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

by Ned Caratacus

  “What do you mean, 'tactical?'”

  “We need to stop Lord Monty, and we can't do it without you and your sick ass shield techniques. We need you in your best shape for fighting. I mean, look at how often I get my ass kicked—if I have to be the one to carry this team’s defense, we’re all dead. We square?”

  She smiled a little. “All right. I'll focus on the quest for the time being—on one condition.”

  “Sure.”

  She sat down on the floor. “Sit with me for a while. There's something I'd like to get off my chest.”

  So did Era. “Fine by me, just so long as no more unicorns show up.”

  Ofelia closed her eyes and drew in a deep sigh through her nose. She grabbed Era's right hand, clasping it in both of her own.

  “I have a confession,” she said.

  Era blushed a deep purple. Oh Gods. I'm too tired to get involved with someone like this, but I'm also too tired to break someone's heart.

  “Signor Era...”

  Right, right, “I loved you from the first moment I saw you,” I know the drill. Let's get this over with.

  “We have the same mother.”

  Okay, what do I say to this, “I mean, I'm flattered, bu—

  WHAT?!

  Era's lips pursed, having swallowed an invisible hornet.

  Ofelia giggled. “I recall my mother—Julia, one of my father's concubines—mentioning that her ex-husband was a perverted commoner named Mischa Gualtieri. Wait, what did you think I was going to say?”

  “Oh, uh, nothing, I'm just...wow, we're related, huh? What are the odds?” Presumptuousness, thy name is Era.

  A disastrous rumble from the ceiling interrupted any further long-lost familial revelations. Truth be told, anytime one hears disastrous rumbling, “Branwen” would be the first thing that comes to mind—and sure enough, there she came punching her way through the ceiling and plummeting onto the floor.

  “Oh, hey Branwen,” said Era.

  Still groaning face-down on the floor, she gave a thumbs up.

  Noah and Liv came in through the stairs, on the grounds that they weren't complete dangers to themselves and others. Noah's face was pale, and he hid behind Liv, trembling.

  “Thank Gods,” said Liv. “Where the hell were you guys?”

  “Here,” said Era.

  Liv realized she was probably asking the wrong question and tried to rephrase. Nothing came up.

  “How'd you find us?” asked Era.

  That jogged her memory. “Right. We saw Steve fall outta the sky, so we went after you.”

  “Branwen ate a mummy,” whimpered Noah.

  “Six mummies!” said Branwen. “Plural, not singular! Get it right!”

  One subterranean picnic later (granted, they didn't have many materials for it, but Era and Noah brought bottled water, and Branwen was halfway through the desiccated head of a 5200-year-old royal handmaiden, which ruined everyone else's appetites anyway) and “Alpha Squad” was able to explain the whole Stardust Dreamer fiasco to the others, while the “Fancy Little Vogtrocutioners” made a surprising revelation of their own.

  Liv pulled said revelation out of her pocket—an angular, S-shaped iron trinket of some sort. “A wounded goblin gave me this,” she said. “Then he said 'bells,' and died.” She snickered at the memory of his death rattle.

  “Branwen ate a mummy,” said Noah, again.

  Era took the trinket, looking it over. “Bells?” he said. That's right, the goblins wanted me to use the Bells of Miracles for something.

  But you know what would be nice? If I knew how to play the damn thing.

  An invisible force of nature made the iron thingamawhatzit quiver in his hand. It slipped out of his grasp...

  THUNK!

  ...and in an instant, it was permanently bonded to the right side of the wooden box at Era's hip. Though there was no hole for a handle, this was ancient magic, which meant that all sorts of ridiculous liberties could be taken with mechanical carpentry.

  “It's a handle!” said Noah, who always did have a knack for the obvious.

  Era held the bell box in his lap. He chuckled. “Looks like the goblins were nice enough to give us the missing piece.”

  Ofelia rolled her eyes. They had also been nice enough to kidnap her.

  Era placed a tentative hand on the handle and pulled it backward, but had no luck. He pushed it forward.

