Every goblin they encountered in the streets stared at Vlisil. Perhaps it was his leather armor; after all, the villagers were all dressed conservatively, in clothes that were closer to 1840’s America than a medieval fantasyland. Maybe it was the gleaming sickle hanging from his belt. Maybe it was just because he was an unfamiliar face. Either way, he could feel eyes roving over him as he walked along the streets.
They finally arrived at the goblin family’s earthen hut. Once they were inside the ornately carved wooden door, the place was homey. Dark wood paneling lined the walls. Various knickknacks adorned the furniture, like pheasant feathers tied in decorative arrangements. A pot boiled over the fireplace, and a squat little female goblin in a dark dress looked over from beside the hearth.
“What’s this?” she croaked.
“It followed us home,” the husband muttered.
“He’s a great goblin warrior,” the girl informed her mother.
“Is he now.”
“He rides a giant chicken,” the boy goblin piped up.
“A chickaril,” Vlisil said testily, then tried to explain. “It’s basically a large bird that can fly you around.”
The daughter added her own explanation: “It looks like a giant baby duckling with ugly eyes.”
“It does NOT!” Vlisil snapped.
As the mother gathered the baskets of swamp berries from her family and dumped them into a bowl, she fixed Vlisil with a distrusting gaze. “Why isn’t it flying away on its magic chicken, then?”
“A varok ate it,” the husband grunted.
The mother looked at Vlisil accusingly. “Did you leave your chicken near the swamp waters?”
“I didn’t know!” Vlisil protested.
The mother scoffed. “You a goblin, and you didn’t have sense enough not to leave your chicken near the swamp waters? What do we say, children?”
The boy and girl both recited in sing-song voices:
“Never walk along the swamp,
“Or bathe in boggy water;
“For the varok tarries there,
“And wants you for the slaughter.”
The mother nodded approvingly. “Good. Everyone to table, it’s time for dinner.”
Vlisil sat down at a rickety wooden table… and then looked at the family all staring at him.
“I… I thought…”
They just continued to stare at him disapprovingly.
After a moment’s pause, he begged, “Can I have something to eat? Please? I’m starving…”
“So it’s staying for dinner, is it?” the wife asked.
The husband sighed. “Fine. But after dinner you leave.”
“Okay,” Vlisil agreed, his mouth watering as the mother ladled out savory-smelling stew. “Thank you.”
The family sat down, folded their hands, and bowed their heads. Vlisil watched in curiosity as the father prayed aloud:
“Great Harft, we give thanks to you for this bounty. Protect thy children as they confront the evils of the world.” The father opened one eye and looked at Vlisil before adding, “And fools beyond measure.”
Vlisil wanted to answer with some sort of sarcastic retort, but held his tongue. After all, they were praying… he thought.
And they were feeding him, so there was that.
“Haspert,” the goblin father said, as though to end the speech.
“Haspert,” the goblins all repeated, and then began to eat.
The stew was tasty, as was the rest of the food: coarse, dark bread with some sort of sour butter, and swamp berries for desert – which were surprisingly sweet.
The entire time they ate, Vlisil told them about Eric and the horrible destruction of Blackstone.
The family listened silently.
Finally, at the end, Vlisil asked, “So – what do you think?”
The mother goblin looked at the father. “It talks a great deal, doesn’t it?”
“It does,” the father replied wearily.
“Hey – this is serious!” Vlisil protested. “This guy Eric could destroy everything in the Shattered Lands if we don’t fight him!”
“So go fight him,” the father said as he got up from his chair.
“Don’t you think the other townspeople should know?”
“If only to save me from hearing it again,” the father grumbled.
“Aren’t you worried?”
“I’m worried you’re going to stay another minute longer. Time to get out.”
“But we need to tell people!” Vlisil protested as the father lifted him up by the elbow.
“No we don’t,” the goblin said as he pushed Vlisil towards the door.
“Don’t you think your neighbors would want to know an evil sorcerer is bearing down on them as we speak?!”
“Not really, no,” the goblin said as he opened the door and pushed Vlisil out into the night.
“But – ”
The door shut behind him. Slam!
“Where am I supposed to go?!” Vlisil wailed.
“Somewhere other than here,” the father answered, his voice muffled behind the door.
“Is there an inn or something?”
“Don’t talk to it anymore, you’re just encouraging it,” the mother said.
“I can hear you, you know!” Vlisil shouted.
“Ignore it and it will eventually go away.”
After that, no matter what he said or how much he pleaded, the goblins were silent within.
He gave up and walked down the darkened dirt road towards the center of the village.
22
There was something resembling a pub in the center of the village. At least, Vlisil guessed it was a pub. The building was larger than the other earthen huts, and there were no corrals of antlered Shetland ponies outside.
As he approached, two goblins exited the hut’s dimly lit interior, then nodded silently to each other before setting off on separate paths.
The one nearest Vlisil gave him the stink-eye as he passed.
Vlisil walked through the pub’s door and closed it behind him against the damp night air. All around him were rough-hewn tables and chairs, most of them empty. Small groups of two and three goblins clustered together, dour and silent as they brooded over beers in stoneware steins.
