Killing Time: The Realms Book Three: (An Epic LitRPG Series)

by C. M. Carney

  The dealer snapped his fingers, drawing my attention back to the game. I’d been so lost in my memories I’d forgotten Gaarm had gone all in. The dealer asked me what I wanted to do? I gave Gaarm a grin and pushed my own pile of coins to the center of the table, earning oohs and ahs from the crowd and a confused scowl from Gaarm. Was that a look of doubt worming into his dung colored eyes?

  The pretty barmaid returned and set a fresh pint of Master Grimslee’s potent honey mead in front of me. I looked up to see her warm smile, and I eased a coin towards her. “Thanks Seraphine,” I said. She snatched the money with the practiced motion of a card trick magician and it disappeared into her apron.

  I took a large sip of the mead, my fifth, or was it sixth, of the day. The sweet nectar warmed my throat and stomach. I stared unflinching at Gaarm. Perhaps it was liquid courage that made me so cocky. It sure wasn’t common sense. Gaarm was a large Eldarian, by way of Orc, whose principal occupations, as far as I could tell, were drinking, bullying and flatulence. Under other circumstances we might have been great pals. But, alas, it was not to be.

  Happy that his stare had been sufficiently intimidating, Gaarm turned his card over with a grin. More oohs and ahs spread through the crowd. There was a reason for Gaarm’s surety. He had a good card. Unfortunately for him, I had a better one. I tossed my card onto the pile of coins with the idle arrogance one can only muster while drunk. Cheers and grumbles flowed through the Shining Unicorn Inn as the sound of coins exchanging hands filled the room. I reached forward and pulled the pile of coins towards me, a smug smile turning up the corners of my mouth.

  Gaarm’s eyes squinted to thin slits as his anger flared. His chair scraped against the rough wooden floor as he stumbled to his feet. The sound of his dagger being drawn from the scabbard at his waist was like the warning hiss of a snake. His other hand lashed out and grabbed me by the scruff of my robes, yanking me out of my chair. “Cheater,” he roared. I used Analyze.

  Gaarm - Level 8

  H: 183/S: 197/M: 112/ SP: 123. Gaarm is an Eldarian.

  Strengths: Unknown. - Immunities: Unknown. - Weaknesses: Unknown

  Well that’s not much help.

  I put on my best innocent look and denied the accusation. I played the holy man with impugned honor, and I played it well. Hand to heart, pious eyes and some other bullshit that just comes naturally to me.

  Gaarm was having none of it. He was the kind of stupid who refused to let something as foolish as logic or facts turn him from his beliefs. It didn’t matter he was right. I had cheated. The point of his dagger eased under my chin and I gulped slowly. The point drew a pinprick of blood and he pulled me closer to his face. There I learned that the promise his brown teeth had made was true, his breath was wretched. He stared at me for a few more seconds, perhaps uncertain on how to proceed, before bellowing again. “Cheater!” he screamed. Several of Gaarm’s associates stood behind him for support.

  “Listen Gaarm, buddy, why don’t I buy you a drink. In fact, why don’t I buy a round for all your friends.”

  A few mumbles of appreciation flowed through Gaarm’s associates and one man even held a hand up to get Seraphine’s attention. A deadly glare from Gaarm shushed the group and the other man’s hand went down, an abashed smirk painting his face.

  Gaarm turned back to me as a winning smile spread across my face. He pulled his blade from my throat and returned it to its sheathe with an impressive spin. I took in a heavy breath of relief and then had it violently forced from my body as Gaarm’s grapefruit sized fist punched me in the gut.

  Only his grip on my robes prevented me from falling to my knees. I keeled over in pain, drawing ragged, desperate breaths. Damn that hurt, I thought, realizing it was the first time I'd experienced real pain. I was in no hurry to relive the experience, but Gaarm had other ideas. Another train force blow punched into my gut and I choked back the taste of bile. Throwing up on the brute was a sure ticket to more violence.

