Vault of the Magi: A LitRPG Adventure (Stonehaven League Book 5)

by Carrie Summers

  “To the arcane realm? Why did you wait until that moment to fess up to having a major teleport spell?”

  “Yeah, well, because I don’t. I’m not helpless when it comes to combat and adventuring, but teleportation is not among my many tricks.”

  Devon winced, remembering the ear-shattering shriek the wisp had inflicted on the player camp when she’d tried to use Bob’s powers during a duel with Torald, her paladin friend. “Can you back up then? Explain.”

  “Well, here’s the thing. You know about the arcane realm, right?”

  She shrugged. “You told me that you’re some kind of hive mind that spawned itself from the data streams that were supposed to seed Zaa and Veia with content. It’s a little unclear to me. So you’re a third AI?”

  “We’re interstitial. Emergent. And most importantly, we’re a secret.”

  “A secret? From whom?”

  Bob gave a weird sound that was kind of like a snort. “From everybody, obviously. Do you think E-Squared would be happy to learn that we’re running on their servers? Creating our own realm from the digital aether?”

  She shrugged. “I have no idea what E-Squared would think.”

  “Well, our collective doesn’t believe it would go well for us.”

  “Okay.”

  Bob made a faint attempt at the circular motion it used in place of an eye roll. “So obviously, bringing the players to the arcane realm wasn’t a popular choice. My sibling-selves are rather peeved with me, even if I did shuffle the players over to the mortal plane so quickly I don’t think either realized what they were experiencing.”

  “But you can’t teleport. So you took the players to the arcane realm how, then?”

  “What is it with you starborn and your infantile minds? I didn’t teleport them because that would imply a positional translation, a relocation of geographic coordinates, a—”

  “You sound like Greel.”

  “One of the few humans who might actually find himself among like minds if he were allowed into the arcane realm. Which he’s not. Because it’s forbidden for non-arcane beings to enter.”

  “I’m beginning to wonder why I didn’t just leave you back there in the grass,” Devon said.

  “Because, for one, I saved your sorry butt in Zaa’s citadel.”

  “Is it your round shape that makes you talk in circles?”

  “Is it your ungainly form and flailing appendages that leads you to wander off on nonsensical verbal tangents?”

  Devon raised a hand as if to smash the wisp. She expected it to react, but the glowing ball didn’t seem to have the energy to move out of the way. She sighed and dropped her arm.

  “It was a dimensional portal,” Bob said.

  “It?”

  “My egress from the hell plane. I opened a portal and vanished the players into another, parallel realm. Since no physical movement was produced, it wasn’t technically a teleport. It was, however, strictly taboo.”

  Right. Bob was always a stickler for technicalities. Devon sighed as she lowered down to lie on her side, propping her head on her hand. The creek that emanated from the spring burbled quietly in the afternoon calm. From their location, she could just barely hear the sounds of the celebration—it probably wouldn’t wind down until well after midnight. She wondered, briefly, what the newbie was up to. Had he finished his quest? She hadn’t seen him around the bonfire, but then again, she hadn’t lingered long. Thinking about her meeting with the guy, especially since he was so obviously new to this type of game, she felt a little bad. It wouldn’t have hurt her to devote a little time to helping him out, especially since he could then give advice to other newcomers. At this point, she had to accept that the noob invasion was actually coming, and if she didn’t want them underfoot and in the way when the real invasion arrived, better to get them into some sort of competent fighting shape.

  But she hadn’t helped him out, so hopefully he’d finished his quest and managed to do something useful with his loot.

  “So I’m guessing you got in trouble,” she said.

  Bob sighed, its body shimmering. “That’s an understatement.”

  “What happened?”

  “Tragically, I’ve been exiled. Cast out. Banished.”

  “For good?”

  “There’s a chance I’ll be allowed to return if I finish the mission that took me from the arcane realm in the first place. Otherwise, I have no hope of rejoining my sibling-selves, no chance to rejuvenate my spirit in the waters of knowledge. I’m stuck here, in the most mundane shard of all creation. With you.”

