Infinite Assassins: Daggerland Online Novel 2 A LITRPG Adventure

by Peter Meredith

  She left a two word message: “Call me.”

  After Wendell, he appreciated the brevity. “It’s Roan. What do you have?” He was hoping she was about to throw him a life preserver. Daggerland wasn’t a game to him. On his last case there he had nearly died three different times and he could expect this time to be just as bad if not worse.

  “Just checking in to see how you’re doing,” she answered. “There’s an Agent Wendell something who might have a man-crush on you. He seems to think you might be in trouble.”

  “Maybe I am. I think I need to take some time off. The attack got to me. I’m pretty shook up.”

  Like any good agent, she could smell bull. She scoffed, “My ass you are. You’re going into Daggerland to find out what you can there. It’s okay, you have my permission.” As he stared at the phone in astonishment, she asked, “What kind of budget will you need?”

  Right away he said, “Two grand, but, but how did you know?”

  “Elementary my dear, Roan. You have zero faith in your fellow agents’ ability to bring the people responsible for this to justice, at least on this side of the virtual divide. And you may be right. We ran ballistics on the slug pulled from Caron’s head and we didn’t get a hit. The cyanide was untraceable, and the gun used in the attack on you was stolen. Our last hope is on the snake venom.”

  “What about your four suspects? Have you started dragging the East River yet?” The cab was on the RFK Bridge, passing over the northern stretch of the East River even then. To the south, the city was lit up and beautiful, but Roan was not cheered by the sight. He already felt isolated from the world.

  Covington was slow to respond. “We have names, address, phone numbers, the works, on all four, but other than a love of that game, they don’t have any connection. We’re still looking, but so far there’s nothing that says to me that any of them are assassin material.”

  “That’s because they’re not.”

  “You’re probably right. They still represent a connection to the actual assassins. It’s thin, but we don’t have much else to go on. We’re checking Arching’s visitor logs as well as Paul Clay’s. We have agents looking into every Daggerland message board pertaining to assassinations, Atticus Arching, and cross-veil mind control. Unfortunately, there are tens of thousands of these messages and the authors all hide behind the most ridiculous of names.”

  Roan hadn’t given any thought to a new name, but he knew he couldn’t strut around Daggerland using his old one. He would have to come up with one, but that would have to come later.

  “Listen, Roan, this business with the mole in the Bureau has got me freaking out. I’ll text you the agency card number. Once you get it, disappear, but make sure you check your messages every day. Don’t make any contact unless I ask about Shelby.”

  “Shelby?”

  “Don’t ask, just remember the name. And remember what your purpose is over there. Ratchet up the pressure until something gives. I’ll be doing the same on this side.” She paused as if she had much more to say, but in the end only whispered, “Good luck,” before hanging up.

  Roan immediately told the cabbie to pull over. They were a mile from the airport in an area where there were plenty of shady motels. He picked one at random. The neon sign in front was only partially lit. He could only read the words Motor-inn and vacancy.

  All that mattered was that there was a room. He paid cash for three days in advance and as he waited for the clerk to dig for a key, he jotted down the credit card info Covington had sent before removing the battery from the phone.

  The room was on the second floor and had a fine view of the back of a gas station where for twenty dollars hookers got on their knees. Roan pulled the drapes before going to a writing desk. He slid it in front of the locked door and then heaved the bed in front, as well. Turning on the television, he set the volume just loud enough that someone listening at the door would be able to hear it.

  He lay down on the bed, setting his Glock under a blanket next to his right thigh. “Time to ratchet up the pressure,” he said and placed the coupler over his forehead. “Daggerland,” he told the game.

  2—

  After skipping the introduction, Roan chose the option of New Game over resuming his last one. His last game had been a flop as far as the game rated things. In over a year of playing, he hadn’t garnered a single experience point, hadn’t partaken in a single quest and hadn’t earned even a copper piece.

  But he had fallen in love with Amanda.

  Now, he needed to start over and “new character” didn’t quite describe what he was looking for. He needed to become a new person, and yet he chose “Play as Self” when the options came up. His other options “Build Character” and “Random Generation” weren’t good choices.

  A build would make him just slightly above average in a few of the six categories: strength, intelligence, wisdom, constitution, dexterity, and charisma. A “build” character was usual a step up for most people; Roan was not most people. He had been a linebacker in college, which meant he was strong, tough and fast. Now, he was special agent in the FBI meaning he was also smart, perceptive and used to commanding others.

  No, a “build” was a step down for him, while a randomly generated character was an insane option. He had tried it once and had come away with a frightfully low intelligence score which had made the world seem like a dim and scary place.

  His scores as himself were:

  Character Name: Roan

  Strength – Dexterity – Constitution

  S: 16(+3) D: 15(+2) C: 17(+3)

  Intelligence – Wisdom – Charisma

  I: 16(+3) W: 16(+3) C: 16(+3)

  _______________________

  With an eighteen as the highest starting score for any single ability, it made sense to keep his natural abilities. That didn’t mean he couldn’t change other aspects of himself within the game settings. A soft female voice began asking him questions:

  -What is the character’s name? Even though he knew the question was coming, he took ten minutes to answer simply, “Ratchet.” Goofy sounding fantasy names weren’t his style.