  [Era — Bells of Miracles]

  Something inside the box clicked. The handle turned a wheel forward. The motion was heavy and resistant. Era could tell he was moving some gigantic piece of clockwork within, using only a small length of iron.

  Dong. One of the heavier bells in the box's private bell dimension rang out, startling Era. Lighter bells joined in, and heavier bells still.

  It was an immeasurably large music box, and it played a dreary, melancholy song—a few ticks more hopeful than a funeral march, but only a few.

  Noah suddenly pounced on the device, holding it under his belly, like a live grenade in the trenches. “STOP!”

  “Uh, okay.”

  [Era — STOP!]

  “What's this, now?” asked Ofelia, who was actually rather enjoying the song.

  Noah hyperventilated, trying to form words. “Alright,” he said. “Look. I know how this goes. It's a very mean trick, and I always end up expecting something funny, but I get hurt instead.”

  Liv put a hand on his shoulder. “What's wrong? Is it dangerous?”

  “I'll say it is, Livvy. It's a jack-in-the-box!”

  Era once again began to long for his dingy bunk in the Doomwagon. His eyelids weighed ten pounds apiece.

  “Okay, look,” said Noah. “Speaking as a healer: under certain conditions—heart disease and old age being the bigger ones—a non-magical jack-in-the-box can be deadly.” He then pointed to the Bells of Miracles. “This, on the other hand, is a seventy thousand calibur jack-in-the-box from the Myth Archive. For all we know, it could startle the whole planet to death!”

  “It's not a jack-in-the-box,” said Era.

  Noah grabbed Era by his shirt. “Where is your evidence?”

  “It's not playing 'Pop Goes the Weasel.'”

  The spotty, poorly-maintained telegraph system in Noah's brain carried out the information with only a few typos, and he let go of Era's sweater. “Well, that's a relief,” he said. “Let's just be careful, all right?”

  “No prob,” said Era. “Besides, Galgalim wanted us to use this to 'sing the world to sleep,' right? Pretty sure startling the world would be pretty counterintuitive.”

  Noah stood up and saluted. “Very well, Era. I'll take whatever it has to offer...for Galgalim. Do your worst!” He clenched his fists and closed his eyes.

  Era sighed. Being understood would have been nice, but Noah's nerves were frayed enough as is. “Once more, with feeling!”

  [Era — Bells of Miracles]

  The depressing tune droned on from the bell box—it must have been the grim reaper's doorbell. After an earnest 30 seconds of the elegy with no “miracles” to speak of, Era began to wonder if this was the intended place to use the bells.

  But this was the intended place. After all, there was that sarcophagus-sword arrangement in the center of the chamber, and now—

  [The Miracle of Freedom!]

  Clang!

  At 31 seconds, the sound of dense metal on the ground made all five of the adventurers jump.

  Era's eyes turned to the sarcophagus and its sword—the top half of the sword had snapped off, landing on the ground.

  “Ah, I get it,” said Era. “This thing's a break-swords-in-half machine.” He quickly realized how incongruent that was with his fighting style and drew his Schiavona—still in one piece, thank Gods.

  Noah stood up. “Hold on a minute. That's no goblin sword.” He grabbed the hilt and lifted it, inspecting some of the runes written on the side. A few pebbles of marble and granite fell from the edges of the sarcophagus lid as the coffin began to shake.
>
  “These are Church runes,” said Noah. “I remember reading about these. This one means ‘eternity,’, this is ‘sealing,’ and this one—”

  The sword flashed with heat and burned Noah’s fingers. He shrieked and dropped the sword, which melted on the floor.

  The other half, still in the coffin, vaporized.

  [Pop!]

  The lid of the casket shot up to the ceiling, shattering into a cloud of marble dust. A geyser of blood colored fire and smoke shot from the blazing interior. The whole tomb buckled under the force of the chaotic energy released from the coffin.

  A swirling cloud of darkness and fire filled the empty dome above them, forming into the shape of an old woman's head, which then screamed, wept tears of blood...

  [...goes the weasel.]

  ...and exploded, shooting a wave of evil energy through everyone in the room.

  [The party has fallen...]

