PRAISE FOR TIMOTHY W. LONG
“Timothy W. Long injects a stark degree of realism into everything he writes. His horror is more horrific, his heroics more heroic, I love reading his stuff.”
--Peter Clines, bestselling author of The Ex-Heroes series, 14, and The Fold
“Reading Timothy W. Long is like being in a knife fight that doesn't end until the last page.”
--Nicholas Sansbury Smith, author of The Extinction Cycle
“Long writes with graphic glee!”
--Tacoma News Tribune
SHARDS OF REALITY
ENTER THE REALM
TIMOTHY W. LONG
“ENTER THE REALM: SHARDS OF REALITY”
BY TIMOTHY W. LONG
COPYRIGHT 2017. TIMOTHY W. LONG
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
WITHOUT LIMITING THE RIGHTS UNDER COPYRIGHT RESERVED ABOVE, NO PART OF THIS PUBLICATION MAY BE REPRODUCED, STORED, OR INTRODUCED INTO A RETRIEVAL SYSTEM, OR TRANSMITTED IN ANY FORM, OR BY ANY MEANS (ELECTRONIC, MECHANICAL, PHOTOCOPYING OR OTHERWISE) WITHOUT THE PRIOR WRITTEN PERMISSION OF THE COPYRIGHT OWNER, EXCEPT IN THE CASE OF BRIEF QUOTATIONS EMBODIED WITHIN CRITICAL ARTICLES AND REVIEWS.
THIS BOOK IS A WORK OF FICTION. PEOPLE, PLACES, EVENTS, AND SITUATIONS ARE THE PRODUCT OF THE AUTHOR’S IMAGINATION. ANY RESEMBLANCE TO ACTUAL PERSONS, LIVING, DEAD OR UNDEAD, OR HISTORICAL EVENTS, IS PURELY COINCIDENTAL.
CONTENTS
Introduction
Prologue
1. Noobs and Ale
2. For the Experience
3. Learn a Skill—Stupid Towser
4. Temples, priests, and unicorn farts
5. Get a job!
6. Cellars, rats, and clichés
7. So It Begins
8. Caves and Bandits
9. Three’s a Party
10. Ganked!
11. Four’s a Crowd
12. Bugs, Gear, and Puns
13. Bears and Shit
14. Embrace the Suck
15. Weslori At Last
16. What a Junt
17. Skills, Mages, and Killer Tea
18. Trained to Kill
19. Epic Quest
20. Pissed off and Pissed on
21. It’s a Small World
22. Double Ding FTW
23. Into the Catacombs
24. Lights Out, Sally
25. A Priest, an Assassin, a Rogue, and a Mage Walk into a Catacomb
26. Dungeon Diving for Fun and Profit
27. Going Realm’s Deep
Epilogue
Afterword
Afterword
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also by Timothy W. Long
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PROLOGUE
A lambent maelstrom of pulsating energy sought to crack the earth.
Cyclonic winds whipped trees and houses into the air like so much kindling. The land shattered and mountains wept blood. Clouds roiled and burned as the structure hove into view. The Citadel of Huuglast, the last bastion of the umber-hulk’s empire, and current threat to the lands of Th’lorian, careened through the sky as it began its fiery descent.
Once beautiful crystalline structures dotted the citadel’s landscape. Now they lay in ruin as umber-hulks prowled the remains. Smoke rose from the subjugated buildings and bodies lay in heaps the size of hills.
Garalan, a rogue-shard bearer and the first of his name, stood resolute atop the one remaining tower’s fractured wall on the flying citadel as it slowed to a rending halt. Chunks had given way and fallen far below making it more difficult for the armies to navigate. Like ants, they marched against the oncoming storm with hands raised to visors as they fought buffeting winds to make out the fellow ahead. Tens of thousands of umbers, and all with a single minded purpose: to kill.
A grim smile touched Garalan’s lips as he struggled to contain the power within because once unleashed, the rite would spell doom for everything and everyone below.
