SHARDS OF REALITY: A LitRPG novel (Enter the Realm Book 1)

by Timothy W. Long

  “What happened to the rest of the chitterlings?” I asked and tried to once again ignore the fact that this was all too weird. I knew the name. Isled Larkson. He was a high ranking NPC that was nearly undefeatable. Some gamers liked to challenge the tougher NPCs and win a huge experience boost. But the developers made most NPCs tanks who could take huge amounts of damage. Worse yet they could more often than not instakill you with one blow.

  “Dispatched or fled, and good riddance. We will feast the name of the town tonight and give praise to the Five for they have blessed us,” Hull lifted his sword into the air. “Victory!”

  Voices from all corners of the village joined in the swell as faces peeked out from behind windows, shop owners stepped onto porches and joined the call: Victory!

  “Yeah,” I said and then wondered if I would lose cool points by barfing all over the dead chitterlings.

  “Go to the temple to have your wounds healed,” Hull said. "Seek us out in the morning for a proper introduction to the fighter's guild.”

  “But I'm a mage,” I said.

  “A mage, eh? You don't have the look, but I suppose it wouldn't hurt for you to inquire at the guild. They like offerings so have one ready,” Quaint said.

  “Offering? What kind of offering?”

  “A magical object to prove you have the innate ability. Or I suppose you could capture a fairy and bring it to the guild master,” Quaint said. “Fighter’s guild doesn’t care. If you like killing with a weapon, they will accept you.”

  "A fairy," I sputtered.

  "Aye. Tis no easy task," Hull grinned and wiped the yellow blood from his bristling beard.

  "Okay, healing, fighter, mage. Got it," I nodded.

  "Should only cost you a copper or two," Hull said.

  “I don’t think I have that much money,” I told the soldier.

  “Sad tale, friend,” the soldier dug inside a leather pouch at his side and came up with a shiny coin. He tossed it to me, and I snatched it out of the air. “Use that, and you have our thanks for the help. And don’t forget to loot the enemies. They may also have coin and on rare occasion a weapon or useful piece of armor.”

  “Wait. Where do they carry money?” Oz said.

  “Why inside their stomachs of course. Hungry and greedy bastards are the chitterlings. You are welcome to raid our kills as well. Take what you need with our thanks.”

  “We get to dig around in guts of the chitterlings you killed. That’s groovy,” I said.

  “Groovy it is, my new friend!” Quaint said enthusiastically and clapped me on the shoulder so hard I took a staggered step.

  “Groovy and victorious!” Hull raised his sword in the air then lowered it and touched the blade to his helmeted forehead.

  Then the two calmly strolled back toward the tavern.

  “Well that was certainly interesting,” Oz said.

  “I’m not sure I’d put it up there with other interesting things like going to Cabo or seeing the pyramids in Belize, but yeah. Interesting nonetheless,” I rolled my eyes.

  I looked at the coin Hull had tossed my way and found it had a much cleaner stamp than the copper I had used earlier. It was shiny and when I bit the side of the coin found it was soft. Gold after all. How did I know that? Because I’d seen enough movies to make me a pro.

  “Did you see the way the second one came at me when you rolled out of its way? Man, that was a sweet move.”

  “Yeah. Sweet move,” I nodded in agreement and slipped the coin in my pocket.

  Was he mocking me?

  “Weirdest thing,” Oz said and lifted his book. “This book keeps hitting my leg like it was trying to get my attention.”

  “That’s odd,” I said and then remembered that the same thing had happened earlier with my book.

  I lifted the volume and opened it. The first two pages had cleared up a bit making it easier to read the text. What had been runes were now coalescing into words. On the next page, I found icons that now clearly resembled weapons. One icon was a picture of a mace and a small black progress bar next to it. It was half-filled in. I stood and untied the book then set it on the ground.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Watch,” I said.

  I lifted the mace and smacked it against the corpse of one of the chitterlings. Yellow fluid exploded and chunks of carapace split.

