Neverstone: A LitRPG Adventure (The Mad Elf Book 1)

by Ned Caratacus

  Pamina scoffed. “I don't think Fjell would be too happy to know you called me that.”

  The Mythkeeper darted its eyes back and forth in a panic, checking for giants, then sighed.

  “Just gimme the damn serial numbers and get out.”

  “DS2337 and LC2128.”

  [Mythkeeper — Attack Mode]

  The Mythkeeper's blue eyes flashed with rage at the mention of two of the most dangerous items in the Archive. His head moved to the side. The flickering barrel of an artillery grade laser cannon on the tip of his tail poked through the opening, and into Pamina's face.

  [Mythkeeper — Fangzoblaster Mark 17]

  [Charging!]

  “Credentials,” he said. “Now.”

  Pamina rolled her eyes into the barrel of the gun. “Uniform Uniform, Delta Delta, Lima Romeo, Lima Romeo, Bravo, Alpha, Sierra. Now put that stupid thing down; you're scaring my friend here.”

  The Mythkeeper grumbled, retracted the cannon, and because something had to get vaporized, he aimed toward the darkness. For a fraction of a second, the flash of yellow plasma exposed the derelict and twisted halls of shelves and drawers of the Myth Archive.

  [54,277 DMG to Rat Spirits 47 through 229]

  High pitched screaming echoed through the darkness.

  Era raised a disapproving eyebrow at the Princess. Whaddaya mean, scaring me? I kinda like this dude.

  “Really? Well, I kinda hate you, so piss off!” said the Mythkeeper.

  “You can hear my thoughts?”

  “Totally, and I can make you hear mine, too. Wanna see somethin' cool?”

  A green wave of hypnotic energy shot from the Mythkeeper's eyes into Era's head.

  [Mythkeeper — Mental Projection]

  [Image of a Weird Thing I Picked Out of My Fangs the Other Day]

  “What the—oh, vog me!” Era covered his eyes. It didn't help.

  [Era needs an adult!]

  [Ineffective! Era is 19 years old and technically an adult!]

  The Mythkeeper cackled. “Be right back with your secret magic crap, losers.”

  Its eyes faded into the dark.

  As soon as Era could think of something other than the wad of [DATA EXPUNGED] caught in the Mythkeeper's teeth, he looked at Pamina. “So, he's getting the Bells of Miracles and the Astral Flute for us, huh? What are those?”

  “They're a set of bells associated with miracles, and a flute that has something to do with stars.” Wow. I never would have guessed.

  “Other than that, we know next to nothing about them.”

  “Yeah, but...they're important enough to point a gun at the ruler of Aries for credentials. There's something else you know here.”

  “I'm sorry, but the Myth Archive contains a great deal of dangerous information that I can't allow to—”

  “Yeah, and you can only tell me so much. I get that, but…” Era sighed, and took a deep breath. Don't be rude. She could have you killed with a word. “Point being, if we're going to use these instruments against the Dark Lord, and they're secretly dangerous or something, I don't wanna go into this blind.”

  Pamina scratched her head, filing through her brain for an answer. Finally, she spoke. “Sir Era, do you know what the caliber scale is?”

  “Nope.”

  “It's the measure of how much magic is in something, as detected by a caliber counter. A small health potion has 4 clbr. A thunder arrow, 27 clbr. The Three Sacred Weapons that defeated Sarastro, each one was 3,500 clbr. Argo's tears are 14 clbr/mL, and—”

  CLANG! CLANG!

  Two steel suitcases, covered in a film of black sludge that smelled like burnt hair, slammed against the back of the Golden Elevator.

  “Special delivery, douchebags!” spat the Mythkeeper. “Since you were kind enough to visit, I had the Helltoads puke on 'em extra hard. Now leave me alone, I'm behind on my self pity!”

  Era smirked. Ah, well, at least he didn't call me a Rosie.

  “What the vog's a 'Rosie?' Flowers suck!”

  The concrete wall slammed shut, and the elevator doors closed.

