Tales of the Gemsmith - Chapter 01: A LitRPG Adventure Series (Aldaron Worlds)

by Jared Mandani

  “Okay, yeah, thanks, that would be a great help,” Dean said, as he walked beside the Captain, who was leading his fine stallion. Dean wondered for a moment whether there was another player just like him out there somewhere playing the Captain Calan of the City Watch – or whether he was an NPC, like in the computer games. He had an impression that he was probably the latter, but then realized that it didn’t matter. It felt better to have him there, after being attacked.

  “I’ve been after that little fiend for moons now, keeps on attacking the odd traveler we have coming this way…” The Captain shook his head. “But at least maybe now he’ll think twice after messing with you!”

  “You think?” Dean frowned, unable to stop the flare of pride that he felt. I didn’t feel like I won that fight. In fact, I felt as though I was being a coward!

  “Well, you’re not dead. That’s winning, isn’t it?” the Captain said, as the large gates of the King’s City swung open before them.

  *

  The King’s City was a noisy, boisterous place, even here at the Eastern Plaza, which the Captain said was “not even the busiest part of the City!” This was nothing like the Docks, he claimed, where there were boats that ran up and down the Storm Coast, all the way to the Outer Kingdoms.

  Dean got lost in a whirl of sights, sounds, even smells. There were people selling unrecognizable bits of meat on sticks, there were fortune-tellers sitting in covered booths, offering to read his fortune. Several times he saw phalanxes of men dressed in semi-official uniform, hurrying about the city.

  “The Freebooters.” The Captain shook his head warily. “There’s lots of them here in the City, probably because Aldaron is constantly at war, it seems. The Freebooters are one of the largest of the expeditionary groups – barely better than mercenaries, but they’ve got a royal charter to help in the war effort.” The Captain stopped, frowning at Dean. “But you don’t have the look of a soldier about you, son. What are you – a cleric? A mage?”

  “A mage, yes … sir,” Dean said with a nod. I’m starting to get the hang of this!

  “Well, the Freebooters will certainly take you on if you want lots of missions and easy coin, or you could join the Aeturnum College.” He turned to point above them, beyond the houses where an impossibly tall tower curved and bent on its side. “That is where you can get most of your training if you’re new to these parts…”

  “Ah, thank you, I’ve been looking for … opportunities,” Dean managed to say.

  “That’s not all your options though. Most of the Expeditionary guilds will take on a mage, especially if you can fire a battle spell as fast as you did back there,” Captain Calan said. “Or you could try for the Cults – but you’ll have to swear allegiance to one of the gods for that, and they’ll send you on missions for the faith.”

  “Oh, okay…” Dean frowned, clutching his staff. The best jewelsmith in Aldaron, he thought. “Do you know who might work with gemstones? Gold and silver?” he asked the Captain, who shuffled in his boots.

  “Well now, there is a question! The Aeturnum can help you work with magical gems and materials of course, and the City Council will help you set up a shop, or workshop space. But if you really, really want to know what it’s like to work with gold and gemstones then you’ll have to speak to the Duma.”

  “The Dwarves?” Dean remembered. Why didn’t I choose Dwarf! He kicked himself.

  “Aye, that’s them. They have an embassy right here in the King’s City, a place called Iron Hall.” Captain Calan nodded down one of the wider plazas.

  “Thank you, Captain.” Dean smiled.

  “Don’t mention it, I like to try and keep alive a bit of what Aldaron was famous for, before the war between the Great Houses came. We were a friendly people.” The Captain looked sad, before shaking off his morose mood. “Now, if you run into any trouble, young Dean, I want you to come straight back here to the Eastern Gate, where I have an office right up there in the gatehouse, you understand?”

  “Sure, Captain, thank you again.” Dean turned to go, just as he remembered something. King’s Market. He was supposed to meet Marcy at the King’s Market! “Captain?” He turned back, only to find that the crowd had filled the space, and that Captain Calan of the Eastern Gate was gone.

  Well, not gone, Dean thought. He knew that he could wander up to the Gate and ask for him – but that would seem a little pathetic, even to him. He had managed to fend off a Kobold, after all!

  “I’ll find my own way through King’s City.”