  “Gross,” Oz observed.

  “Did the bar change?” I asked.

  “Oh. I get it,” Oz said. “But no.”

  “Right. Probably only counts if we hit live stuff or make a kill.”

  Oz nodded and opened his book. “Hey. I have a new bar on page four next to a sword. It's almost filled.”

  I groaned because I had also noticed the silver bar, but mine was barely halfway there. I turned to consider the pile of chitterlings near the low wooden gate. Maybe.

  I staggered to the bodies, leg burning like fire with each step thanks to my wound. I kicked the chitterling corpses until I found one that still twitched. Lifting the mace, I smashed its head into goo. I suddenly felt elated, but it only lasted for a split second.

  “Hey. Your mace bar moved,” Oz said as he carried both books in one hand. He’d stuck the short sword into his leather belt, and it flapped against his leg as he walked.

  He handed me my bound volume so I could study the bars. My silver bar had indeed moved and was now halfway filled.

  Oz went to work on one of the corpses with his sword. He dug it into a body and then ripped until it split open. Sure enough something twinkled in the sunlight as it hit the ground. He leaned over and picked up a coin. It was silver and smaller than the gold that Hull had tossed to me.

  “We’re rich,” I frowned.

  “Better than nothing,” Oz said defensively and opened up another corpse revealing a small silver dagger.

  I smacked a body around its center until it split open, but I had to use my hands to crack it wide. Its innards were a disgusting mass of ropey guts surrounded by thick yellow ichor. Something fell, and I snatched up the purple gem. Damn!

  I showed Oz the object.

  “Looks like a runestone to me,” he said.

  “That or it’s worth a lot of money. I’ll sell it to a merchant and buy some better gear,” I said.

  “You’re getting into this aren’t you,” Oz said.

  “Don’t have a choice,” I said.

  We opened more corpses and found a few more coins but nothing else of note. I returned to the two chitterlings we had dispatched and split one of them open revealing a pair of leather gloves. They looked pretty cool even if they were stained yellow. I shook the goo off and then tucked them into my belt.

  The villagers milled around, watching us. A shop owner opened her door and gestured for a couple to enter. Just like that, they were all back to business. Where were the fans to stand around and fawn over us? We were the noobs here. Didn’t we deserve some adoration?

  Oz shifted his attention to the beat-to-hell sword he had wielded. He tried wiping the blade on one of the dead chitterling’s bodies, but it just smeared the noxious yellow puss up and down the weapon.

  I stood and then winced in pain.

  “Ow. Shit!” I protested.

  “You were hit?”

  “Back of the thigh,” I said as I craned my neck around.

  “Let me look,” Oz said.

  “It’s probably nothing. Just a scratch,” I said and suddenly felt woozy.

  I massaged my aching leg and found it wet through my pants’ rough fabric. I pulled my hand to eye level and found it smeared with blood. My blood. I was stuck in a fantasy world that didn’t exist, fighting monsters that couldn’t exist, and I was bleeding.

  Worst. Day. Ever.

  “Help me to the temple?” I asked Oz.

  “Sure. Of course, where is it?”

  One thing I remembered well from my early days in Realms of Th’loria was the location of the healers. It was one of the first things you learned because the early le
vels of the game usually came down to getting in a fight, collecting a few coins, and running back to get healed. Oh, how life was imitating art today and I hated every minute of it.

  TEMPLES, PRIESTS, AND UNICORN FARTS

  It’s funny that all of this started the day after that disaster of a raid with my guild. Things were going so damn well and then that night happened. I didn’t bother logging in the next morning, and I stayed far away from our message board because I didn’t want to see all of the curses that were most likely being leveled at me.

  Sure I could have bitched and moaned that there had been a glitch. What else could have explained the way that umber acted? I’ve fought those before, many times — with help of course — but they were never that hard to take down. I’d never actually been killed by one.

