Fjorgyn: A Rebel Rises

by RJ Castiglione

  Fjorgyn: A Rebel Rises

  Book I

  A LitRPG Novel

  RJ Castiglione

  Copyright © 2016 by RJ Castiglione. All Rights Reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of very brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  About The Author

  Chapter 1

  Character name: Creighton Dian-Cecht

  Race: Trisian

  Age: 27

  Class: Druid

  Talent: Healer

  Level 117 (28,482,031 XP to next level)

  Health: 4404 (1512)

  Mana: 7533 (1726)

  Stamina: 2704 (1260)

  Armor: 1,246 (14.4% damage reduction) – 22% damage mitigation with skills

  Strength: 16

  Intelligence: 47

  Wisdom: 50

  Constitution: 30

  Agility: 10

  Luck: 14

  Alignment: Lawful good (+14)

  Racial Traits: None

  Profession: Grandmaster Herbalist

  Company: Green Shroud Company

  “Enthralling” is the only way to explain Fjorgyn Online. While it was an MMORPG, calling it a mere game is an injustice akin to calling PacMan the new pinnacle of gaming design. Fjorgyn was the first of her kind—a completely immersive MMORPG designed to run exclusively through affordable virtual reality. One had to adorn an unflattering outfit equipped with sensory diodes and slip on a comfortable augmentation headset, grab a chair and wake up in the game.

  My character was Creighton Dian-Cecht, first of his name—a level 117 Trisian (human) druid capable of massive amounts of healing. I was a proud citizen of Skos, a decent sized nation of all great races. But I didn’t start that way. I started like many other players, painstakingly fighting my way to the top in both power and profession.

  Unlike previous MMORPG’s, this game was an experience in immersion. A player could remain at level 1 forever picking flowers in a garden in the village they woke up in, content with ten base points in all stats (aside from luck), adjusted depending on race. Some players dedicated themselves only to professions, becoming merchants, crafters, enchanters, or herbalists. Others still ventured into the wilds as explorers, many never being heard from again.

  A player could choose from many races, most torn out of the pages of standard fantasy lore. There were many non-playable races as well. They served as fodder for those seeking power, wealth, or glory.

  A player would wake up in any nation, any faction, or any race-appropriate, peaceful location upon starting the game after he or she selected from a litany of playable races and features. The randomness of character creation turned off some casual players who wanted to prance around with friends but attracted a new crowd who wanted the experience of a life away from planet earth, a life where the rules were different, where death was not permanent, and where success was not limited. Instead, opportunities for power and advancement were boundless.

  There is no level cap in the game or pre-defined classes. A player is free to choose what she wanted to be, including a one-time choice of a class at any point in her leveling.

  When I learned I could not pre-select my class I was granted a quest to pursue one. It took months of game-time for me to find my first NPC druid. I had to garner reputation with her and convince her to offer me her secrets. I had to dedicate myself wholly to the path of a Druid to become one myself. The way of the druid was unique. The rewards upon earning my class—access to unique spells and abilities—were worth the effort.

  Beyond winning your class and joining a company, the options were limitless. Given enough time, a player could become a god. The game would adapt and grow to accommodate newfound realms, locations, races, and abilities.

  That is the promise anyhow; one that might hardly be achievable in the gamer’s lifetime even when taking into account the game makers ability to compress time: pumping the content directly into your cerebral cortex at 400% compression. That’s right. One hour in the game is fifteen minutes in real life. How would it be fun if one hour of gameplay felt like one hour of gameplay? You could hardly get to a dungeon before people had to sign off.

  In real life, I was Michael Semione. In the game, I’m the leader of the Green Shroud Company – a tight-knit group of wealthy adventurers. We raid dungeons, organize national events, aid in wars against other factions, and make a healthy profit in training others in abilities while selling crafted goods that no casual player could dream of ever finding on their own. The best part of it all? It pays, too. Selling gold for cash is not only allowed, but encouraged. Since the game launched, it has become roughly 3% of the nation’s GDP.

  Despite ample profits from Fjorgyn, I still do work a job every day. It just so happens that I transform into a grand adventurer at night.

  “Creighton! What are you doing?” A fireball splashed at my feet, setting me on fire.

  “Ow! Ow! Ow!” The fire licked my skin, causing a debuff. I could see my health ticking away in the corner of my eye, 100hp per second for thirty seconds. Pain in the game was real. The amount of pain that could be felt was also capped. Being stabbed in the chest felt like a bee sting. Getting set on fire felt like walking on hot sand.

  “Sorry, Sponge!” I yelled across the cavern while casting a rejuvenation spell on myself followed by channeling Heal (rank 147) on my compatriot. I continued to sling healing spells left and right, pretending I didn’t almost die in a fire. The rest of my war party continued fighting the enchanted golem elite boss we stumbled upon while exploring a dwarven ruin. The boss was level 125. As an elite boss, however, he hit ten times as hard, had ten times more health and mana and most definitely ten times more valuable loot once we killed him. At least compared to his non-elite counterparts. There was no reason this boss should have been here. He was definitely a random spawn.