Every single one of them stared at Vlisil suspiciously as he walked across the room.
There was a goblin in a white shirt and black vest wiping down steins behind the bar.
Vlisil sidled up to him and asked, “Do you have an inn here?”
“No,” the goblin croaked.
“Is there an inn in the village?”
“No.”
“Well, can I at least have a drink?”
The goblin looked at him suspiciously. “Do you have money?”
Vlisil checked his pockets.
Damn it –
Nothing. Not even any gold coins from the dungeon. He’d died before he’d put them into Inventory.
“No,” Vlisil admitted.
“No drink, then,” the bartender said, and turned his back on him.
Vlisil looked around the room. He felt nervous as he contemplated what he was about to do, but he reasoned with himself that he’d come here on a mission. And they were only NPCs, after all.
“Have you heard about Blackstone?” he said aloud, addressing everyone in the pub.
They all glanced over at him resentfully for breaking the silence, then averted their eyes.
Well, if they weren’t going to tell him to shut up, he was going to talk.
He told them about Eric. He told them about the Mines of Alark, and how Eric had screwed them all over to get some magical orb, and then how he’d gone and conquered Blackstone with it. He talked about Hell’s Army and how the bodies had been piled five deep in the fields after the first battle. He talked about the secret mission to invade Blackstone, and opening up the drawbridge, and how the whole thing had been a ruse – an elaborate trap to crush 50,000 soldiers under the massive stone w
alls.
He was just getting to the part about And we all need to band together to defeat the evil sorcerer when the barkeep whistled – a high, shrill fweet!
Two burly goblins got up from their table, walked over to Vlisil, grabbed an arm each, and lifted him up off the floor.
“What are you doing?!” Vlisil yelled.
They were bum-rushing him, is what they were doing.
They walked him across the pub, tossed him in the road, and slammed the door shut behind them.
“Hey!” Vlisil yelled angrily as he wiped the mud from his armor. “Ignoring me is not going to make the evil sorcerer go away!”
“But perhaps it will make you go away,” a voice croaked from within as a wooden bolt fell into place, barring the door.
“Assholes,” Vlisil muttered.
Oh well. When it got light out he could start again.
He wandered around the village looking for a place to sleep. There was nothing at all – except inside the Shetland pony pens, where there were large stone troughs filled with hay. The hay looked marginally more comfortable than the hard, cold, damp ground.
Vlisil decided he would try out a manger back at the homestead of the goblin family that had fed him dinner. At least they wouldn’t kill him when they found him the next morning.
Not out of fear, anyway. Maybe just out of annoyance.
He got back to their house, climbed over the wooden fence, crawled in a manger, and nestled in the hay. It was surprisingly warm and soft.
He was just getting ready to log off when WHAM!
A dozen hard points of pressure slammed into his back and knocked him out of the manger onto the ground.
“WHAT THE HELL?!” he yelled as he stumbled to his feet. He’d lost 20 hit points just from the impact alone.
A pony had charged him while he was in the manger and used its antlers to dislodge him from the feeding trough.
“Even the damn PONIES don’t want me – aaaaaah!” Vlisil screamed as the pony began to chase him around the pen.
He was barely able to heave himself over the top log of the corral when the thing hit him again in the ass, and he tumbled face-first into the dirt.
He looked up to see the door of the house open.
The father goblin stared down at him… shook his head silently in disgust… and shut the door again.
23
Lotan
Far above Beraldia, Lotan’s pegasus circled in the sky.
It was a gorgeous city on the sea – multi-tiered levels of red-stoned buildings keeping watch over azure waters. There were temples and buildings and a magnificent palace, all colored the dusky red of sunset.
Next to the city, a massive harbor sheltered hundreds of sailing ships. Some were anchored out in the bay, while others sat docked next to piers that stretched far out over the blue waters.
Lotan landed the white pegasus on one of the rocky cliffs overlooking the harbor. He dismounted and peered down the craggy slope to the water. It reminded him of the giant cliff in the Mines of Alark where he’d tried to escape from Eric. The memory made him shiver – especially the claustrophobia of pulling himself through the lava tubes as the undead sea serpents slithered and screeched behind him.
He peered down and wondered idly if he could hit the water from here if he jumped. He decided against it. The cliff sloped out too far, and the water at the base was decidedly shallow. Lots of tidal pools ringed by jagged rocks. If he jumped, he’d probably dash himself to pieces on the –
“‘Ey you – what the ‘ell are you doin’ up ‘ere, fish-head?”
Lotan whirled around. Two human guards in copper armor were approaching, each with a javelin in hand. One was short and stocky, the other was tall and thin.
Lotan didn’t like the tone of the man’s voice, but he didn’t see any need to pick a fight with the locals in his first two minutes on land. “Uh… I was just admiring the view.”
“Why aren’t you admiring it from down in the water where you belong?” the taller one sneered. Since his accent was different, Lotan assumed the shorter one had spoken first.
He didn’t like either of their tones, but…
“I’ve been traveling a long way – this is the first time I’ve stopped.”