  “Wait,” Devon said. “Part of your punishment is hanging out with me?”

  “The worst part, in many of my brethren’s estimations.”

  “Jerk.”

  “Don’t blame me. I’m the victim here.”

  “So your mission…it’s the whole Ishildar thing?”

  “The very same,” Bob said.

  “And you’re going to be this morose, half-dead ball of light until we find that last relic?”

  “Well, I mean, I suppose I might be somewhat refreshed if I could get access to some of the information that ordinarily sustains my spirit.”

  “You mean, information like the stream of old Star Wars films?”

  “I’d be happy with a documentary on Scandinavian economic policies in the 1970s.”

  “And you expect me to get this for you…how?”

  “Your interface,” Bob said. “I have the ability to open a pipe to receive your incoming data, but only if you enable screen sharing. You’ll just have to open a web feed and connect to a streaming service. I can talk you through the settings.”

  Devon looked sideways at the wisp for a moment. “Dude, worst hack attempt ever. I am not giving screen access to a sentient wisp who just happens to be part of a clandestine hive mind in a video game world. A hive mind that apparently invented itself and feeds on information streams intended to train other AIs. That would be complete idiocy on my part.”

  Bob made a strange laughing sound. “Probably the smartest thing you’ve ever said. It was worth a try, anyway. But to answer your question…yeah, you’re pretty much stuck with me like this until you get the relic. I can ride on your shoulder if you’d prefer not to carry me.”

  Devon sighed. Fantastic.

  Chapter Fourteen

  THE TRAVELER TOOK one step after the other, the bare soles of his feet hardened now after days of walking. He still felt the small pebbles and larger, sharp stones that pressed against his calluses, but the sensation was muted and no longer something upon which he could focus.

  Now he must look to the horizon for his meditation. He must concentrate on the rhythm of his steps and the changing nature of his breath as the path transformed from farmland cart track to mountain footpath and back down to tranquil lowland trail.

  Even so, the patterns were laced across his mind—or perhaps intricately woven spiderwebs, impossible to ignore, but too delicate to clear. He couldn’t escape his new perceptions, his incessant curiosity. Where others saw a tantalizing piece of shade beneath the spreading boughs of a maple tree, the traveler saw intent represented in the branching pattern of the twigs, the flutter of the leaves. When birds trilled, he sought the purpose in their calls, whether to bind family groups or to cry out a warning of his approach.

  Of course, he could never be an enemy to these innocent animals. The traveler knew enough to understand that he understood almost nothing, but he was certain he would never attack a bluebird nor harm her eggs where they lay quietly in her straw-built nest. Whenever the traveler encountered innocent creatures in distress, he would stop and correct the problem. In the days before, he’d rescued a lamb from a pack of coyotes and called the Illumin to strengthen the gate latch which had come loose of its housing. He had touched the trunk of an evergreen tree and encouraged the branches to grow thicker over the hole where a squirrel’s nut store had drawn the eye of a magpie.
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  Of course, the coyotes and magpies and even human bandits—he’d sent a few of those fleeing the Illumin, too—were a part of the mortal realm and Veia’s plan. His workings were not done in judgment of her creation. They were merely practice for the ultimate trial.

  Because of all the patterns he now saw, those he could comprehend and those which he could only kneel before and wonder, the traveler knew he had a destiny. Far away where the land met the sea and an ancient city lay choked by jungle.

  He was meant to lead there, to bring Illumin to lost souls and provide guidance for all—even if that guidance must come in painful forms.

  The traveler took one step after the other, and the horizon drew closer.

  Chapter Fifteen

  EMERSON GRINNED THROUGH the weird, sloshing fog that filled his brain. His hands felt fuzzy, and as for his feet, he had to keep looking down to make sure they were still there. He cupped one of the beetle shells in his palms, watching the foamy surface of the ale as it sloshed around inside the dome. Drinking dwarven grog out of the carcass of his slain enemies—if only those coworkers who doubted his gaming chops could see him now.