  “Get your head in the game! I had 5% health left, and I am almost level 110. I don’t want to have to start the level over!” Sponge was always the angry and demanding one of the group. We tolerated him because, like his name, he was the best damage sponge around: A level 109 warrior capable of pulling some mad aggro and keeping the big, bad bosses from having us for dinner. The tricks he could pull contradicted his level. If I were to heal him for the first time, I would think he was level 120 at least.

  “Did I ever tell you that I hate golems?” I asked the group. “Fucking health buff!” The team continued to sling spells and stab away. Not that it mattered that much. The thing was made of rock. It resisted everything. What it didn’t resist, it healed naturally causing its mana pool to reduce. The only thing that matters was to fight it until it ran out of mana and fell apart.

  With the party now healed up, I analyzed the boss and saw that he had 5% of his mana left. Of his 3
00,000 mana pool to my 7.5k, there is no way any single player could handle him. Nor was there any reason to bring in a full raid. The ten of us present were enough to bring him down although hardly with relative ease. I was growing weary, and my mana pool was almost depleted. This boss sure had a way to spread out the hurt, and my other healer wasn’t pulling her weight on her assigned targets, but after fifteen minutes he was finally beaten, crumbling to a pile of rock.

  “Woot!” Selena shouted from across the room. I glared at the level 100 gnome priest who managed to survive the fight. Analyzing her, I noticed she had 70% of her MP remaining.

  “Thanks for the help, Selena,” I mumbled while eyeballing my nearly-depleted mana pool. I had wasted two expensive mana potions while she ran around in circles casting renew on everyone. We had to take her, though. She was the only other healer around who was eligible given her Officer rank in the company, a status reserved for those who are Grandmasters of their appropriate profession and in good standing with the company council.

  “Chief, come look at this!” That was me: Chief, the leader of the Green Shroud Company.

  The group of us crowded around the remains of the golem where Sponge was sifting through the loot. At the center of the pile of rocks rested what many would call a “company killer” – a piece of loot so valuable that fighting for the right to possess it can rip a company apart. It wasn’t the power of it. Sure, the soulstone boosted one’s attributes by 22 points over the course of 10 levels. The strength was in the removal of consequence. A player could die over and over and over again, never losing all progress earned in that particular level or incurring a negative hit to experience needed to level up.

  “Holy shit.”

  Soulstone of Divine Advancement:

  The consumer of this soul stone will receive a one-time +2 increase to all attributes, a +10 increase to all skills, and one additional attribute point per level for your next twenty levels.

  Also, the consumer will be granted a divine boon from Balama, the goddess of health and prosperity: perpetual freedom from any and all death penalties.

  “Holy shit,” I said again under my breath as I picked up the gem. “How can this possibly be in the –“

  Before I finished my sentence, the cave shook violently, and a bright flash blinded me. A powerful electrical current encompassed my body. My brain felt as though it was amplified— like I was plugged into the game five times over.

  My vision faded and I dropped the gem only to hear it shatter on the stone floor below. My sight grew blurry, my company members began to pull away, and the world went dark. The last thing I remembered was a loud crack and a jolt of pain at the back of my head.

  Chapter 2

  I opened my eyes to a spinning world and a pounding head, like drum beats at the orchestra. When my vision began to clear, I realized that I was laying flat on my back looking up at an opening in a cave. The brightness of the sunlight nearly blinded me again. I snap my eyes shut in defense. While I slowly opened them to adjust to the newfound light, I felt sharp rocks pressing into my back.

  “How did I get out here? This isn’t a respawn point.” And then I remembered the dwarven ruins, the golem, and the soulstone, the electricity and the blinding light. I winced after recalling the shattering soulstone.

  “About time you woke up! I almost thought something went wrong.”

  I looked around me searching for the mysterious, tiny voice but couldn’t find its owner. When my eyes finally adjusted, I saw a crow perched on a boulder next to me. Only crows didn’t talk.

  Ignoring the creature, I continued to survey my surroundings.

  “Hey, birthday boy! Over here!”

  My gaze shot back to the bird, now the obvious source of the voice. Birthday boy? As I helped myself up, I realized I was stark naked. I fell to the ground again as I cupped my goods with both hands. I was now flat on my back with my feet planted in the dirt, but knees in the air—the perfect perch for the crow to take advantage of. And take advantage he did. With a gentle grace, he glided from the boulder and propped himself on my knee looking down at me, his pointy beak agape. His nails were digging into my skin.

  Once the embarrassment passed—it was a game after all, and this was obviously an NPC—I relaxed and sat up, looking the crow square in the eyes, unsure of how it was speaking. “What happened?”

  “You died.” The bird didn’t speak so much as project thoughts into my head.

