Fiction | Short story | Fantasy | Humor | LitRPG
Meanwhile, the NPCs… (part 1)
A fantasy LitRPG short story by J. F. Danskin
This is a fantasy LitRPG short story by J. F. Danskin. What’s LitRPG? Find out here. Want to know more about the characters? This story takes place 6 months after my web-novel, Sorcerer.
And you can check out this article for a bit of background to the game world.
A glowing ethereal dagger embedded into the orc chieftain’s back, and then began to fade to nothing, leaving a dripping wound behind. Alcar — the caster of the magical weapon — began to back away.
Snorting, nostrils flaring, the warrior pulled a rusty scimitar clear of its scabbard, and slowly turned to look directly at Alcar. Its toothy jaws opened, slimy yellow drool hanging down towards his chin in a large gobbet.
“Urgak! Die!” it roared, raising the scimitar above its head. The blade was rusty and had multiple notches along its length. All the same, Alcar was fairly sure it was sharp enough to do its job against an unarmored man such as himself.
The sorcerer scurried several steps back. He was aware that there weren’t many steps left to take. That he was almost at the back of the cave. That the orc was too strong for him to stop, and too ferocious to reason with.
But where were the rest of his adventuring group, and why weren’t they here to help — the powerful barbarian warrior Zaxon, in particular? Alcar had thought they had all been right behind him.
It might prove to be his last mistake.
The orc leaped forward, swinging the weapon, and Alcar squirmed to one side, ducking instinctively as he had moved further back into the dark, and dropping his staff in the process. He felt the whoosh as the blade sliced a mere inch above his head. He had narrowly avoided decapitation — but had stepped on a rounded stone, and felt his feet giving way…
He fell.
Seizing the opportunity, the chieftain lunged downwards, pinning him to the ground with its knees.
“Urgh.”
The orc’s weight forced all of the air from Alcar’s lungs. As he tried in vain to inhale, he nearly retched at the stench of its fungal breath. And then it raised the scimitar again, lifting the blade directly above his head.
Alcar tried to incant one of his last remaining spells, but the words wouldn’t come. All he could do was move his mouth soundlessly, a desperate silent scream asking how it had come to this.
At that moment, two things happened at once.
One:
Zaxon finally appeared in the cave. The bearded barbarian loomed up behind the orc chieftain, whose hand — the one holding the scimitar — went flying across the cave as Zaxon flexed his muscles and slashed his greatsword through the sinew and bone of its upper arm in a single stroke. As the creature rolled off, howling in pain, its blood sprayed out from the stump, spraying over Alcar where he lay prone. Zaxon then finished their foe off with a sword blow to its throat.
Two:
a mysterious box appeared in Alcar’s mind, looking like… well, it looked almost like a piece of parchment — square, pale, with neat black letters. It disappeared almost as suddenly as it had appeared, but not before he had time to read the information:
Status: Human, male, 23 hit points
Name: Alcar
Level: Journeyman sorcerer
Location: Great Swamp, Sefindarg Province, Varian Empire
Time: 16:11Something was very wrong, Alcar realized at that moment. Could he have somehow made contact with a deity or demon? The intimate detail of the scroll-inside-his-head was astonishing. Frightening even…
“That was close,” grinned Zaxon, wiping his long and blood-smattered curly hair out of his face, and then stepping forward and holding out a hand to Alcar. ”And you’re welcome, spellcaster. ‘Strong–arm’, that’s what they used to call me. What a hit that was! Woof!”
The sorcerer ignored the muscular barbarian’s offer of help, instead turning over with a groan, wiping the blood from his face, and then standing, fists clenched. “You fucking asshole! Where the hell were you? I’m no fighter.”
But the barbarian just grinned. “True enough,” he said, raising his greatsword to his nose and sniffing at the blood as he spoke. “I was pretty sure the orc was going to kill you. Haha. Hahaha.” With this, Zaxon stooped to rifle through the creature’s belongings, pulling out a handful of silver coins.