  The minute I got back in the game, I intended to investigate what had gone wrong. I might even admit that some of it was my fault. I was more inclined to blame Belser since he was the idiot who couldn’t take down the umber in the first place. And yeah, I really should have read the patch note, so, my bad.

  Right now I had bigger problems. Namely, figuring out how in the hell to get out of this place. The game world that had somehow become real.

  “Blessings of the Five upon you,” the priest intoned as we entered the temple.

  He stood to the side of a large white statue of a woman dressed in a robe with a cowl over her face. Leefser, priestess of Th’loria, was one of the Five tasked with protecting the inhabitants of the land. Some prayed to her for health and happiness. Some prayed for a joyful marriage or a blessing before delving into a dungeon. I knew of her because my characters had begged for her blessing more times than I could count.

  I knew the drill. Kneel, offer coin, and click on the option my character desired. Most of the time it was simple healing because my health bar was a sliver. On other occasions, I had begged for a cure after being poisoned, or to have a curse removed either from me or a piece of equipment.

  “Go ask her to fix your leg,” Oz pointed at the statue.

  “Yeah. That was the plan,” I said.

  “Can I be of assistance?” The priest lowered his cowl revealing a craggy face lined with gray stubble.

  “Yeah. My friend here was just outside fighting chitterlings, and he got hurt. How much to heal him?”

  “Were you poisoned?” the priest asked with concern etched on his face.

  “I think so. I don’t feel so good,” I said.

  I didn’t. I felt like I was going to simultaneously pass out and barf all over myself. Plus I had to pee. Now when was the last time a character in a game had to pee? That kind of stuff got glossed over. Sure there were jokes from time to time, but no one wanted to play a game where you have bodily movements. On a raid but your character needs to pop a squat? The game designer would be a laughingstock.

  “I see. Allow me to lay my hand upon you,” the priest said.

  “Careful, Padre. I wasn’t ever an altar boy if you know what I mean,” I tried to sound funny.

  “An altar what?” the old man said.

  “Nothing. Just touch him or whatever,” Oz said.

  The priest touched my forehead. His hand was dry and felt like coarse cloth, but when he made contact with my skin, I suddenly was suffused with a feeling of wellbeing. When he withdrew his hand, I felt like I had been given a second chance at life.

  “Thank you for taking away the poison,” I said in all earnestness.

  “But you were not poisoned, my boy.”

  “I wasn’t? So why did I feel weak and about to lose my lunch?” I said.

  “Because you are a level one and you have been in a battle. It takes a toll. You are both welcome to sleep at the temple tonight, but on the morrow off you must go. Many adventures await young adventurers such as yourselves.”

  “Thanks, Padre,” I said.

  “I am a priest of Leefser. I know not of this Padre,” he said as he pulled his cowl up to cover his head.

  “Just an old saying where I come from,” I said.

  “Ah. And have you any other questions that I can answer?”

  “Oh wait. This guy acts as sort of a tutorial. You can ask him about just anything in the game, and he tells us what we need to know,” I said as the memory came back to me.

  “Sweet. Okay, priest. How do we get the hell out of this place and back to the real world? Is there like an off button or do we have to say some magic phrase?” Oz asked.

  “Is it in the book? Something we need to draw on the page? Like a rune or some shit?” I asked.

  “Or just like a magic whatsit we have to retrieve?”

  “Or do we have to go out and kill something and that gets us out? Maybe we have to capture a unicorn fart?”

  “Please. Please. I cannot discern your true intent through such blathering. Ask me true and I shall tell you true,” the priest interrupted our moment of ADHD mayhem.

  “Fine. How do we get home?” I asked.

  “Ah. Through hard work and dedication, even two such as you shall be able to acquire housing. I suggest taking on as many quests as you can find. When you have fulfilled the requirements to become level twenty-five, then shall the path to homeownership arrive.”

  “Wait. I mean go home. Like back to our world.”

  “Yes. As I was saying. At level twenty-five it shall become apparent the path you must follow to obtain housing.”

  “This is useless,” I muttered.