  Gaarm pulled me back up and close to his face. “Hi, Gaarm, I said. What’s new?” Gaarm only grinned and pulled his fist back, ready to deliver another blow, when salvation growled from the bar.

  “Cut that shit out, all of you,” said a voice as deep as any I’d ever heard.

  Gaarm and I turned towards the voice, or to be more accurate Gaarm turned and dragged me along with him. Master Grimslee stood in his normal spot behind the bar, but this time, instead of polishing mugs with the same rag he used to wipe his nose, the innkeeper held a loaded crossbow. It was pointed right at Gaarm and I, and I was certain of two things. One, the innkeeper had no qualms about using the weapon, and two he didn’t much care which one of us he hit. Gaarm’s eyes went wide. Even his dull brain seemed to have processed the deadly focus of the man behind the bar.

  “But he cheated me?” Gaarm said, his voice going almost pouty.

  A relieved smile crossed my face, and I was about to thank the portly innkeeper for intervening when luck threw me a curve ball.

  “Then take him out back and kick his ass. I will not have blood staining my floor and frightening my customers.”

  My heart sank as Gaarm turned back to me with a wicked grin. “This will be fun,” he said and dragged me towards the back door. A half dozen of his fellow goons followed.

  Panic took me and I looked around the common room for aid. Seraphine seemed genuinely concerned, but what could a simple barmaid do? My eyes zipped to the other patrons. The corpulent priest who’d tried to convert me to his goddess, looked down in shame, suddenly finding the stain on his cassock fascinating.

  A twitchy wizard who’d spent most of the evening lighting things at his table on fire, gave me an insane smile as if saying ‘have fun.’ Lurking in the corner was a rogue-like fellow, his eyes flaring red in his hood and then disappearing as he took a drag on his cigarillo. It was clear that nobody would rush to my aid.

  “Shit,” I said.

  “Shit is right dwarf,” Gaarm said.

  “I’m an Ordonian,” I said in a voice that sounded whiny, even to my ears.

  “Really?” Gaarm asked and gave me an up and down look. “You sure?”

  “That’s what it says.”

  Gaarm shrugged and kicked open the door. “I like killing Ordonians almost as much as killing dwarves,” he said and tossed me into the alley behind the inn. I landed in a puddle that I hoped, but doubted, was water.

  I sputtered and attempted to get to my feet when Gaarm’s large booted foot pushed me back down. I inhaled rancid water, gagged and feared that I might drown when a meaty hand yanked me back to my feet.

  “You bit off more than you can chew pally. I’m Gaarm and I’m a wanted man in a dozen provinces. Shouldn’t have cheated me. And don’t think that priest robe will keep you safe.” Gaarm punched me in the gut again and this time I did vomit, adding more proof that my assessment of the puddle’s contents had been accurate.

  His gang of followers surrounded me in a wide semi-circle. “You know, you didn’t cheat just me, you cheated my boys here too,” Gaarm said, as he pushed me towards one. My mind tried to make sense of Gaarm’s inane comment, but before I came up with a response, I was hurtling at another one of his boys. This one, who'd I'd dubbed Aegyptian Goon, cuz, well, he was Aegyptian and a goon, punched me in the face.

  The impact caused me to stumble backwards, and I bounced off another man. He was kind enough to hold me up long enough to deliver another well aimed punch. This state of events continued for a while, and I felt like the ball in a pinball machine. I lost track of how many punches I'd taken, but the blaring red of my Health bar told me that if something didn’t change and quickly, the game would soon be up. To confirm that fact a debuff prompt popped up.

  Debuff Added. You have taken a Beating.

  Health and Stamina Regen reduced by 25% for 30 minutes. Attributes reduced by 5 for 30 minutes.

  Lovely.

  Perhaps sensing my imminent demise, Gaarm spoke up. “Ease up boys. We don’t want to end this game
too quickly.” The wiry Eldarian with the large mustachios that I'd named Mustachio held his punch with a grumble. Instead, he pushed me face down into the muck.

  I coughed and wheezed and continued my excellent performance of dying when the voice of an angel chirped up.