“Another few seconds and I’d be dead,” hissed Alcar. He still felt stunned by his experience, both the near-death moment and the strange possession that had come over him. A chill filled his chest and stomach as he considered what had just occurred. “So, where were you?”
“Stood on a trap,” the barbarian said, now grinning as he bounced a handful of copper coins in his meaty hand. “Back on the trail.” He pointed down at his leg with his sword blade, and Alcar now saw that it was soaked with blood. “Nasty, but it takes more than that to stop a hero like me — people grow up strong, where I’m from!”
“Hero,” muttered Alcar sourly, as he picked up his staff. “Heroes aren’t so stupid that they wander off and divide the party.” He had quickly surmised that their healer Dagmir von Lepp — ‘Leppie’ to her companions — must have stopped to help the barbarian. The fourth member of their party, the halfling rogue Etienne, would have remained where he felt safest.
As he glanced around, Alcar now saw that the other pair had finally entered the cave. Frowning, he turned away to hunt for loot, trying not to think too hard about what he had just experienced. As the trauma subsided, he was starting to consider their main motivation for coming to these hills in the first place — loot. Soon, he spied an animal pelt that had been draped over a flat rock at the very back of the cave.
“Rac al manuhka,” he muttered, placing two fingers on the upper end of his staff. The incantation lit up the top end of the weapon, allowing him to poke it into the gap underneath the pelt.
He crouched. Sure enough, there was something under there. Small, dark — but it could be a chest.
Wary of more traps, Alcar used his staff to raise the pelt, and then took out the small ivory-handled pocket knife that he kept inside his canvas jacket, and used it to lift the lid of the chest. He was ready to spring back if he saw anything untoward.
No trap.
Well — that checked out. The orc chieftain didn’t exactly seem like someone who could maintain anything so complex.
Alcar leaned over. Inside were a couple of bags of copper and silver coins, a pair of small vials containing potions, and a bundle of papers.
“Let’s go, city-dweller,” called out the barbarian.
“Give me a minute.”
Alcar certainly didn’t want to spend any longer in the cave, especially in close proximity to the corpse of the notorious chieftain. But the papers looked intriguing to him, and as he pushed the coin bags to one side, he saw that it was in fact a magical-looking book with unusual purple-leather binding.
But as Alcar gingerly picked this up, he was disappointed to see that it was in very bad condition. In fact, it appeared to be only part of a book — the last few pages and backcover, ripped away from the rest of the tome. As he carefully turned the first few ancient pages, a heading written in the runes used by sorcerers caught his eye. It read, “summoning”, and was followed by a list of ingredients.
And they included orc blood.
“Come on, Alcar!” This time it was Leppie calling from the entrance to the cave. Grunting, Alcar stood up, carefully tucking the book into an inner pocket of his own backpack.
He then examined the potions; both basic healing concoctions of the type commonly brewed by the covens back in Katresburg. He sniffed at one vial, looking down at the slain warrior. On the one hand, he didn’t — despite his recent encounter — feel injured or in need of healing. On the other, he didn’t want to have to find another source of orc blood if that spell proved to be worthwhile…
With a shrug, Alcar drank down one of the healing potions, and then used its vial to gather up a few drops of the dark, sticky blood from the cave floor.
Outside, the group soon commenced the business of dividing up the treasure they had gained so far. It wasn’t much. Barely pausing to look around at the dank, stagnant-smelling area of swamp where they now stood, Alcar passed over the remaining healing potion together with the copper coins, and took his share.
“Any other loot from the warrior?” asked Etienne. “Weapons?” The halfling stood around four feet high, with light brown skin and floppy dark hair. He was currently carrying only a dagger, and he thrust this back into its sheath as he spoke.
“Rusted. Worthless,” Alcar replied.
“Then we only have the potions and some coins,” replied the halfling, “ all copper and silver. Around ten of each when divided four ways.”