“You shoulda kept goin’, fish-head,” the shorter guard said. “Right down in the water.”
“That sounds like a good idea,” Lotan said, edging closer to the pegasus. “I’ll just be on my way – ”
“Where’d you steal the flying horse?” the tall one said as he stepped forward.
“I didn’t steal him. He’s mine.”
“Yeah, right,” the short one chuckled as he came around on the other side of the horse.
The pegasus snorted and began to paw the earth uneasily.
Lotan glanced back and forth between the two guards. “Look, I don’t want any trouble – ”
“I’d say you found it, fishie, when you landed a stolen pegasus here.”
Lotan thought about drawing his sword, but he didn’t want to give either of these jerks a reason to kill him. “I’ll just be on my way.”
“Nooo, I think you better come with us.”
“Better yet,” the tall one said, lowering his spear and gripping it as though to thrust it outwards, “why don’t you go back where you belong!”
The copper javelin stabbed at Lotan.
The guard was trying to kill him, that was obvious. If Lotan had jumped backwards, he would have tumbled off the cliff and fallen on the rocks.
Fortunately for Lotan, he was faster than the guard.
He sidestepped the javelin, grabbed it midair – and kept pulling.
The guard had already thrown all his weight behind the thrust. When Lotan pulled, the man tripped and sprawled face-first in the dust.
“Assault!” the short guard roared on the other side of the pegasus, and drew his sword. “Murder!”
Yeah, it IS assault and attempted murder – on your asshole buddy’s part, Lotan thought, but he didn’t stick around long enough to say it.
Instead, he leaped towards the pegasus.
He wasn’t able to jump up into the saddle, but he managed to grab the saddle’s pommel with both hands as he yelled, “GO!”
The horse dove off the cliff and spread its wings.
Lotan’s body flailed in the air as he hung on to the pommel for dear life.
The horse hurtled downwards, clop-clopped its hooves on the sloping cliff –
And soared out over the water, then up into the air.
Lotan scrambled, his legs pumping beneath him as he tried to pull himself up into the saddle. He thought about just letting go and dropping into the water, but he didn’t want to lose the pegasus –
A horn sounded somewhere nearby. It sounded like it came from the cliff, like one of the guards was sounding the alarm.
There were multiple THOCK THOCK THOCK sounds in the distance –
Suddenly giant steel harpoons were flying through the air.
Lotan looked around in terror as one whistled right over his head.
The ramparts of Beraldia were filled with dozens of giant crossbows, just like anti-aircraft guns. The weapons were massive, too big for a single man to move on his own –
And all of them were aimed at Lotan and the pegasus.
THOCK THOCK THOCK
A harpoon speared the pegasus’s wing, and it screamed in pain.
“NO!” Lotan screamed as the horse began to tumble towards the water.
He might die if the horse landed on him –
Or he could save himself.
He kicked off backwards, using the horse’s flank to propel himself off of, and dove outwards into the sea.
The horse landed twenty feet away.
SPLASH!
Lotan shot underwater in a graceful curve of silver bubbles.
The pegasus hit more like a brick.
Lotan turned and saw the pegasus from beneath. It was the single white shape amongst the
black boat hulls anchored in the harbor.
He watched in anguish as the beautiful animal struggled, its legs kicking and its wounded wing flailing as red trails of blood swirled slowly through the crystal clear water.
Lotan wanted to do something, but there was nothing to do. The animal finally stopped struggling and sank slowly beneath the waves until it came to a resting place amongst the sand and seaweed.
He knew it was just a computer program… just zeroes and ones… but it was a beautiful animal, and it was painful to see something beautiful die like that, even in a game.
He thought of the guards – the cruel, xenophobic assholes who had tried to kill him – and hoped that whatever fates they suffered were painful ones.
Now that he was underwater, he glanced around.
Above, the black ship hulls looked like the rounded undersides of small black icebergs, tethered to the ocean floor by chains and anchors. Another 200 feet beyond them he could see the massive pylons that supported the piers, and more boats docked beside them.
Beneath him was the floor of the harbor, and it was amazing.
Shipwrecks dotted the underground landscape, with rotten hulls bashed in like broken ribcages. Brilliantly colored beds of coral vied for space with underwater forests of kelp swaying in the currents. Fish swam in silver schools everywhere he looked.
Further out from the harbor, though, the fish were bigger… the coral was more plentiful… and he could see looming shapes like hazy shadows through the crystalline water.
He swam towards the mouth of the harbor to take a look, past the rocky slopes that sheltered the harbor from storms – and entered a wonderland of underwater marvels.
Past the edge of the coastline, the kelp grew taller than five story buildings. The coral formed intricate networks like rose-colored lace. And the fish came in all sizes and colors – bright yellow fish as big as a hippo, manta rays with wingspans like a griffin’s, and iridescent octopi ranging in size from an apple to a horse.
Then there were the ruins.
Fragments of marble temples jutting up out of the sand. Temple pillars broken in half, statues half-buried, slabs of marble cracked down the middle.
Shattered Lands 3 Demon Wars: A LitRPG Series Page 8