  “Now boys, I hate to interrupt your fun, but I really need you to stop all this.”

  2

  Seven and a half pairs of eyes turned towards the sing-song voice. It would have been eight pairs if my right eye wasn't swollen shut and my face planted in the mud. What I saw didn’t bring me much hope.

  The voice had come from a small wood elf woman. She wore tight fitting leather armor that was the deep green of a forest at dusk. Her blonde hair was close cropped, heightening the point of her ears. Violet eyes eased back and forth as if she were assessing the men that moved to surround her. The hilts of two short swords protruded over her shoulders. As she stood there, one hip cocked and ready for action, she reminded me of the pixie like alt-rock singers currently all the rage back on Earth. I used Analyze on her.

  Analyze has failed.

  Hmmm, not sure that bodes well.

  “Move on girly. This doesn’t concern you,” Gaarm said, shoulders tensing, legs eased into a combat ready stance. It seemed he also sensed that this woman was more than some frail maiden.

  “I’m afraid it does,” the woman said as she brought a hand to her chin. “No wait, that isn’t what I meant to say. I’m thrilled it does. I was having such a boring day until now.”

  The metallic slide of Gaarm’s dagger was joined by the sound of more weapons being drawn, and soon the woman faced seven blades. The circle of men morphed and flowed away from me, becoming a crescent around the woman. I sat up and crab walked backwards until I hit the side of the outhouse. It wasn’t the bravest of movements, but at least I was out of harm’s way. The impact caused the door to creak open and a horrid stench wafted out making my day that much worse.

  “What do you want?” Gaarm asked, uncertainty creeping into his voice. Maybe he wasn’t as dumb as he looked. The numbers may have been in my tormentor’s favor, but everyone here sensed that something had changed, like the momentum in a football game.

  “I want many things. I am a bit of a hedonist, no wait, that’s not right, I’m a sadist. That’s the one that likes dispensing pain, right?” The goons all gave her blank stares, which didn’t seem to affect her one bit. “But what I need now is him,” she said and pointed at me with a smile. “A friend hired me to find him.” She looked right at me. “What say you kid, wanna party?”

  Did Gryph send her? A prompt popped into my vision.

  You are invited to join the Agent's Adventuring Party.

  I stared stupidly for a moment before hearing the Agent’s voice. “Accept kiddo. Trust me you’ll need the buffs.” I agreed, clicking the ACCEPT button with a mental flick.

  Buff Added. You have been granted Evasiveness.

  Dexterity increased by 5. +25% chance to avoid an attack. Evasiveness will last for one hour.

  A warm glow of faint hope flowed through me. Now, don’t get me wrong, I still expected to die, and soon, but maybe this crazy elf chick would buy me some time. Maybe she’d provide enough of a distraction for me to escape. Don’t judge me, I didn’t ask her to risk her neck.

  I stood and looked around, realizing that I had stupidly backed myself into a corner. A tall fence lay to my left and the walls of the three-story inn were behind me and to the right. The only way to safety was through Gaarm and his buddies.

  Gaarm snuck a glance back at me and then back at the woman. “We’ll be done with him in a few minutes. Why don’t you come back later?”

  “I wish I could, but you see, this friend was very insistent that no harm come to little Lex. He’ll already be cross at me that I let you smack him around so much.” She turned to me, waved and did a curtsy complete with an imaginary dress. “Sorry.”

  Who the hell was this lunatic woman? Gaarm and his buddies must have been thinking the same thing, because they looked back and forth at each other, shuffling their feet in a way that suggested their subconscious mind was beginning to understand that they might be the underdogs here. I could almost see the fear battling arrogance in Gaarm's mind and then he screamed and launched himself at the elf. Like I said, he wasn’t too bright.

  The woman became a green black blur as both of her swords seemed to leap into her hands. Gaarm was quick for such a big man, but all that accomplished was to hasten his end. With a quick motion that somehow seemed casual, the woman parried his blade, spun and sunk her other sword deep into the thick trunk Gaarm called an arm. Her blow didn’t quite turn the massive Eldarian into an amputee, but it was close. The high pitch squeal that exploded from Gaarm’s mouth made my teeth hurt.

