“Hmm.” Fuegor cast a small cantrip. The gore peeled away from him, gathering into a floating green sphere, which he let fall to the grass. Satisfied the magic worked, he cleaned up Nasir and Docar.
“Quite strange the creature should… turn into such a fountain,” said Docar. “I’ve never seen anything like that before.”
Nasir loped over. “Ouch.”
Docar put his hand on Nasir’s shoulder and chanted. Spinning trails of runic characters appeared around his head and wrists, tiny glowing golden letters whirling too fast to read. After a few seconds, the light—and the warrior’s injuries—faded.
Nasir looked down at himself, patted his chest, and grinned at Docar. “You are amazing, my friend.”
With a smile, Docar bowed.
Tira Shadow appeared particularly amused, and kicked one of the dead orcs again.
They explored the ruined inn, but found only a few rations (which they took) and some empty glass bottles (which they left behind). With nothing else to do there, they continued onward. Not long past a bend in the road, a woman at a small camp came into view on the left.
Long, flame-red hair draped over her green cloak, and her armor appeared mixed of scale mail and leather. Her ears had shallow upturned points, but much less pronounced than Fuegor’s. She looked older than the others, around twenty, with a slender, sinewy physique about midway between an athletic human and a graceful elf. Fringe adorned the tops of her almost knee-high boots, and an array of traveling gear surrounded her.
At the group’s approach, the woman looked up with a guarded expression, raising a hand in greeting.
Nasir drew his swords.
Docar put a hand on his arm. “No. She’s not an enemy.”
“How do you know that?” asked Nasir.
“Well, for one thing, she waved hello. And two, look at all the stuff she’s got on. Armor, cloak, pouches, bow, quiver, fringe on her boots even.”
“Yeah, so?” Nasir raised an eyebrow.
“Too much detail. She’s either a friend or a major bad guy,” said Fuegor.
“She’s important,” whispered a ghostly little girl voice. “She has a long description.”
Spirit Boy’s voice sighed overhead. “You guys are meta gaming.”
Ghostly kids murmured above.
Docar and Nasir exchanged glances and shrugged. Nasir put his blades away and waited until the spirits stopped quibbling about the game of meta.
“I mean,” said Docar, clearing his throat, “that she is obviously equipped for an adventure as are we, and well, she waved at us.”
“Greetings,” called Nasir.
The woman stood from her campsite and lifted a longbow from the grass, though she didn’t load an arrow. She approached, bits of chainmail in her skirt clinking. “Greetings, travelers. If you are heading north to seek the defeat of the Dark Wizard Yzil, I would like to lend my bow and blades.” Her dark blue eyes widened with determination and sadness. “He is a foe most dangerous, and should not be underestimated.”
“Welcome.” Fuegor extended a hand. “I am Feugor the Mag—oh, never mind. Simply Fuegor.”
The woman accepted the handshake. “Kyra Redmane.”
“Wait, you’re going to trust her right away?” asked Nasir.
“You’re too suspicious, friend.” Docar gave the woman an up-and-down glance. “I am Docar, chanter of the Order of Hæm.”
Kyra bowed. “It is an honor to travel with one of his chosen.”
Nasir pulled a sword and pointed down the road. “I want to go stab something.”
“If you can hit it,” muttered Tira Shadow.
He grumbled.
“Well met… or something,” said Fuegor. “Come then, let us go put an end to this Yzil.”
Kyra gazed off to the north, her long, red hair wavering in the breeze. “I shall hope our odds match your enthusiasm.”
“You seem haunted,” said Fuegor. “What troubles such a beautiful lady?”
“Dude,” said a disembodied boy from Docar’s direction. “You’re talking to Keith.”
“He’s portraying the character,” said the little girl ghost. “Shh.”
“Whatever,” muttered the boy.
Nasir and Tira Shadow stared up.
“This is most strange,” whispered Nasir. “I keep hearing the voices of children who aren’t here.”
Kyra bowed her head. “This would not be the first time I set off to put an end to Yzil’s evil. My former companions all perished in our last attempt. My motivation is now as much revenge as it is to spare Aldrenor a slow, wasting death.”