  [Name The Queen]

  [T I T A N I A]

  Being thrust against his better judgment into the “leader” slot of the Chosen Three was bad enough, but there was one role that Era hated more than anything else: being the first one out of bed. Still, he opened his eyes and stood up from the ground. The back of his skull ached from the sandstone floor's endearing attempt at being a pillow.

  The sarcophagus was now a pile of charred rubble in the center of the room. The floors of the tomb above them had been destroyed completely in the explosion. The forbidden chamber lay at the center of a crater under stars and clouds.

  Aaand I've unleashed some kind of ultimate force of darkness, said Era. Fantastic. I had one job, and I'm pretty sure opening the gates of Hell wasn't involved. This must have been what that minefield was guarding.

  He looked around the chamber at the others in his team. Liv: unconscious, but breathing. Noah, Ofelia, Branwen: Same, same, digging through the rubble in the near distance.

  “Please, you must listen. You are in just as much danger as we are.”

  The sound of a woman's voice—never heard that kind of accent before from any country, it's almost sing-songy—caught his ear, and the faint blue glow of magic caught his eye. Era turned around.

  A woman sat at the far end of the crater, cross legged and in a deep magical trance. Motes of blue fire flickered on either side of her. Her silver hair, impossibly long, was tied up in ornate ceremonial braids. Her robe was long and white, and her skin a pale green. Her human equivalent would have been in her late fifties.

  Did she come out of the coffin? Well, that doesn't look like a demon. More like someone's hippie grandma.

  “Look undersea,” she continued, to someone in the sky. “...yes. What else must I do to prove it? Blue… Twelve… Fourteen ninety two.”

  What?

  “You okay, buddy?” asked Era.

  She glanced behind her, catching sight of Era, then turned back to staring at the stars. “You can hear him, as well?” she asked. “Interesting. But that's beside the point. I'm putting enough energy into this signal as it is. We are in danger, my friend, and soon, you will be as well. No, not from me… More than a story, much more. Gaze into the red, and you will know your duty. Do not be afraid. I do not hate you or resent you one bit. Truly, you have nothing but my gratitude.”

  Era shrugged. At this point, better to just stay in my own lane.

  “Sir Era! Do you hate them?”

  She knows my name?! “Uh, hate who?”

  “See, they do not even know you exist. Not yet. And when they will, I believe they will greet you with open arms. The burden may seem too much, but you have more power here than you realize. Look upon the green… The single greatest threat to both of our worlds. You alone can stop her, but that does not mean you are without help in the battle to come… I must go. Save us.”

  The blue fires dissolved, and the woman stood up. Turning to Era, she said, “Sorry, Sir Era, it was a very important call.”

  Era blinked. Well, curious as I am, best to mind my own business. “It's, uh, fine. How do you know my name?”

  “Your name is a bright and essential one, Sir Era. It cannot be ignored. It plagues my waking dreams. Time screams it into my face holes, through every porous worm-thread of my destiny. Well, it sounds more poetic in Kobal, but you get the idea.”

  “I really don't.”

  She chuckled. “No matter. Anyway, about those bells at your hip—who gave them to you?”

  “Crown Princess Pam—”

  “That is, who assigned them to you?”

  Oh, right, singin' the world to sleep and all that. “Galgalim, the god.”

  The woman drew a long, satisfied sigh, closing her eyes. “Then they haven't given up on us. Here...”

  [???? — Storage Portal]

  She pulled a golden longsword from a tiny pocket dimension and gave it to Era. “Take this.”

  “What for?”

  “To show my good will. Now, heal your friends, and once you're done, we will meet again at your Wagon of Doom. Mraulyé, my friend.”

  [???? — Teleport Self]

  Era stood in the rubble and stared at the sword. Maybe I died in the explosion, and this is the “permanent bewilderment” level of Hell. Which wouldn't be that bad as far as eternal damnation, but still...lame.

  He could scarcely make out a feeble and terrified, “I need a priest!” from the wreckage.

  The way back had been uneventful, save for Noah’s continual geeking out at the golden longsword in Era's hand. According to him, it was the Everwake Blade, one of the Three Sacred Weapons that killed the first Dark Lord.