  Pamina picked up one of the heavy suitcases by a few slime-free parts, and handed it to Era. The other, carrying the Astral Flute, remained with her—Era would carry it back to the bedroom in a few minutes. “As I said, Sir Era, I do have proof that you can lead the Chosen Three to victory. The Gods trusted you to carry this.”

  Era rubbed through the slime to see the suitcase's label:

  LC2128 “BELLS OF MIRACLES”

  INDESTRUCTIBLE

  Warning!!! 70,583 Clbr

  [Further Properties Unknown, Pending Research]

  Era froze as he caught sight of the calibur count. “You mean to tell me that the Gods are trusting me to use something that's...” Numbers, numbers, math-math-math. “…about 20 times as powerful as the Three Sacred Weapons. Why would they do that?”

  Pamina smiled. “The Gods never make random decisions. They see something in you, even if you don't.”

  ...among the greatest problems in the modern world is the short range of one word terms to describe emotions.

  Happiness, sadness, anger, fear—those remain the four points of the compass, and all other descriptors—miserable, hateful, ecstatic, bittersweet, terrified, confident, ashamed, et cetera—are derivative, at best. In all my 67 years of life, I've come to realize that the human brain is far more complicated than a four-sided die, with many, many more ridiculous points in between.

  For example, there's my particular favorite: the feeling of beginning to realize one's purpose. It comes after the first sight of the ridiculous task laid out before you, after the fear and doubt of your own abilities, but before setting out with determination to do your duty.

  This strange, warm tingle coursing through you at that point—the idea that maybe you've got a chance here, maybe this won't all end in tears, maybe you'll be able to come home after your adventure a wiser, richer, and happier fellow than you once were—has been without a shorter, one word identification for far too long.

  No more! I, Baron Lutero Balthazar Gualtieri VII, name this emotion: flibbityfloo.

  — Lutero Gualtieri, Ramblings, vol. 4

  Era was now knee deep in the flibbityfloo.

  “Though, I should emphasize,” said Pamina, “if you really don't think you can do this, you can back out, and no one will hold it against you. But you'll have to do it now, because I'm going to have the Chosen Three announced tomorrow at the press conference.”

  “Nah, I'm stayin',” said Era. “It'll be one hell of a story to tell my sister when I get back.”

  “Splendid!” Pamina threw the switch on the elevator.

  [Golden Elevator — Which Direction We Are Going Protocol]

  The climb up was quick, but nowhere near as terrifying as the way down.

  “You know, it's interesting,” said Pamina. “I never knew you had a sister. What's she like?”

  Silence.

  Not now. Don't think about Gena.

  I'm in an elevator with the Princess. Not now.

  This is the worst place to have a panic attack. Don't think about Gena. Don't–

  [Era — Think About Gena]

  Out! Get Out! Out! Out!

  “Are you all right, Sir Era?”

  “Yes, Your Blessed Imperial Candescence.” Don't think about it.

  “Really? You look like you're about to throw up. Should I make it go slower?”

  Don't think about it. “No, I'm—”

  Hang on a second. This is the Princess we're talking about here. She's got connections.

  “Your Blessed Imperial Cand—”

  “My Liege works, too.”

  “Oh, thank Gods. My Liege, once this quest is over, and if I win, I have a favor to ask, if it's not too much.”

  “Oh! Yes, anything...erm, within reason, of course.”

  Talk about it, but don't think about it while you talk about it, and most importantly, don't think about it. “My sister, Papagena Gualtieri
—Gena for short, has been missing since the Fall of Rosencrace. But I've received word from my dad that she's alive and wants to talk to me about something, though no one knows where she is. If you could...try and find her, and at least see how she's doing?” That was close.

  Pamina sighed. “That's a relief,” she said. “For a moment, I thought you were going to ask for my hand in marriage.”

  “Yeah, pretty sure Noah would kill me if I tried that.”

  She giggled. “He would never! Livvy might, though.”

  [Golden Elevator — Stop the Boat Protocol]

  This time, they both grabbed the handlebars. The door opened back in the guest quarters.

  “Very well, Sir Era, you have my word. Defeat Dark Lord Monostatos, and when you return to the Imperial City, I'll see to it that your sister is the first one to welcome you back.”