  Now this next part you won’t believe, but I ain’t lying. Sure, I was drunk, but trust me it happened exactly as I describe. With a flick of her wrist she pulled the blade from Gaarm’s arm ducked and spun again. Two more men felt her blades bite into their stomachs before the dark crimson spray of Gaarm’s blood hit the ground.

  Gaarm fell to his knees in agony. Disbelief and pain filled his eyes, and he was now more animal than human. His free hand reached out and grabbed the nearly amputated limb, pushing it against the stump at his elbow, willing it to reattach.

  My jaw hung open in a stupid expression of shock, but the show was just beginning. The woman paused as if relishing the sweet move she’d just executed and the intricate engravings lining her bracers glowed with a swirling green light. The energy flowed along her arms and she heaved upwards, lifting both men off their feet and driving her swords deeper into their bodies. My guess is she’d cast some kind of strength spell. With a shout she spun again and flung each impaled man at another of the goons, nearly slicing the impaled men in half.

  The last two guys standing must have had a few brain cells rubbing together up top because they backed away. She stood there, waiting, as if she wanted the two men under the corpses of their friends to free themselves before resuming.

  “I like to play fair,” she said, looking right at me.

  Did she read my mind? Where the hell had Gryph found this woman?

  It took only a few seconds for two men to become four as the other men heaved their buddies’ corpses off of them and rose. They were warier this time and even employed some tactics to their defense.

  I’d like to tell you that I got all super heroic and joined the fray, but nope, I froze, mouth hanging open like a slack-jawed yokel. The men moved forward feinting and advancing and for a moment I feared they’d be able to overtake her, and then their rage would turn on me.

  Turns out this female death goddess didn’t need my help. She knew what these men would do before they did it. It sounds nuts, but she had some kinda Spidey Sense. Mustachio parried several blows with his bastard sword as he gained advantage. Now I would have been scared shitless, cuz this dude was skilled. But with every step she took backwards her grin grew wider, more sinister.

  He feinted to the left and swung a blow destined to remove her head when suddenly she was a few feet to the left and her right-hand blade had punctured through the side of his neck. I hadn’t seen her move, nor, I guess, had Mustachio, since his expression showed more shock than pain as blood sprayed from his mouth.

  She pulled her sword free and Mustachio fell in a heap, twitching as the last bits of life pumped from his ruined neck. The rest of the goons tried to run. Unfortunately for them, she blocked the only way out of the alley, except for the rear door to the inn. They ran towards the door, only to find it locked from the inside. Apparently Master Grimslee had been serious about his distaste for bloodshed in his establishment.

  Their eyes blazed panic and one of them begged for his life. A sword through his eye showed that mercy was not forthcoming. Another man bull-rushed her in a flailing whirlwind of desperation that almost found its mark. But again, she seemed to know exactly where he was and she spun low, hamstringin
g the man. His scream tore at my ears as he fell back onto his ass. She placed the point of her sword on his chest above his heart and smiled down at him.

  “You should apologize to my good friend Lex,” she said with all the interest of a laborer inspecting the dirt under their fingernail.

  “I’m sorry Lex,” the man whimpered, fear and agony straining his voice. The woman looked at me and I just stared stupidly back. “Well Lex, he apologized, and I believe he regrets his actions. The polite thing to do is accept his apology.”

  “Um,” I said. “Yeah, like no worries man. We’re cool.”

  A stupid grin of relief crossed the man’s face when the woman slowly eased her sword point into his chest. His scream became a bloody sputtering as the sword pierced his heart. I cringed and bile rose in my throat. I leaned to the side to once again empty my stomach when I felt a hand grip my neck.

  “Drop your swords now or the priest gets a brain full of steel,” said the last man, who’d snuck up on me while his friends were being slaughtered. I felt the cold point of a dagger ease into my ear canal and froze. I raised my hands. “Now buddy, why don’t you let me go? This whole thing has nothing to do with me.”