Cracks ran along the magnificently arched entryway above Garalan, turning the pearl-inlaid surface to a spiderweb of destruction. He stepped to the side as part of the floor fell away, and a parapet with it. Chunks of marble rained hundreds of feet below, crushing friend and foe alike.
“The rite of Ambalish is complete. Prepare to meet the judgment of the land,” Garalan’s voice thundered across the desolate waste.
THRALA, master mage of the Celestial House of Dreamers, floated behind an opaque miasma that obscured him and his companion. The noxious spell would keep the umber-hulks from sniffing out their location as they prepared their strike against the rogue mage Garalan.
Below him stretched a savaged plain of rock and shale with few hills to obscure his approach. Casting Draedor’s Fog had been a necessity if he and his companion, Seleween, an elven archer of the Th’lorian demesne known as Chalo, and his scouts were to remain unseen.
Above him, the floating citadel that housed Garalan had finally come to a stop but fire and smoke still trailed the structure’s path.
The master mage clutched the Th’lorian shard to his chest and maintained the illusion as he chanted the words over and over. Immense concentration was required if the illusion were to remain in place before the launch of the raid.
Thrala wore the robe of the Eleanese, a garment known across the land for its suppleness and also its ability to withstand nearly any mortal weapon. The material itself was the color of the sun with whorls of dark blues and blacks that formed constellations. Imbued with the power of an elder god, it was one of the most prized possessions of the Nuerothic Zealots.
Seleween faded into view with an arrow notched, and feather pressed to his cheek. The eldritch’s skin bore a yellowish hue except for the pastel tribal markings about his cheeks and forehead. The elf’s hair was the color of silver and fine wisps floated about his face. A blackened crown of Krethan with its seven thumb-sized rubies, each representative of the planes of knowledge, perched upon his head, granting him vision for leagues ahead. It was this device that provided Seleween with unrivaled archery skills.
The umber-hulk prowled on paws the size of small carriages. Like a hound from hell, it snuffed the ground, sending puffs of dust and shattered bone into the air. The beast’s ears were pierced and from them dangled razor-sharp whips so that if he spun his head to the side, they would slash anything in his path. The umber-hulk’s claws scrambled for purchase as it mounted a small hill and peered into the valley. It turned again and resumed its watch.
“We should wait for the others,” Seleween said. “Garalan has already begun the ritual.”
“They’re taking too long. Let’s clear the way,” Thrala said. “Garalan has hours yet.”
“I just said that it has begun. We must wait,” Seleween urged. “If you let go of Draedor’s Fog our forces will be completely exposed.”
Thrala was not in the mood to sit still and burn through his mana. He lifted the Staff of a Thousand Howls and unleashed a bolt of pure energy. The umber-hulk took the blast and shook it off.
“That’s not supposed to happen,” Thrala said in genuine shock.
Seleween unleashed a flurry of arrows, hands moving so fast they were a blur. Draw, notch, release. Draw, notch, release. Tipped with ruby-hued moonstone, the shafts delivered each with devastating effect. The stones shattered, unleashing bursts of fire that could melt even an umber-hulk’s outer stone skin.
The umber roared with pain as it rolled to its sid
e. Holes appeared in the beast’s side where the moonstone had penetrated, and flames licked along its flanks. Red eyes the size of dinner plates glowed with malevolence as it came back to its feet and launched itself, on legs like giant springs capable of pouncing fifty feet or more.
Then a second umber-hulk appeared and snarled deep in its massive throat. The size of a small mountain, this was no ordinary foe. It made the first umber look like a house cat.
“Shit, brother, this isn’t normal,” Seleween said.
“Don’t break character!” Thrala hissed.
The horde appeared below as Thrala’s concentration faded. Hundreds of mounted warriors from across the land assembled far below. Their intent was to stop Garlan from unleashing his spell. Figures dressed in glorious hues of reds, blues, greens, and of course jet black. Bone armor, glimmering chainmail, plate, and ivory with helmets, crowns, and tiaras of power perched on heads. Eyes set to the east where they would begin their assault.