  Era's flibbityfloo was no more; now, there was only determination.

  Then, by Argo, I'll come back with Monty's head, give it to an amateur taxidermist, and tell 'em to “get creative” when mounting it on my trophy wall.

  “Well, then,” said Era. “‘For the Light!’...or something.”

  Chapter 8

  Mall Cop

  “For the Light!” is the most popular and most annoying battle cry of Luminar. Heroic knights shouted it before they stabbed dragons in the heart. Warlords screamed it before charging into villages to enslave women and children. Sarastro and all his goblins screeched it in their goblin language as they descended upon the ancient humans to slaughter without remorse.

  One imagines a lamp to be flattered, and horrified, from all this generosity.

  What even is “the Light?” This much is evident: it’s “the greater good,” decreased to a merciful two syllables. And yet, even the wickedest people in Luminar think they're acting in the best interests of this Light, or their own definition of it.

  Talk of good and evil tires me; “light and darkness,” even more so. Such moralizing is a senseless complication to an already senseless world. If you must live by any unbreakable principles, you may borrow mine:

  Every well-meaning person should have a sturdy house with a warm bed, a pantry full of delicious wines and sausages, and someone to share them with, regardless of whether or not they've “earned” any of it.

  That is the one and only thing worth fighting and dying for.

  — Lutero Gualtieri, The Beginner's Guide to Wine & Sausage Pairings

  The palatial food court's patio wasn't technically closed, but the rain outside didn't exactly invite anyone to go out and have some fresh air. On the other hand, the fluorescent green glow of the food court's interior didn't exactly invite anyone to come in and get out of the rain.

  Liv sat in the back of the latter at a plastic two person table, trying to stomach one of the barbecue flavored, rib-like sandwich-resembling objects from LeChokey's. It wasn't an ideal lunch by any stretch of the imagination, and likely contained enough inorganic chemicals to give her some horrifying fatal disease that hadn't been discovered yet. But by the Gods, it was only 1.32 G with tax.

  Noah was off praying for success in their coming quest, and for all Liv knew, so was Era. I probably should, too, she thought. I mean, I literally just saw a god in the flesh a few days ago, so I can't call myself an atheist anymore. But would a perfect being really be so emotionally fragile to require constant reassurance from its kids?

  She remembered the eye laser that struck Era in the chest after he flipped off Galgalim. Ha, never mind.

  So, maybe I should give this prayer thing a shot, just to be on the safe side? Nah. Pretty sure I'm already pegged for going to Hell after I die, since the time I killed that dude in Cape Dartley.

  But maybe that's a good thing. Paradisia's probably full of annoying little kids anyway. And Hell doesn't have to be eternal torment, not if you’re a staff member, right? Being one of the Chosen Three is definitely gonna get me some legal clemency from the Gods, maybe even some brownie points for badassery with the King of Demons. I'll just have to secure a full-time position in condemned soul management.

  Oh! Maybe they'll let me be the one who dunks the greedy businessmen and perverts in boiling lava. I'll find that GU thug from last month who tried to grope my boobs, and I'll be all, “Miss me, jackass?” and join a couple lesser demons in sticking him with hot pokers.

  Okay, calm down Liv, we gotta go about this professionally. First, I gotta get a letter of recommendation from Minion. Having a holy man as a reference is definitely gonna keep me from being on the “tortured” end of the workforce. Then the resume—I'll have it included with my last will and testament. “Marketable skills: black magic, antisocial, bilingual, convicted murderer, good with computers, would absolutely steal candy from a baby, had a 3.2 GPA—”

  Wait, what's Slasher doing out there?

  Era sat on the floor in the middle of the patio. Puddles formed around him, and his sweater had become a wet blanket. He clung to his knees as he sat and looked up at the rain.

  Either he's trying to give himself hypothermia, or a beloved family pet just broke up with him over text message. Maybe I should go check on him… Nah, maybe he's one of those edgy loner types who would rather reflect on his tragic backstory while staring into the clouds. Best not to disturb him, don't wanna throw off his—

  The chair across from her shifted. A 37-year-old dwarf hopped into the seat, leaned on his arm and fiddled with his facial stubble. “Hey, so, like, uh,” he began. “I couldn't help but notice you were sitting here and I kinda, like, really wanna touch your butt. Say yes, please?”