“Zaxon will need that healing potion,” said Leppie, pointing at the barbarian’s leg. The tall healer wore an iron helmet as well as a simple chain shirt across her otherwise black clothing.
“Ah, it’s nothing!” cried Zaxon. “I can walk for miles with this wound.”
Alcar looked down; blood was still flowing freely down the man’s bare calf and pooling at the top of his bearskin boots. ”Take it,” he said, passing the vial over, and feeling a little guilty at having wasted its partner. “The other one is just an ingredient that I… might need.”
“Fair enough,” said Leppie, frowning. “Well, friends, we found the rogue chieftain. A source of evil removed from the world. But it’s not been half as lucrative as we’d hoped.”
Alcar was solemn and silent, gently bouncing his meager share of copper and silver coins in his hand.
Etienne, however, pulled a scrap of parchment out of one pocket, raising it in the air. “Well, then, I have good news. I am holding our next adventure in my hand!”
“What is it?” said Alcar, stepping closer and peering at the scrap.
“A time and a place, my friends. The Princess Thacla von Dathmir’s palace, tomorrow, an hour after dawn. That is when we petition the ruler for the chance to find one of her family heirlooms.”
“So — really nothing then,” said Leppie sourly.
Zaxon had now gone to sit on a rock outside the cave; he rubbed at his wounded leg as he drank down the healing potion.
“This intel wasn’t easy to get hold of, man, I can tell you!” said Etienne hotly, now stuffing the parchment back into his pocket and pulling out his waterskin. “I had to ply old Brugga with ale at the Black Mackerel for nearly half the night. His son is a palace guard, and promises that there will be a huge reward. And nobody else knows.”
Leppie and Alcar looked at each other in silence, both equally dubious, but Zaxon now walked back over and thumped one hand down on Etienne’s slight shoulder, causing him to spit out the water that he had been drinking. “Tomorrow, you say?” said the barbarian with a grin. “Then let’s move!”
Etienne nodded, wiping his mouth. ”We do, in any case, need to get to Katresburg before dusk. Pets to feed.”
As they began to make their way around the path on which they had come, Alcar decided to speak up about his recent experience. “I saw something in there, my companions. Something weird.”
“An orc just about to kill you?” said Etienne. “Wait, don’t tell me — you fell in love with him just before Zaxon stuck a sword through his throat.”
“Shut it, Etienne.” Alcar was staring ahead of him, now once more ruminating on the strange words that he had appeared inside his mind. “I saw… well, I saw words inside my mind. Written there, like parchment.”
Zaxon looked over his shoulder. “Book stuff?”
“Right, well, yeah… but in my head. Have any of you ever seen something like that? Like mind-writing?”
“No idea,” said Leppie from the front, with barely a half glance backwards. “But what you describe is not part of the teachings of mighty Hernvall. If I did see such a thing, I would assume that something I had eaten didn’t agree with me.”
“Perhaps you got a bang on the head without realizing,” suggested Etienne from behind.
Alcar looked to Zaxon again, but the big barbarian now burped and then made a loud noise with his lips, imitating the process of breaking wind, or perhaps of shitting — Alcar wasn’t sure which. Either way, it was clear that none of his companions were going to be much help.
As the small band continued homeward, the sorcerer fell in beside Etienne. “What did you say this lost treasure is?” he asked the halfling.
“I didn’t,” replied Etienne. “But it must be something from the princess’s family history. From Dathmir province. A thing of legend, I suppose. It’s going to be worth a lot. So we can either take the reward, or sell it to the highest bidder.”
Alcar shook his head. ”You really are disreputable.”
“I go where the money is. Sadly, of late, that hasn’t been on our adventures.”
Alcar nodded absently. His experience in the cave was still occupying him. “If only we had a more reliable team. You know, Master Maluhk wants me to focus more on my training. And when it is complete, perhaps I should get myself an apprentice.”