  Back at the Doomwagon, Mischa (complete with his new robot arm, courtesy of Liv and Era's earlier crime spree at the La Toza strip mall) finished arranging a few folding chairs in a circle around a campfire and poured a glass for the strange green woman.

  She sipped. “I say,” she said. “The taste rivals the finest snowberry nectar. What do you call this?”

  “Sun Drees storebrand tequila,” said Mischa. “Like, it's only five G for a liter of that stuff.”

  Her eyes widened at her red plastic cup. “Fascinating,” she said. “Are all elves so magnificent in their hospitality?”

  Mischa blushed, scratching the back of his head. “I mean, I dunno, I just like to...uh...”

  The lady smiled. “In any case, Sir Mischa, I thank you. Truly, you are a paragon of your kind.”

  “Uh, thanks, right, excuse me.” Mischa ran back into the bus and hastily tried to remember the location of his “me time” magazines in the supply closet.

  Era and his friends sat around the campfire. “All right, everyone,” said Era, pointing to the green woman. “This is...whoever gave me this sword.”

  Branwen, who was seeing some kind of newt in a birthday hat, snickered.

  “Hello there!” said Noah. “My name's—”

  “Noah, Liv, Era, Branwen, and Ofelia,” she said. “I foresaw your coming.”

  “Interrupt him again and I'll gut you,” said Liv. “Now, what's your name?”

  The green woman turned to Era. “You have the sword, do you not?”

  “Right,” said Era.

  “Am I being ignored?” asked Liv.

  The green woman turned to Noah. “And you are a truthseer, are you not?”

  “Uh, that's me,” said Noah.

  “I'm being ignored,” said Liv.

  The green woman turned to Liv. “My name's a bit of a dangerous thing, Mystic Liv. I cannot say it until a promise is made.”

  “And that is?”

  She turned to Noah. “Friar Noah. You and your friends will hear me out. If you determine that I am lying to you...you will tell Era to stab me. Against that holy sword, I am completely powerless, and it would extinguish my life instantaneously in one blow. Do you promise me that you'd do this?”

  Noah's lip trembled. “I mean, are you sure—”

  “Yes.”

  He nodded. “All right, then, just...don't lie, please. I've had a rough day as it is, a
nd you don't seem stab-worthy at all.”

  “Neither do you. My name is Titania Karàtoi Vauldast XIX, Daughter of Fraldek, Granddaughter of Omruàk, the last queen of Kobalheim. You have released me from my prison, and for this, I will do whatever it takes to repay you.”

  The campfire flickered in the silence. A flood of eerie, sickening unease came over Titania's audience—an invisible flood of pursed lips and inexplicable dread.

  [Titania — The Kicker]

  “But when the Goblin War began over five millennia ago, I took the name Saràstro.”

  [CRITICAL HIT!]

  [Era was paralyzed!]

  [Ofelia was paralyzed!]

  [Noah's too terrified to exist!]

  [Liv wants her autograph!]

  [No effect on Branwen—she doesn't speak birthday newt.]

  Titania sighed. “And now, I'm going to tell you the truth about the Goblin War, the Koscheis, and the cycle of Dark Lords...”

  Chapter 22

  The Dark Lord's Tale

  “To begin with, the “goblin kingdom” never existed. I am a kobal—the last kobal—and the word ‘goblin’ was created because somebody misheard ‘kobal.’ The day we became ‘goblins’ was the day the Kingdom of Kobalheim ceased to exist.

  Kobalheim...the name still carries the scent of home on my breath.

  My castle was the Pyrite Palace, a gigantic structure carved from the natural crystals of the surrounding mountains. Sometimes, I wonder if it's still standing, even with its kingdom emptied of life...

  “Pyrite Palace!” said Ofelia, nudging Era.

  “Can you not interrupt?” said Era.

  “But remember what the pamphlet said? 'Palace of Pyres?' Monty probably misheard it.”

  Something clicked in Era's head. This was the location of Lord Monty's ridiculous new country. “Oh, Gods. Ofelia, that's it!”