  Liv closed the glass door behind her, silencing the dwarf's groans of pain and screams of, “It burns!” as he clutched his steaming face. She took out a baseball cap from her bag and put it on. When one's eyesight relies on two open flames, rainy days are best spent indoors. Besides, wearing a Cape Dartley Razorbacks hat in an Imperial City Imperators town was in itself a form of civil disobedience.

  Ducking and weaving through the shade of the patio tables' umbrellas, she finally came in front of Era, to ask what was—

  Apparently, nothing was wrong. His eyes were closed, and a peaceful smile rested across his face.

  “Slasher?”

  Startled, he yelped and looked around, until he saw Liv. “Oh. Hey.”

  “Hey, you've been sitting there for a while. You OK?”

  “Yeah, I just really like rain.”

  “You're weird.”

  He chuckled a little. “You're not wrong. Actually, it hasn't rained in my hometown since 4730 A.L. Emperor Marcellus wanted to get rid of rain all across Rosencrace. He thought snow was the only kind of weather that Galgalim approved of. He started the curse against rain with Nabucco, but by the time he tried to enchant other cities, he was assassinated in a coup.”

  If Liv's empty, flaming eyes could widen, they would have, but only a little. “That's vogged up. No wonder you like rain.”

  He smiled. “Well that, and it's very calming. It's like the Gods are giving us a break from the work of our daily lives to take a drink. That's how I see it, anyway. How about you?”

  Liv didn't answer. She looked around at the rain coming down and saw nothing amazing, and this aggravated her beyond reason.

  Why can't I see what's cool about this? It's working on Slasher, but I just don't get it. If I tell him how much I don't understand, I'll just look like an angry jerkass. But why can't I relax from this? It's not fair! Maybe it is. Maybe I am an angry jerkass.

  Okay, whoa, slow down. I can do this. I can relax. I'm chillin'. It's cool. Nothing makes me tense. Not even that dwarf from earlier.

  Not even the ridiculous quest I've been assigned to.

  Not even the fascists I'm going to be up against.

  Not even the possibility that I'll lose my cool to the point where I'll go into Riastrad again.

  And kill an innocent person again.

  And kill my friends.

  And kill Minion.

  I'm g
ood.

  I'm chillin'.

  I'm so chill I could chill forever.

  I'm so chill I could gouge a penguin's eyes out.

  Gods DAMMI—

  [Era — Bird Call]

  Liv was broken out of her intrusive thoughts by the sound of Era's pipes.

  [Duck 1 is interested!]

  [Duck 2 is interested!]

  [Duck 3 is completely entranced!]

  A few green and brown mallards flew down to the space in front of Era. He petted the tops of their heads, and they quivered in excitement.

  Liv chuckled. “Didn't know you were a duck summoner.”

  Era grabbed the string of his whistle's necklace. He wiped off the five pipes' mouthpieces with the edge of his sweater and handed it to Liv. “It doesn’t summon birds or anything, just makes ‘em less scared of you. You can try, if you want.”

  “That’s pretty cool, actually,” she said. I’m all for making anything less scared of me. “Thanks. Here goes nothin’.”

  [Liv — Bird Call]

  She picked it up, and gave it a solid doodle-doodle-dee.

  [Seagulls 1 through 27 are completely entranced!]

  Before the press conference, Noah figured that Liv was probably aware that she was covered head to toe in seagull dung, so stating the obvious wouldn't be a good move.

  “Sure you wouldn't like a shower before we get started?” asked Era, despite the fact that he was still soaking wet with rainwater from his “me” time.

  “Hang on a sec,” grumbled Liv, pressing her palms together.

  [Liv — Cleansing Fire]

  For a fragment of a second, Liv was surrounded by orange flame, burning away the dung from her clothes and hair, while leaving everything else unscathed. The smell of it was downright atrocious, but in strictly visual terms, she was clean.