“And the relevance is…?”
”Well — if I get someone who is good with a sword as well as with books, perhaps we could drop the barbarian from the party.”
Etienne sighed. “Man, Zaxon’s no intellectual, and he can be a liability. But he is far and away the strongest warrior we’ve found. I doubt that any magic user could take his place.”
Alcar grunted, and the pair lapsed into silence as they walked. Soon the path turned towards the north, and as the adventurers left the fringes of the Great Swamp, Alcar caught sight of the spires of Katresburg glistening up ahead.
Home.
Alcar knew, however, that things wouldn’t feel comfortable or homely until he had figured out what the mind-writing was all about. Could it truly be some kind of demon or messenger, keeping track of him?
It was a disturbing prospect, but something told him that the problem was worse still. That the strange vision was a clue to a bigger mystery.
And that it was warning him that reality was not as it seemed.
“Does the guy ever stop?” murmured Alcar. He nudged Etienne’s elbow and indicated with his head towards the conversation ahead of them in the palace corridor.
Zaxon had been speaking to a pair of pretty palace servants for several minutes, as the group waited outside the carved double doors of the throne room. The man’s leather hauberk covered his chest but left the bulging muscles of his arms exposed, and he was now flexing his biceps every few seconds.
Etienne glanced around. “Sure. He can’t do two things at the same time, so all you need is to give him a complex task, and watch him grind to a halt.”
“Hmm.”
Zaxon was the newest member of their adventuring party, but it was clear to see that Etienne had fully accepted the man as one of their own. It was true that Zaxon was a capable warrior. All the same, it seemed to Alcar, the barbarian was a liability. His recklessness would surely get them all killed sooner or later.
Besides, he thought to himself, as Zaxon now pulled out his gigantic two-handed sword to show it off to the servants, sorcery was clearly much more difficult than whacking people with sharp objects.
Anyone could be a warrior.
The sorcerer then leaned down towards Etienne. “Nudge his leg, man,” he murmured, nodding towards Zaxon, who was now leaning forward, putting almost his whole weight on the sword.
“What?”
“Zaxon. He’s such a fucking show-off. Give him a nudge, and if he stumbles, he might ease off a little.”
Etienne now glanced back at Zaxon and then looked around at Alcar. The halfling was chewing something, and looked as relaxed as anyone could be while they awaited an audience with the ruler of Katresburg. “Take it easy, Alcar,” he said. “Don’t get jealous. Let him have his fun with the palace girls. We’ll be out of here soon anyway.”
Alcar shrugged.
Now, he realized, as soon as Etienne had said it, there were no two ways about it — he was jealous. Granted — they had needed a new warrior after Olynka had left to join the revolutionaries in the Ironrock Mountains. But since Zaxon had joined them, it had felt like the group was out of balance.
In particular, it was now usually assumed by the others that the barbarian would be their focal point — their most valuable player. The one that would win their adventuring group some local fame, and the high-paying jobs that went with it.
Which may be partly true.
“All the same,” said Alcar, still unable to take his eyes off Zaxon’s antics. “It might get his mind back to the mission, no?”
Etienne made a thoughtful face, and then without further discussion, began to walk stealthily around their comrade. If there was anyone in their party that could execute a stealthy nudge, it was Etienne, Alcar was sure. Halflings were generally hard to notice and quiet on their feet, but as a trained thief, Etienne was near-silent, even when close by. He would make an excellent assassin if he ever turned his hand to it.
As the halfling approached, Zaxon raised the sword up above his curly mop of hair. “It’s not that heavy,” he bragged. “I could lift it all day, look!” As he spoke, he had held the greatsword up in both hands directly up, pointing at the ceiling, and put one of his feet against the bulky bare calf of his other leg, balancing.