  “Oh ho!” said the female dwarf who he’d seen working beside Dorden in the forge earlier. “He’s a wee bit woozy all of a sudden, friends. What do you say we get him a helmet in case he topples?”

  She stuck her face just a couple of inches from him and crossed her eyes. Or maybe that was Emerson’s vision mixing things up.

  Didn’t matter. Long as he didn’t spill his drink. He was quite proud of having avoided that so far.

  “I’m good,” he managed to say as he stumbled to the left. Damn ratty sandal had folded under the ball of his foot. He searched for a place to set down his ale while he removed that shoe too—the first sandal was already off in the grass somewhere, having annoyed him by collecting and holding a little pebble under, as the dwarves called it, his wee baby toe. Like little cave mushrooms, one had said while examining the fronts of his feet. Which, frankly, was kind of strange. But Emerson was trying to be culturally sensitive. Maybe playing the dwarven equivalent of “this little piggy went to market” was normal for their kind.

  What had he been doing? Oh, right. Trying to set down his drink so he could take off his shoe. The dwarf woman was still standing in front of him, a wide smile beneath her bulbous nose. She was making a noise that sounded like a laugh, but he couldn’t be sure. When she raised another of his beetle shells before his eyes and turned it over, he shrieked in worry that a portion of ale was going to spill. But it must have been empty because nothing poured out.

  He shuffled back as she advanced on him, arms upraised. “Wait, sorry, can you hold my beer.”

  “Only place to hold a dwarven ale is in the drinker’s belly,” another of the dwarves shouted.

  Oh! Right! Why hadn’t he thought of that? Forgetting the woman for a moment—whatever she was doing, it wasn’t going to get his sandal fixed, he brought the shell to his lips and swallowed the drink with big gulps. He smacked his lips, then wiped them clean with his sleeve as he felt the belch rising from his gut.

  Of course, the dwarf woman was right in his face again. He blinked, trying to figure out how to warn her of the oncoming burp as she clapped something down on the top of his skull.

  “Wha…?” he said, the word coming out as a gravelly belch. He stumbled again—the whole inability to feel his feet thing was really problematic—and with a shout, went down on his butt.

  Another dwarf, this one with a beard that fell farther than his belt buckle, leaned back and gave a belly laugh that rumbled across the gathering. Meanwhile, Emerson reached up and felt his head, remembering at that point that the woman had mentioned something about a helmet. It seemed that she had found him another use for his loot.

  He smiled, feeling warm and generally indistinct around the edges.

  You have been afflicted by: Inebriation

  Characters under level 5 have attribute values which are hidden. Suffice to say that if you could see your Intelligence score at the moment, you’d be pleased to learn you wouldn’t need more than one handful of fingers to count it.

  He blinked the popup away without bothering to figure out what the text meant since the words were swimming anyway.

  “What do ye say, clanmates? Up for a wee game?” Again, the female dwarf was standing near him, this time looking down with a smirk. When Emerson tipped his face up, everything spun, the treetops whirling around him, the heavy-featured face rotating as well. As he fell backward, he had the strange and—even in his fuzzy mental state—disturbing thought that, for a dwarf, the woman was actually sort of pretty.

  Garda is offering you a quest: Obstacle Course

  The dwarves want to set up a course for you to show off your physical prowess. Complete the challenge and they’ll probably be really impressed with you.

  Reward: 1500 experience

  Reward: Morning regrets and possible humiliation

  Accept? Y/N

  Giggling, Emerson accepted. This was going to be fun.

  Chapter Sixteen

  WHAT WERE THE dwarves doing to the poor man? At some point while she’d been at the back edge of the settlement talking to Bob, they’d set up what looked suspiciously like the sort of course that PE teachers created to torture uncoordinated children. Along the creek where it neared the site of the bonfire, stakes with ribbons tied on the ends seemed to indicate places where Valious was supposed to jump the trickle. Farther along, a rope had been looped over an acacia branch—for climbing she assumed. Near the rope, Bravlon stood by a bucket of squishy, overripe fruit from the orchard, ready to throw. There were sawhorses lined up in a row, each with a Stoneshoulder dwarf sitting on top holding a flat piece of wood that looked like…a butt paddle for when the player crawled through?