  *

  As it turned out, the King’s City was much harder to navigate than he had first thought. The main avenue took him along the ‘top’ of the city, past tall statues of proud kings and queens, around which there were many strange characters laughing, arguing – some even fighting. Dean watched, wide-eyed, as he saw rangy humans with dark hair sharing flagons of ale and loud jokes, as well as narrow, willowy elves sitting on the very tops of the statues as comfortable as if they had floated up there. Maybe they did, Dean thought.

  Twice more he saw the patrols of Freebooters, and now could start to recognize them for what they were; groups of mercenaries whom the City Guard could barely control. They roamed the city like wolves, with apparently no one to stop them.

  “Accursed! Accursed!” someone was shrieking, as Dean turned to see a woman in rags shuffling her way through the crowds that parted around her. She wore dark black and gray clothes full of holes, rips, and tears, and her hair was wild, black, and wiry. But her face…

  Dean shuddered as he saw the scarred skin on her ancient face, and her white, unseeing eyes as she groped and stumbled through the crowd.

  “Accursed! This place is cursed! Get out! Get out while you can!” she shrieked and shouted, a moment before someone snarled and threw something at her.

  “How’s that for bad luck, old hag?” shouted a large, bald man wearing the red sash of one of the Freebooters. He’d been standing under a statue of a long-dead king, and had thrown his mug of ale over the woman. She gasped and spluttered as someone shouted after the man.

  “Maybe you should be nicer to those less fortunate than you, friend.” It was a gruff and low voice, and it belonged to a young dwarf, wild brown hair barely constrained in a series of plaits, and blue-inked tattoos running down one side of his face.

  “Oh no, what’s this – a shorty is going to teach me manners in my own city?” the Freebooter snarled back.

  The dwarf stood in front of the wailing woman and didn’t say anything. It was clear that the dwarf was no stranger to a fight, as he wore metal shoulder pads over a stiffened leather cuirass, and on his back was strapped a double-headed axe.

  “You want to be careful, shorty.” The man pushed himself to his full height, taller than Dean by a hand or two, taller than the dwarf by a few feet, and at his side was a long sword, still thankfully in its scabbard. “I’ve got a lot of friends in this city, and you look awfully alone.”

  This man is a bully. A bully looking to frighten those smaller than him Dean thought, feeling a real snarl of hatred and scorn for the Freebooter.

  “Not alone,” he found himself saying, stepping forward out of the traffic of people to stand near the dwarf.

  The Freebooter looked from one to the other, before snarling and shaking his head. “You’ve both made a mistake, friends.” He spat back, turning and skulking back into the crowd.

  “Well, that could have gone worse, I suppose…” Dean sighed, before turning to the dwarf, who was regarding him seriously.

  “Mage,” the dwarf said gruffly.

  “Uh, Dean, actually,” Dean said.

  The dwarf’s nose twitched in what could have been annoyance or mirth. “Skullcrusher, of the Purple Root Clan.” The dwarf bowed. “You are new to this city?”

  Dean nodded. “Yes, yes I am.”

  “Then I shall be your friend, Dean. I have been travelling for a long time in the Outer Kingdoms, and now I have
returned bearing a message for the embassy here. But it seems that the King’s City has changed, if even old women are attacked in the open streets!” They turned to see if they could help the woman, who was scrabbling at the side of a statue, reaching for its features.

  “My lord? My lord!?” she was wailing and crying through her sightless eyes, as Skullcrusher moved to her side.

  “My lady, my name is Skullcrusher, and I am a dwarf. That is just a statue you are holding, come away, the man who attacked you has gone now…”

  “They are never gone, dwarf!” The woman surprised Dean and Skullcrusher both by suddenly turning around, starting straight at them even with her white myopic eyes. The old woman’s voice was low and hissing as she spat out the words: “He is coming back, you know. The Red Hand. The Red Hand is rising again, and he will bring fire and ruin to this place…”

  “Who is this Red Hand, my lady, of what danger do you speak?” Skullcrusher shook his head wearily, but the woman was now cackling, pushing past both the dwarf and Dean as she continued on her zigzagging path through the city.