Moments later, while almost everyone in the corridor was looking at Zaxon’s beautiful muscles, there was a slight swishing noise from low to the ground. This was immediately followed by Zaxon wobbling; the big man then staggered forward and crashed into a valuable looking wooden table, landing heavily on one end and causing the other to flip into the air. Three porcelain vases flew through the air as a result; one was caught by one of the servants, one by an innocently serene Etienne, while the third smashed hard against the doors to the throne room.
“Do be careful,” chided Alcar gently, folding his arms with a satisfied smile.
Just then, however, the great doors swung open. Out strode Leppie, together with a captain of the place guard.
“Come,” began the healer, looking around at her companions in some confusion, and then looking down at the smashed ceramic shards. “I…”
The captain peered from one to the other of the other three party members, nose wrinkled, before focusing on Alcar. The sorcerer was almost certain that they were about to be thrown out. But instead, the captain just shrugged. “We were not expecting groups to approach us about this opportunity so soon,” he said, “but it appears that news travels fast.”
“It does at the Black Mackerel,” murmured Etienne.
The captain shrugged again, and then ushered them on towards the ornate doors. “I can’t say I’m impressed. Still, the more options Her Highness has, the better.”
Inside, the throne room was something of a disappointment. What had Alcar expected? A jeweled throne, perhaps, elaborately carved chairs, silk hangings, and mighty palace guards?
Instead, the room was no larger than the taproom of a typical inn, though it was brighter, with beams of light entering from tall windows on the far side and dusty war hangings in the stone walls. At the far end, a lanky and athletic warrior woman was propped up on cushions upon a throne of granite. The ruler of the city — Princess Thacla von Dathmir. She was currently wearing light canvas clothes in a brilliant blue that matched her eyes and offset her auburn hair, but she was a renowned warrior, and was often seen around the city in armor.
A youthful male advisor stood off to one side of the princess, the captain of the guard took his place at the other, while a further pair of guards were seated by the windows, bored expressions upon their faces.
“Adventurers about the orb, Your Highness,” said the captain.
“Come closer,” called out the woman. Her voice was higher and more sonorous than Alcar had been expecting; despite her height and athleticism, she was young. All the same, her bearing suggested confidence. This was a woman who was descended from the ancient noble family of Dathmir, a family older than the entire Imperial province in which they now stood.
The group walked forward slowly and warily, all except Zaxon who strode confidently to the front, his greatsword still held loosely in his hands. As he approached the throne, the captain of the guard strode between Zaxon and the princess, and leveled a rapier towards Zaxon’s chest. The two seated guards spluttered and leaped to their feet, grabbing their spears and coming to the captain’s side.
“Halt!” called the captain sternly.
Zaxon stopped where he was, and slowly sheathed the sword, then leaned around one of the guards and gazed at the princess. “Greetings, oh gorgeous one,” he called out. “We are here to take up the quest.”
The advisor now stepped away from the throne and cleared his throat; he was a very spotty man, aged around twenty. “You need to refer to your ruler as ‘Your Highness’,” he said. With this he nodded, and returned to his place.
“Not my ruler, buddy, as I am a Khranulian,” said Zaxon with a smile. His companions had now reached his side, and as he gesticulated with his muscular arms, he very nearly hit Alcar in the face. “But I’d be happy to be commanded by you any time, your beautiful highness. Ha. Hahaha.”
The princess now stepped up off her granite throne, and began to circle the small group. Thus far she looked entirely unimpressed by Zaxon’s ribald flirtation. “I have come into possession of a map which points to the location of my family heirloom,” she said, with one eyebrow raised. “But I will only share it with a group of adventurers that I judge to be sufficiently loyal, serious-minded and skilled.”
Alcar rolled his eyes. It was as he feared; for all of the barbarian’s attention-grabbing qualities, his lack of social graces could cost them. Or worse — have them flung into the dungeons below Katresburg.
Now the princess was circling the adventurers. Alcar continued to stare forward tensely, though he noticed that Etienne was still chewing, looking very calm.