As the miasma faded, the second umber-hulk took notice. It snuffed the ground, and its nostrils flared. Fire poured from its eyes as the massive beast fixed its grim visage upon the guild.
“What the hell is happening, Walt?” Andrew Scott, the guild leader, asked in a breathless voice.
“Stay in character,” Walt said.
“Fuck that. Did you drop the spell?”
“No. Something happened,” he replied. “And call me Thrala.”
“Whatever. You want that shard or what?” Andrew asked.
“It’s time I was a guild leader,” Walter muttered. “Far past time.”
“Is that a yes? I couldn’t hear you,” Andrew said.
“Of course I wish it. Long have I worked for this great honor. Now let’s go in there and kick Garalan’s butt and take it from his hands,” Walter said.
“The shard is actually floating behind his back. Big one too,” the elf Seleween, also known as Murph Johnson said.
Thrala triggered a blast that sundered the ground around the umber-hulk, but the expanding energies raced around the beast leaving it unharmed.
“What the …” Walter said.
“That thing is on us,” one of the guild members yelled.
“I think the umbers have been enhanced,” Seleween said.
“Ya think?” Andrew said.
Several broke away to deal with the hulk, including Belser, a brute from the sandy lands of Yelent, a man built more like an oversized barrel with giant arms. The skin of the umbers was considered fine material for crafting armor. The hard skull was sought far and wide for its near impregnable construction and sold for ridiculous prices on the market. But Belser had captured an umber-hulk, slain it, and removed its head. Now that head was his helmet.
Belser pulled a two-handed maul from his back as his mount, an ox with two heads, bore down on the umber-hulk.
Thrala tried to bring the miasma back under control, but the spell continued to crumble. He added more mana, but it was to no avail.
“Has to be a glitch,” he muttered to himself.
“Get that spell up,” the guild leader screamed.
Belser rammed his mount into the umber and spun away as he was tossed to the ground. The umber spun faster than a whip and was on Belser who took the brunt of the attack in his chest and ended up getting driven into the side of a hill of obsidian. The tower far above rained rocks and pelted the umber, causing Belser’s mount to stagger away and collapse.
Thrala chugged back a second mana potion and poured his essence into the spell. It snapped back in place and held.
For a few seconds.
Belser wasn’t faring so well in his battle against the umber, so some of his brothers came to the rescue. Even Seleween joined in the fray and pelted the hulk with arrows that splattered across the beast’s stone hide and skittered away.
“Something is so not right here,” Seleween said.
Walter agreed but refused to break character. As Thrala, he was one of the most powerful mages in his guild, and this raid was his ticket to becoming second in command. Assuming this venture didn’t continue to go south. He had spent days preparing for this raid. He had gathered materials from across the continent and crafted numerous potions to fuel this endeavor.
Walter uncorked one of them now. The swirling, yellow fluid sparkled with motes of black thanks to the dead heart of a high-level necromancer he had defeated in single combat. It would expand his mana pool far above his normal level and constantly refresh it for at least half of an hour, and if he so desired, he would be able to summon an army of the dead to fight at his side.
With the potion, he would be nearly invincible.
Belser howled in pain just before the umber-hulk lifted him in the air and ripped him in two. A trail of blood splattered the ground where his two halves landed.
“What the…?” Walter whispered.
He turned his attention to the umber-hulk and blasted it with a wave of pure sorcery from the Walowan bracelet around his right wrist. The device held enough power to level a mountain, but all it did was piss off the umber who turned his glowing eyes on Walter.
“Uh, guys?” he asked.
“You got this. Show us what a guild officer is made of,” Andrew urged.
“But I…” Walt was a mage, and while he had been in countless fights, he was primarily a support class. He couldn’t take an umber by himself, not without help. He was being called out to see how resourceful he was so he would simply have to live up to the challenge. But if they wanted a show, so be it.
Walter slipped back into his Thrala persona and uttered, “I shall surmount this obstacle.”
