magic, turning it into a sort of fire sword that vaporizes anything it touches. The third simply extends the range of your sense of magic by a yard.”

  “What’s the point of that third one?” Rowan asked.

  “You would be surprised at its use. Many dungeons are riddled with secret rooms and passages—and traps. Even with a hundred Mana stat points, you would have to stand with your nose against a wall to feel them.”