  “Accursed! Accursed!” Her cries grew fainter and fainter as she disappeared into the crowd.

  “What was all that about?” Dean said.

  “Beats me,” the dwarf sighed, mopping at his forehead with a spotted handkerchief. “Anyway – where are you headed?”

  “Me? The King’s Market. I said that I would meet a friend…” Dean was explaining, just as there was a whistle from behind them, and the crowd was split asunder by the stamp of marching feet.

  “Oh heck,” Skullcrusher said, pointing towards the mob of people running towards them. Almost all of them were human, and almost all of them appeared to be of the burly warrior sort – all with red sashes across their chests.

  “It looks like our rude friend has brought his friends after all.” The dwarf took a step back.

  “That’s a lot of friends.” Dean saw the mob growing — there must have been ten, twenty, thirty Freebooters coming for them.

  “Oi! There they are! Traitors to the Crown!” shouted one of the Red Sashes in front, the same ugly one that they had scared off just a few moments ago.

  The rest of his band of Freebooters whooted and charged.

  Dean and the dwarf ran.

  *

  “Hey! Watch out!” citizens, guards, and stall holders shouted at the thin mage and the heavyset dwarf as they careened through the streets, upsetting carts, tables, and frightening horses as they did so. Behind them came the mob of red-sashed Freebooters, their boots thundering over the cobbles as they bayed for blood.

  This adventure is really going well, Dean had a moment to think, just as Skullcrusher bounced off a wall and hissed, “Dean – this way!”

  The dwarf ran into a snarl of a crooked alleyway, turning back and forth beside narrow brick walls, jumping over broken pallets and rats. The sound of the chasing mob cantered past and grew quieter behind them, as the dwarf groaned and slowed into a fast trot.

  “It’s not the first time I’ve had to use Backstabber Lane,” he said warily, looking around them. The brick walls must have belonged to warehouses, as they were tall, and there were small, high shuttered windows above their heads. “Just never come in here alone, otherwise one of the Crows will get you.”

  “The Crows?” Dean felt even more alarmed than he had before.

  “That’s the Thieves’ and Assassins’ Guild. But you’re safe with me, son,” Skullcrusher said, coming to a crazy-angled fork in the road, before selecting a direction and leading them down it. “Now, if I’m right…”

  The alleyway abruptly ended, opening out into what looked like an inn yard, as it was scattered with barrels and a half-dismantled carriage. Open at the far side, Dean could see a much wider plaza strewn with multicolored cloth and moving bodies.

  “The King’s Market, lad,” Skullcrusher said proudly, grumbling as he squeezed through the tight gap, before turning to help Dean over the barrels and beyond. “You said you wanted to go here, right?”

  Dean shook his head in amazement. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

  “Then don’t,” the dwarf laughed in a booming voice. “You can repay me, if you want.” He looked critically at Dean’s appearance. “I’d wager a goblin’s nose that you’re a mage, and I could do with a mage at my side. Someone who can decipher what bit of rune means what, someone who can counter some of the darkling’s I might face out there…”

  Skullcrusher has sent you an invite to Join Story!

  Accept? Y/N

  Dean felt a flush of pride at being asked – but also fear. Out there. Out in the Outer Kingdoms, or beyond. Feeling that rising shiver of panic once again, he managed to shake his head.

  “I uh, I only wanted to make stuff,” he said lamely.

  N.

  “Oh, right.” Skullcrusher paused, looking as if he had been slapped in the face. “I’m sorry, if you’re already on a quest, I didn’t mean to get in your way…”

  “No, I mean it – thank you,” Dean said. Oh God, this is awkward. “It’s just – I’m new here, and I wouldn’t be very good out there fighting monsters and what have you, yet.” Which was true, he thought. He was what, Level One?

  “Ah, I see…” This time the dwarf nodded much more sagely. “You need to grind out a bit of experience, my lad, before you face the same terrors that I do every day!” It seemed as though Dean’s explanation had been accepted, as Skullcrusher laughed and sighed. “Well, when you are ready, you can come ask for me at the Iron Hall, they’ll know where the Skullcrusher has got to – even if I am not in the city.”