“May Hæm receive their spirits,” said Docar, making an odd hand gesture in the air, as though he tried to shoo away a gnat.
Nasir the Bold resumed walking. “Let us proceed.”
The group filed into a procession behind him, Kyra fading back to the rear.
“I don’t like her behind us,” whispered Nasir over his shoulder.
Tira Shadow shook her head. “She’s a ranger. Her bow can reach a threat in front of us, and she can hear if something’s trying to sneak up behind us. Since we’re not in the woods and following a road, that’s the best place for her. She’s not trying to hurt us.”
“Whoa,” said a disembodied boy.
Tira Shadow beamed.
“Okay, okay,” muttered Nasir the Bold.
And the group marched on.
Nasir the Bold, Fuegor, Tira Shadow, Docar, and Kyra Redmane gathered around a large, wooden trunk positioned in the corner of an underground chamber. A fist-sized sphere of fire hovered above and behind the wizard, casting long shadows from a pile of dead orcs in the middle of the chamber. This had been the fifth, and evidently last, room of a subterranean burrow. Two goblins had attacked with slings, hurling rocks at the group before fleeing.
Kyra warned the group that the creatures wanted to lead them into an ambush, so the adventurers had proceeded with caution.
“I need to rest,” said Docar. “I don’t think I can summon another healing spell.”
Nasir’s armor and clothing looked an absolute bloody mess, but he had no visible injuries. He frowned at his swords. “These things are broken.”
“Luck is not with you.” Kyra wiped a bright silver shortsword off on one of the orc’s cloaks. Though she wielded it in her left hand, it drew more blood than the plainer-looking longsword in her right. Five of the nine orcs lying dead had fallen to her. Sweat rolled down her face, and she had a few scrapes here and there as well, but she looked nowhere near the horror show Nasir had resembled by the time the fight ended.
“Speaking of luck, you all may want to take a step or two back in case there’s a trap here.” Tira Shadow knelt by the giant trunk, putting her at eye-level with the keyhole. She took lock-picking tools from her belt and got to work.
The others backed away, except Kyra who had already been at a safe distance. Nasir let off a groan and used a dead orc as a seat. Fuegor sat on the floor before opening a large, ornate book.
Docar also sat on the floor, but closed his eyes in meditation.
Tira defeated the lock on her first try and lifted the enormous lid, only to find the trunk empty save for an ordinary looking satchel. She held it up with a scrunched-face expression of Really? That’s it? Another bouncing pebble noise came from overhead, and her eyes lit up with recognition. She’d found a Bottomless Bag, a rare and reasonably powerful magical item, though it appeared quite ordinary and unremarkable on purpose.
She grinned and glanced over her shoulder at the party, who hadn’t seen her take the bag out of the box. Everyone else looked exhausted from the fight. Spending the whole battle hidden in the corner tossing knives hadn’t tired her out. Down here in a dark crypt, none of the orcs had even noticed her. She even killed one when her throwing knife caught it in the eye. Tira Shadow eased her hands down toward her belt to put the satchel on.
No one had to know she found such a valuable item.
7
; Powerful Dark Magic
Tira looked across the table at Keith. “I wanna roll sleight-of-hand so I take it without anyone noticing.”
“You’re being greedy.” Elliot jammed his sixth piece of pizza in his mouth and chomped.
“I’m playing a rogue, right? I’m staying in character. Besides, you guys’ characters don’t know what it is, and no one saw me take it.”
“You didn’t roll sleight yet,” said Keith, smiling.
Tira grinned, picked up the same D20 that had been failing Ashur all day, and rolled. “Eighteen? Umm. My sleight modifier is plus six so that’s a twenty-four.”
Keith glanced at the ‘task difficulty’ chart. Sneaking a bag out of a giant trunk in the middle of a dark room while none of the other characters were paying attention to her seemed like an ‘average’ difficulty task, so she rolled way higher than needed. “Okay. You put the satchel on and no one notices.”
“I stand up with a disappointed face and say, ‘Ugh! It’s empty! Who locks an empty trunk?”
“That’s not cool,” mumbled Elliot around his pizza. “Why are you stealing from the party?”