  “Where can we get a potion of healing for Gundar? He’s bleeding out back at the Grey Gull Tavern,” Oz said.

  “That I can provide for a small fee. With the healing I think we can call it a full silver,” the old man said.

  He reached into a pocket in his robe and extracted a vial that glowed an amber red that shimmered in the room, thanks to something that looked like flecks of silver in the fluid.

  I removed the shiny coin the guards had given us and offered it to him. He returned coins to me from another pocket and deposited the vial in Oz’s hand.

  “If that is all, I must attend to the wounded,” the priest said and turned away.

  “One last question,” I said. “How do I, I mean we, get to an upgraded server?”

  The old man paused, and his eyes flashed white then just as quickly cleared up and took on the same rheumy yellow they had been as we had first arrived.

  “I’m sorry, but I don’t understand the question. Now off you go. I have many things to attend to,” the old priest turned away once again.

  I harassed him with a few more questions, but he ignored them and continued hovering over a man with a huge bloody bandage over his left eye.

  After a few minutes of my entirely useless pestering, we left the temple and headed back to the tavern. If we couldn’t get answers out of the guy, we could at least complete the quest. Who knew, maybe we would be in for an amazing prize.

  The sun was bright and hit me like an anvil. Sweat broke out on my forehead, and I considered removing my shirt and going around in skins like I was back in high school playing ball. Oh, who was I kidding? I’d never played ball in school. Mom had always been willing to write me a note excusing me from too much intense physical stuff.

  Dust rose off the street and plastered us. A bug the size of my thumb buzzed past my face. Then another. I slapped at them, and they pissed off.

  It was so mind bending to walk around a real version of the town of Candleburn. It was even more of a mind fuck that we were somehow supposed to level up by gaining experience if we hoped to survive.

  A MAN DRESSED in rough woven pants the color of baby poop stood next to the wall of a little house and pounded a nail with the mallet that would have given my mace a run for its money. He didn’t look too happy about whatever his wife had set him to do.

  “How’s it going, hoss?” I asked him.

  He turned slowly and surveyed my attire, eyes roaming me up and down. He sneered, spit on the ground, and turned back to his work.

  “No
t too friendly,” Oz said as we strolled past the home.

  “Probably because his house is literally falling apart. Did you see that roof? A stiff breeze would blow it all over the place.”

  “This whole village has that appearance,” Oz said.

  The wind kicked up again and blew the dust off the hard packed road, and into my eyes. I blinked rapidly to clear them. I didn’t have a way to attach my mace to my clothing, so I carried it in my right hand. It got heavier with every step, so I switched to my left but not before I hefted it. I took a small swing and wished the game allowed me to gain experience from doing mundane stuff like swatting at air.

  I’d have to try banging on a tree later. Maybe the weird feeling would hit me again, and the mace experience bar would fill in.

  I took the vial out of my pocket and looked it over. The red fluid swirled around and I had the crazy thought that if I popped the cork lid steam or something would waft out.

  “Let me see that,” Oz said.

  I handed it to Oz, and he lifted it up to study it in the light. He turned it upside down and the fluid slowly flowed toward the lid.

  “Kind of looks like blood,” Oz said.

  A woman dressed in the tatters of a leather shirt staggered out of a house and headed straight for us. She wore a long skirt that swept the ground and was torn in several places. Her legs were covered in dirt and if I wasn’t mistaken, blood.

  “It’s awful. Rats the size of dogs in my cellar,” the woman said.

  “Bummer,” I replied.

  “No. Rats. Are you daft?”

  “Figure of speech,” I shrugged and shifted the mace to my other hand. Christ, this thing was heavy.

  “They did that to your clothes?” Oz asked.

  “This and more,” she said and pulled her shirt together across her chest despite the fact that it ripped a hole across her left shoulder revealing even more pale and dirt-stained skin. “Tearing through my shop even as we speak. You must kill them. I’ll pay you two silver for every one of the beasts that you slay. Bring me the tails as proof that the deed has been done,” she said.