“The orb of van Genke is valuable,” the princess continued, “and is of great importance to the realm as a whole. There are people who wish to use it as a weapon. While it was once carried by the great warrior Gaax van Genke, its true purpose is to defend the people.”
Alcar nodded. His time at the Sorcerer’s Academy in the Imperial capital had been brief, but he had gained the opportunity to read the tale of van Genke’s lost heirlooms, and of the warrior’s doomed defense of Dathmir against the Imperial army.
“We can get it for you, your Highness” said Leppie, speaking up. “This group has been on many adventures together. Three of us, anyway. Now, since recruiting the warrior here, Zaxon, we are even stronger.” She was nodding her head as she spoke, as if trying to convince herself that this was all a good idea.
“Aye,” said Zaxon with a predatory grin, as the princess moved back around in front of him. “Ten times stronger. I have limitless stamina, Miss… uh… your Highness.”
The princess now reached out and patted Zaxon on his thickly bearded cheek, a cheek that bore several scars. “You certainly think a lot of yourself, don’t you?”
“I do, and rightly so!” proclaimed Zaxon. “My prowess is legendary back in Khranul.”
“He’s losing us this,” murmured Alcar softly to Leppie.
The healer shrugged. “For all his flaws, the barbarian is very charming,” she replied.
Alcar frowned, aware that Leppie could at times be somewhat biased in Zaxon’s favor, having bedded him on at least one occasion.
As he looked back around, he noticed that the captain of the guard was glaring angrily at him. “Only one petitioner at a time may speak,” snapped the soldier.
The princess was also looking at Alcar now, eyes narrowed. “So,” she said. “I have heard from this lump of muscle. What do the rest of you bring to the table?”
He cleared his throat. “I am Alcar, sorcerer, trained by the sorcerer Maluhk. This here is Etienne, a stealthy and wily adventurer. And then we have Dagmir, formerly of the Elemental Hand Guild. A healer, and handy with a warhammer, too.”
The princess stared at Alcar coldly as he spoke. “I am acquainted with Master Maluhk, and he did mention a wayward apprentice more fond of adventuring than of his studies.”
“Uhh…”
With a thoughtful glance back at Zaxon, eyes narrowed, the princess returned to her granite throne, and looked around at her advisor. “Very well. Polinatus — what do you think?”
“They have some worthwhile skills,” said the young advisor.
“But this is a very difficult and important quest,” growled the captain of the guard from the other side. “The Trollbone Hills are deadly.”
“Aye, that is true,” said Polinatus. “There would be no great harm in waiting for a more experienced alternative.”
“We’re experienced!” said Etienne, an aggrieved look on his face.
“But we do need to hurry,” said the captain. “The Knights of Dawn have been sniffing around. And they may mobilize the Imperial Army before long.”
“That’s true,” Polinatus. “But we also can’t afford any… missteps.”
The princess stood again. “Adventurers,” she announced loudly, “I have given your petition some consideration. This orb, as I said, is of value to me, and I will offer a reward of one thousand gold crowns. However, I have decided that I will not give you the map.”
Alcar felt his heart sink; he looked around furiously towards Zaxon, who was now humming loudly and scratching at his groin.
“However,” continued the princess, “I will keep you in mind. Stay in the city. If I don’t get a better offer in the next fortnight, I may reconsider.”
The four looked at each other.
“Now get out of here,” growled the captain of the guard, approaching with one hand on his sword hilt.
Many thanks for reading this fantasy tale by J. F. Danskin. You can find part 2 right here!
I am a Scottish writer of LitRPG, gamelit and historical fantasy. This short story connects to my Shadow Kingdoms stories and novels.
My other recent works include the Sparta Online LitRPG trilogy, as well as several short stories — including further adventures featuring Alcar and his companions — here on Medium.
Here’s a link to all my books and sites.
You can keep up to date with news and releases via my Facebook author page. And check out the stories below. Happy reading!