“Yeah,” added Ashur.
Tira sighed. “Guys, the bag is still in the party as long as my character is. I’m taking it because it’s what my character would do. It might come in handy later on, and once Tira Shadow trusts everyone, she’ll stop being like that. Right now, she doesn’t know if she’ll be with you guys for another two hours, even.” She frowned at her brother. “There’s more to this game than just killing orcs.”
“You sure your sister’s only nine?” asked Elliot.
Tira folded her arms and struck a proud pose.
“I said we upgraded her firmware, didn’t I?” Ashur grumbled.
“Dude, use a different die, maybe you’ll roll over a four.” Carlos tossed a red d20 across the table to Ashur.
“You should heal the NPC,” said Tira. “She got hit a lot.”
Elliot glanced at Keith. “How’s she look?”
“Kyra’s armor has some orc blood here and there. She’s got a few small cuts on her arm, a bruise on her cheek, and her hair’s a little tousled. She doesn’t appear frightened, but her eyes still have a haunted sadness.”
Elliot rotated his head to face Tira. “She’s not hurt that bad.”
“She got hit more than my brother. She has more health points ’cause she’s a higher level. A twenty-point hit to Ashur’s guy is like half his life, but not her.”
“But he didn’t describe her getting hit,” said Ashur. “She kept ‘barely dodging’ stuff.”
Everyone looked at Keith.
“Health points are an abstraction. They don’t automatically equal giant gaping wounds. Sometimes they can mean getting tired, too. Like she said, twenty points to Nasir hurts, but twenty to a goblin would kill it twice and splatter it all over the ground,” said Keith.
“Boys.” Keith’s mother leaned in the door. “It’s getting late. Time to wrap up.”
“Aww, Mom. It’s only—” He stared at the clock: 8:22 p.m.
“Yeah it’s only.” His mother put her hands on her hips. “Mrs. Rivera called twice to make sure Carlos is okay, and Mrs. Gardner is downstairs having tea.”
Elliot looked up in horror.
“I told her you’ve already had dinner,” said Keith’s mother.
“My mom is here?” asked Elliot.
“You only live a few houses away,” said Keith. “What’s the big deal?”
“It was just getting good,” whined Tira.
“More like getting stealey.” Ashur poked her.
Keith’s mother stepped in, eyeing the table. “Wow, you kids have been at this all day? What are you doing?”
“The campaign’s called The Devouring.” Elliot wiped pizza sauce off his cheeks with a napkin.
“It’s devouring time all right.” Keith’s mother waved in a friendly shooing manner. “Come on you guys. Time to break it up.”
A chant of “Yes, Mrs. Croft,” murmured from the kids as they stood.
She plucked the Gamemaster’s Codex up from the table, examining the front and back cover. “So this little book can keep you kids quiet and occupied for an entire Saturday? That’s some powerful dark magic.”
Everyone laughed.
She set the book back down. “I’ll be downstairs with Mrs. Gardner. This room better not be a mess.”
“It won’t be,” said Keith in a strained tone.
As soon as Keith’s mother walked out, Ashur ripped the pillowcase off the bed and pulled it down over his sister’s head, making her squeal. “Now you got the Bottomless Bag, thief.”
Snarling, Tira wriggled free, wadded it up, and hurled it at him.
“Holy crap, dude,” said Carlos. “That was like all damn day and it felt like an hour.”
“So, uhh, what do you guys think?” asked Keith. “You wanna do this again?”
“Yeah!” chimed Tira.
Carlos nodded. “Sure.”
“It was pretty cool.” Elliot gathered his napkins and other trash into a plastic bag. “Better than I thought.”
“It’s okay.” Ashur stuffed his hands in his pockets.
Keith made a mental note to try and let Nasir get some more kills next time. His best friend had rolled horribly all day, and it left him grumpy. “Cool. I can’t wait to keep going!”