“Cool,” one of his guild mates said. “Just don’t let that umber-hulk sir-mount you, if you know what I mean.”
Some of the others on the channel chuckled, but Walt ignored the childish jab. He would show them that he could handle this kind of challenge.
A challenge that had turned Seleween’s arrows aside.
A challenge that had left Belser ripped in half.
But he had one other secret. A piece of gear that the rest of his guild mates weren't even aware. He’d saved the greater wand of Chlorasium for an occasion like this. The tool had been purchased at great cost from a vendor on the other side of the Melerse Ocean. Hand crafted over days, the wand had cost him a small fortune. Instead of buying an upgraded home for his treasure, he had purchased the wand.
Now he would put it to use.
Thrala summoned the wand from his ethereal realm and held it aloft. Created of a subtle and milky wood, it refracted the light from the moon and amplified it. He concentrated and waited for his mana to pool and gather, and then to overflow. As he reached the threshold for the wand, he channeled it all at once.
The wand’s energy amplified it once, then twice, then it quadrupled the force. With a yell, he triggered a blast that would turn the umber-hulk inside out. Enough power to level the front ranks of the guild if he so desired. He could have flattened Garalan’s entire castle atop the citadel with the blow.
The umber-hulk felt it, but it shrugged through the enormous blast, waves of flame, and scorched rocks beneath his feet, and came on. It ripped through the miasma, something that shouldn’t have been possible, and aimed its glowing eyes, not to mention ebony horn, right at Thrala’s heart.
Thrala scrambled out of his hiding spot, but it was too late.
Above him Garalan must have completed his ritual because the raid advanced. The earth shook as Thrala sought purchase. He cast a simple spell of enfolding that would make him invisible for a few precious seconds. Low-level stuff but sometimes an escape began with the fundamentals.
Garalan rose into the sky in a huge gout of fire. His form spun, but Thrala had little time to observe the end of the spell. He’d been here before, on other raids, and knew how this ended. Either the raid took out Garalan, or Garalan took out miles and miles of the land, delaying a similar raid for days.
Thrala had other problems, namely an immense umber
-hulk who had his eyes set on his hide.
“Did you take care of that umber, because we freaking need you,” Andrew yelled.
Thrala turned and ran as the umber-hulk bore down on him. He frantically hit the disconnect button but the built in thirty-second timer began its dreaded countdown.
“Fuck!” Walt yelled in anger.
“Did you even read the patch notes for this raid? Jesus, it’s freaking amateur hour with you, Walt, or Thrala, whatever.”
He was going to lose all of his XP from this raid meaning that level 70, something he had sought for months, was about to evaporate. In fact, he was going to spend the next few weeks just catching up again.
“I read them,” Walt yelled but he was lying. He had meant to, really, but the day had gotten away from him. Something had changed with the umbers and now he was paying the price.
He cast an invisibility spell, but the umber tore through it and impaled Thrala and drove him into the side of a granite hill, ripping him up the wall and leaving a bloody trail of gore.
The game finally disconnected.
Walter fumed for exactly three seconds before he tossed his stupid VR helmet across the room and then stalked to the fridge to see if his roommate had left anything to drink.
NOOBS AND ALE
I don’t even know where to begin, so I guess I’ll start at the bar. I mean tavern. It takes a while to get used to all the lingo. But you already know that since you play Realms of Th’loria. You know the mechanics, and you know the rules. Everyone begins in the starter zone, AKA noob central, and that’s exactly where I found myself. Don’t try to make sense of it yet. We didn’t. Just go with it and understand that all of this was all too real.
“Can I get you something, my lord?” a woman with a button nose and rose-colored hair asked.
I tried to blink away the lassitude, but my eyes were heavy, and the haze made them water. As the room came into view, I realized it wasn’t a haze at all. It was smoke from a cooking fire. Then my nose verified what my eyes were telling me and I sneezed.
SHARDS OF REALITY: A LitRPG novel (Enter the Realm Book 1) Page 1