  Dean felt oddly touched by the offer of friendship from this person he hardly knew. “Thank you, Skullcrusher. It would be an honor. Now all I have to do is work out how to find my friend.”

  “Who are they?” the dwarf asked.

  “Ma— an elf. An elf of the Darkwoods,” Dean remembered.

  “Hmph.” Skullcrusher shook his shoulders disagreeably. “Well, it takes all sorts to keep the world turning, I suppose. Maybe we should try the elvish stalls first?”

  They didn’t have to try the elvish stalls first as it happened, as a light and loud voice burst over the throng.

  “Dean!” Striding towards them, still barely clothed and resplendent in her altered skin, was Marcy the Ranger of the Darkwoods. “You made it!” Marcy laughed, her voice like liquid silver as she strode up to him and gave him a brief, reassuring pat on the shoulder. “I was starting to get worried for you – was it Kevin?”

  “Who?” Dean asked, as suddenly the dwarf roared with laughter. “What’s so funny?”

  “Kevin the Kobold. It’s what we all call him.” Skullcrusher chuckled. “That little shit is always the first to greet any new adventurers to Aldaron. He managed to rob me of my first axe when I got here!”

  “Ha!” Marcy laughed. “Not me, though. I kicked him in the fork.”

  All eyes turned to Dean, and he felt his mouth go dry. He didn’t want to tell them how he had almost panicked and ran, how he had fallen over onto the wet grass, certain that he was going to be killed, the memories of those burglars seared into his mind.

  “I uh, I sent a Bolt his way,” he said self-consciously.

  “No way – well done! Day one, and you’re already grinding out the experience!” Marcy said enthusiastically. “And you’re making friends.” The elf turned to the dwarf. “Who are you?”

  “I, my lady elf, am Skullcrusher of the Purple Root Clan.” He bowed. “Or you can call me Isaiah, of Los Angeles,” he added in a quieter, less dwarfy voice.

  “Mirelle, or Marcy, of San Maria.” The elf inclined her head sagely. “Will you be joining us, Skullcrusher?”

  “Ah, well, the young Padawan here said that he wasn’t ready for a mission to the Outer Realms yet, and I’ve got a lot of work to do, ma’am…” Skullcrusher – or Isaiah — shrugged. “It’s okay. You two would only slow me down.” He laughed,
nodding deeper into the Market. “I’ve got to see a troll about a blade, anyway. But when you’re levelled up?” The dwarf raised a fist into the air; a gesture of strength and purpose that made Dean want to laugh.

  “Sure thing, Skullcrusher.” Dean laughed, watching as the dwarf vanished into the crowd.

  “Now, Mr. Big-Shot Kobold-Killer.” Marcy raised her eyebrows at him. “That’s probably quite enough excitement for one night, isn’t it? I’ve got to go start on my ward rounds in a minute!”

  “Oh. Really?” Dean said, although secretly he felt a little pleased. His heart was still hammering from the encounter with the Freebooters, and he wanted to forget his moment of crippling panic before Kevin the Kobold – probably the weakest monster in the whole game!

  “Yes, really. It’s going to take time to level up in Aldaron, but you’re already off to a flying start, making friends and killing monsters,” Marcy said. “Now let’s see how that hand of yours is doing, shall we? You jump out, and I’ll follow.”

  Quit Game? Y.

  Chapter 8: Alice in Normal-land

  Dean opened his eyes to pain. “Ach! What the—?” His legs were aching, and his hands, he realized, as the calming white light of the VRM-Alpha faded into lifeless black. He was once more lying on his back, in the real world. With a grunt, he took the visor off and blinked, his eyes feeling funny and dry as if he hadn’t used them at all over the last few hours – but he knew that he had!

  Luckily, it was night time, and the lights overhead were muted, the sounds of the busy medical center beyond his door hushed.

  “Why am I in pain, then?” Dean looked down at his body to see, strangely, that he was back in his hospital pajamas and not in his green robes. If he concentrated, he thought he could even still feel the wood of his quarterstaff under his hands.

  My hands… He looked at the one that troubled him in particular, free of its constraining metal cage, but still wrapped in a sort of blue neoprene synthetic glove. It looked just the same as it always did, and yet when he tried to move the fingers, it radiated heat and pain.