8
Obsession
Monday morning showed up too fast. Keith had wasted most of Sunday on homework. It took longer because he couldn’t stop thinking about the game, or about Kyra Redmane. He couldn’t get over how much like a real person she felt while he ‘played’ her as an NPC. Sarah’s notes had been full of backstory elements for her. Kyra’s mother disappeared when she was eight, so Kyra had grown up with rangers out in the woods. Her father had been distant and strict, not to mention quick to strike her if she messed up. Many times, young Kyra had run to a chanter because she’d angered her father and had a giant bruise, once even a broken arm.
Keith found himself angry over a fictional character suffering abuse as a child.
As he crashed his bike into the rack at school (on purpose from being angry) he decided to add a villain NPC, Kyra’s father. He’d be under the control of dark magic, and Keith wanted the characters to kill him for what he’d done to her.
He paused four steps away from his bike. What if Kyra didn’t want to see her father die? As cruel as he’d been to her, she might still think of him as her dad, and having to kill him because he’d been possessed could be horrible.
Never mind. I don’t want to do that to her.
Ashur, Elliot, and Carlos, sat in their usual spot in the cafeteria about six minutes before the first period bell. Keith flopped down nearby and rested his folded arms upon his backpack. Hundreds of kids’ voices and the smell of what would soon be lunch filled the air.
“So, can you guys make it after school?” asked Keith.
“Aww man. I want to, but Coach has us running tackle drills today,” said Carlos.
Elliot shook his head. “Still working on that project. I gotta finish it. Mr. Perkins called my mom about it since I’m a little behind schedule.”
“Soccer,” said Ashur. “I could send Tira over if you want. She could loot the whole next dungeon map before we get there.”
The boys chuckled.
“Wow, she’s like way into it.” Elliot shook his head. “What’s wrong with her?”
“I dunno. I’ve never seen her like that. She’s usually too shy to even talk to kids her age, much less you guys.” Ashur kicked at the floor. “Honest, I’m only still playing ’cause she liked it. Didn’t really have fun.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” said Keith. “Bad rolls happen to everyone.”
“Yeah I guess.” Ashur shrugged. “All right. I’ll give it another chance, but it’s only gonna bug me more if the orcs do dumb crap so I can win.”
Keith offered a sheepish smile. “Noted.”
> “Hey, I read this stuff online yesterday.” Carlos grinned. “About different types of gamers. Every group has some of them. I think Ash is our ‘gets crapped on by the dice’ guy, and Tira’s gonna be our minmaxer.”
“What the heck is a minmaxer?” asked Elliot.
Carlos recited in a voice like he read from a dictionary. “Also known as a power-gamer, the minmaxer learns every rule possible to make the most powerful character permitted by the game system.”
“Maybe. Is minmaxer bad?” Ashur yawned.
“It can be. Depends on if they mutate into the ‘glory hound.’ Those are the bad ones.” Carlos chuckled.
“Okay so, tomorrow?” Keith grinned.
A mixture of ‘I dunnos’ and ‘busy’ came back. At least the guys seemed genuinely interested, but otherwise committed. After suggesting his way down the week day by day, Keith finally bowed his head and accepted they wouldn’t be able to play again until Saturday.
“Yeah,” said Ashur. “We’ll be there. She drove Mom and Dad crazy all Sunday talking about the game.”
“Saturday’s cool. I might be a little late ’cause I promised I’d wash Dad’s car.” Carlos glanced at his phone.
“I’m there.” Elliot finished off a cupcake and crumpled up the wrapper. “I’ll bring food this time, since I ate most of the pizza.”
“Well, we are playing The Devouring,” said Carlos. “El’s just staying in character.”
Elliot smirked.
“Awesome.” Keith grinned.
The bell went off, triggering a student stampede out the doors.
Keith made his way among the crowd, earning no particular attention from anyone. He didn’t fall into any of the cliques, unless ‘the invisibles’ counted as a clique. He passed the cheerleaders and the jocks, the geeks and the goths, and even a pair of kids everyone assumed would wind up as potheads if they weren’t already. How many eighth-graders wore Grateful Dead T-shirts?
After filing into his first period English class with Ms. Hoffman, he took out a notebook and stared at the blank page. The teacher, a friendly-enough woman a little younger than his mother, with reddish brown hair, wandered around behind her desk while going over the upcoming week’s vocabulary lesson.
The Cursed Codex Page 6