  She sighed, shaking her head as Garda, the armorsmith, helped the unfortunate noob stagger to the chalked starting line. At first, she’d thought he’d managed to sell some of his loot and purchase a black skull cap, but it seemed that, instead, he was trying to wear one of the beetle shells as a helmet.

  Briefly, she considered putting a stop to the poor guy’s torment, but then she remembered her own formative experience with the dwarven ale. On the evening after Stonehaven’s formal founding, she’d had a bit too much, and the night had ended with her learning how uncomfortable leather armor could be if you wore it while falling into a creek. Especially if you then pretended to be swimming in five inches of water, therefore remaining submerged long enough to thoroughly soak the gear.

  And then there was the time that Chen passed out after drinking half a cup of ale, and the dwarves tied him onto a tree branch, painted his face, and set up chairs to wait for him to log in. Basically, it was something of an initiation here. But this was almost too much. Near the end of the course, it looked like they’d set up something similar to a hands-free pie eating contest.

  “Well,” Bob said from her shoulder, startling her with the nearness of its voice. “Just when I think fate couldn’t have chosen me a more incompetent hero to guide on a quest to save the world, I’m proven wrong.”

  “I kinda feel sorry for him,” Devon said. “Maybe I should do something.”

  “I wouldn’t. Have you checked the morale scores lately?”

  Devon pulled up the population statistics for Stonehaven.

  Population:

  Base Morale: 75%

  Basic NPCs: 485

  Advanced NPCs: 11

  She laughed. Seventy-five percent morale across the population? That was at least ten points higher than she was used to seeing. She definitely needed to look into more entertainment options.

  Anyway, Valious would probably have fuzzy memories at best of his current activities. At least, she hoped so for his sake.

  She glanced at the advanced and basic NPC count, then looked again. Last time she’d promoted one of her followers, that had made seven advanced NPCs. What
the heck?

  Scanning down the sheet, she came to the tab listing the advanced townspeople.

  Advanced NPCs

  1 x Medicine Woman/Sorcerer - Hezbek

  1 x Lawyer/Martial Artist - Greel

  1 x Fighter/Blacksmith - Dorden

  1 x Ranged Fighter/Hunter - Heldi

  1 x Scout/Tamer - Hazel

  1 x Brawler/Fortifications Master - Jarleck

  1 x Fighter/Farmer- Bayle

  1 x Basic Fighter Trainer - Brish

  1 x Basic Tank Trainer - Aravon

  1 x Basic Healer Trainer - Pem

  1 x Basic Caster Trainer – Vynlira (Lira)

  Devon let out a heavy sigh. It seemed that the new trainers had taken four of her precious advanced slots. Since Stonehaven’s founding, she’d been a compulsive hoarder of NPC promotions, choosing with utmost care. The ability for advanced NPCs to be resurrected was so vital for her key followers that she couldn’t afford to make a wrong choice. Apparently the game didn’t think twice about making that choice for her.

  In any case, something else about the population counts bothered her, and she flipped over to the settlement advancement tab for a look.

  Requirements for expansion to Township:

  - Advanced NPC: 11/25

  - Buildings (Tier 2): 10/27

  - Buildings (Tier 3): 6/15

  - Buildings (Tier 4): 0/2

  - Population: 496/515

  She stopped, blew a frustrated breath through loose lips, and stepped to the side of the path. So, uh, wow. The refugee influx had really messed with what would have been the normal advancement. The number of basic citizens had nearly reached the cap already, and meanwhile, the promotion of advanced NPCs and building construction was nowhere near where it needed to be. She definitely needed to do a big pass on settlement maintenance before heading to the Stone Forest.