  “I know I died. I felt it. It fucking hurt. Why did I respawn here? Why not at the entrance to the ruins?”

  The animal looked befuddled.

  “There were no ruins, Michael. You died. Really. Hardcore. Epic. “

  He had used my real name. That isn’t supposed to happen. Perplexed by his response, I continued to examine my surroundings. I wasn’t going to get a straight answer from this creature. Crows were notorious tricksters in Fjorgyn. Pushing it off my knee, I stood up to gain a better view of my surroundings.

  Map.

  A sprawling map opened in front of me, curving around me in a half circle. I saw the cave that I occupied. It was in the middle of a forest. The description only stated “Finlyon Grotto.” I didn’t recognize the name. As I zoomed out it was the only discovered location populated on my map—the standard view for any level 1 upon logging into the game. My heart began to race.

  Character Sheet

  The map was replaced by a similar interface showing my character and my gear – or lack thereof.

  Character name: ???

  Race: ???

  Age: 27

  Class: Undefined

  Talent: Undefined

  Level 1 (83xp to next level)

  Health: 100

  Mana: 100

  Stamina: 100

  Strength: 10

  Intelligence: 10

  Wisdom: 10

  Constitution: 10

  Agility: 10

  Luck: 0

  Alignment: Undefined

  Racial Traits: None

  Profession: Undefined

  Company: Undefined

  I panicked even more. This had to be a bug of all bugs. As I scrolled to the skills page, it was empty. I scrolled to the professions page. Also empty. Disposition page, achievements page, company page, guilds page, professions page all as blank as a piece of printer paper.

  Inventory

  A single, 20-slot bag popped up. Five pieces of stale bread and 5 canteens of dirty water.

  Closing my inventory, I felt my body. All vital pieces were in place, but there was something else. My hair was short. My nose was crooked. My body was soft. I was me. Not my character. I was myself. I uncupped my hands. “I have a penis!” Well. I, of course, had a penis. But characters in the game do not have junk. Just censored spaces where genitals would be. I was in the game. I shouldn’t have a penis.

  “I’m... happy for you,” the bird said.

  I stumbled backward at the realization and slammed into the wall of the grotto, the rough stone scratching my bare ass. I slid down to the ground like I was over encumbered, the surface cutting into my skin. I landed on a sharp rock and rolled to the side in considerable pain.

  -2 HP flashed in the corner of my eye bringing me down to 98 health. Five seconds later, I gained a missing health point and felt the pain begin to fade away and the wound starting to heal.

  I felt a sharp jab on my forehead and saw a pebble hit the ground between my legs. The bird was obviously frustrated with me and had flown a circle over me to drop the stone from high in the air.

  “I told you. You died. Not your character, Michael. You. While you were in the game, a storm rolled in. Your house was struck by lightning twice in a row. The feedback fried your entire body like a mosquito in a bug zapper. And because of your unique appreciation for this realm, the powers that be decided to reincarnate you here.”

  Menu.

  Nothing happened. Usually, game settings and the ability to log out would appear.

  Another stone hit
me in the face - my nose this time.

  “Beef Jerky! That’s not going to work here. And that is the last time I’m going to explain it. Welcome to Fjorgyn. You are the first and might be the only person from your world to be reincarnated here.”

  I felt sick. Like I was going to vomit. So I did. I vomited bile and gastric fluids on the ground like a champ, but I quickly stopped after having nothing left to purge. Of course. I was just born and had nothing in my stomach.

  The bird flew away flapping its wings in disgust, perching back on his original boulder.

  “I’m Vindur, by the way. Thanks for asking. I was appointed to be your guide and companion as long as I decide you need me.”

  “Vindur, happy to meet you.” I swallowed in an attempt to get the taste of vomit out of my mouth.

  The crow greeted me with a mocking bow, raising and folding its wing in an empty gesture of pleasure.

  “I need a minute,” I said to the bird. In truth, I needed more than a minute. I sat down on the cavern floor to take in my surroundings. I was about twenty feet down in a sinkhole. Tension overwhelmed me at the thought of climbing out of there with no clothes or armor. I strained to hear any noise from above. I shouted for help. Aside from the wind and animals of the forest, there was no response. The large boulder to my left seemed to be Vindur’s favorite perch. He pecked at a pile of pebbles to pass the time. Next to him was a white candle. Beside the candle, a large book rested with its cover open. The pages were all blank. There was a brown satchel at my feet—my inventory bag.

  A miasma of grief hung over me, like the large roots pouring in from the opening above. I died. Right this minute, my corpse was left undiscovered in my apartment. How long until someone finds my body? How long before my mother and father decide to call the police? I only talked with them once a week. It was Friday night on Earth. No one would miss me until Monday morning. All of the questions I had poured into my mind. I dealt with the confusion and grief by wrapping my hands around my head and resting my elbows on my knees. Tears finally came. And Vindur waited patiently by my side. The bird was kind enough to let me process what had happened to me.