  -What race do you wish to be? “Human.”

  -What sex do you wish to be? “Male.”

  -What age do you wish to be? He was thirty-seven but, since the game was played by a younger crowd, he decided to play at “Twenty-five.”

  -Do you wish to add character traits: “No.”

  -Do you wish to change appearance: “Yes.” The moment he said this, an image of himself appeared in front of him. His hair, eyes, nose, lips, ears and skin were highlighted. He went through each, changing things slightly. His hair went from short and black to shoulder length and brown. His eyes went from ice-blue to hazel. His broken nose was straightened, and his skin was darkened to a California tan. He kept his scars, thinking they made him look more ferocious.

  -What class of character do you want to be? He wanted to play as an assassin, however the choice was not offered. When he looked into Rogue, he saw that Assassin was what was called a “Master Level” class of rogue. He couldn’t become an assassin until he reached ninth level. “Son of a bitch. Rogue.”

  “Please repeat your command,” the female voice said. “Son of a bitch, Rogue is not one of your choices.”

  He cleared his throat and was about to answer when an idea struck him. “Sariah?”

  “Sariah is not one of your choices.”

  “Infinite Reality, I need your help. Arching is back. He’s messing with the game, using it to kill in the real world. That may not concern you, but if I can’t stop him there, he’ll be back here…”

  The voice interrupted him, “Please choose one of the Help Topics on the screen. If a choice is not available, please use the Contact Us button.”

  On the off chance that this would help, he went through the procedure of dictating his question to the help desk. He then waited for the game to come to him in the form of Sariah, or in any other manner, however it only
prompted him to either quit or continue with his game.

  “Rogue,” he said, with a roll of his eyes.

  -Choose Class Skills: Roan looked down the list. “Holy crap,” he whispered. There were twenty-nine skills attributed to the rogue class, from balancing to forgery to sleight of hand. He had forty-four points to distribute among the ones chosen, with an upper limit of his level plus the skill modifier. For him that equaled to three or four points per skill depending on what modifying ability was used.

  With his ultimate goal of becoming an assassin in the forefront of his mind, he chose: Balancing(3 points), Bluff(3 points), Climb Walls(4 points), Enable/Disable Traps(3 points), Disguise Self(4 points), Hide in Shadow(4 points), Move Silently(3 points), Pick Lock(3 points), Search(4 points), Sleight of Hand(3 points), Spot(4 points), Use Magic Item(4 points).

  -What alignment do you wish to be: This was easy to choose, but difficult to say. “Lawful Evil.”

  -Do you wish to add background information: He figured the fewer lies he told the better. “No.”

  -Purchase extra starting gold: “Yes. 1,000 gold.” He entered the FBI expense card number.

  -Are you playing with a party: “No.”

  -Difficulty Level: Roan didn’t hesitate. “Extreme.”

  -Accept: “Yes.”

  3—

  There was one main difference playing the game as a solo player, he got to choose where he started. The problem with this was in the thousands of options available. Daggerland was roughly half the size of the earth; a vast amount of space to hide a small guild of assassins in. The last time he had played, he had entered Daggerland within seventy miles of his objective and he suspected that the game itself was responsible for this.

  This time the game wasn’t cooperating as it had before. It gave him the same choices as it did everyone else. “Oh jeeze,” he whispered, staring blankly at the tremendous list of kingdoms, principalities, duchies, cities, towns, hamlets, villages, castles, caves and underground lairs.

  After ten minutes of scrolling through the list and accomplishing nothing but giving himself a headache, he decided on a different approach. “Where would I go to form an elite assassins group? In that Batman movie, they picked an extremely remote location, but that doesn’t make all that much sense. It seems stupid to have to travel halfway around the earth to hire an assassin. So maybe they are in a big city or at least near one. Game, what’s the biggest city in Daggerland?”

  “By population or area in square miles?”

  “Population.”

  The list of cities disappeared and in its place was an aerial view of the most crowded city Roan had ever seen. There wasn’t a single house. Towers and buildings went up and up, rivaling some modern cities. Many times they didn’t go straight up, either. Many buildings leaned alarmingly, sometimes onto each other.

  The city was split into four unequal parts as three good-sized rivers came together to form a single huge waterway that stretched a mile in width. Although there was a wall around most of it, many parts of the city spilled over the wall and fanned out in odd shoots.

  Roan didn’t understand the reason for the shape until he asked the game to zoom in. Only then did he see that the city was surrounded by marsh and that the projections from it were either built on soft earth or raised platforms. Needless to say, it was in these areas that the buildings were canted the worst.

  He decided to look at other cities on the most populated list, but kept coming back to the first. It was officially called The Free City of Oberast and, if Roan had been so inclined, he could have read a Wiki-like description of it. Since he was sure it wasn’t going to mention the local assassin guilds, he didn’t bother.

  “Take me there,” he told the game.

  Chapter 5

  The Free City of Oberast, Daggerland

  Roan clocked into a crowded city street and felt an immediate and unpleasant change come about him. It was as though a black cloud enveloped his mind darkening his thoughts. It was hard to describe the feeling except to say it was somewhat like being hungover, while standing in an endless DMV line, with fifty imbeciles in front of him, who were all clearly a waste of oxygen and the only space they deserved to take up was in the local cemetery where maybe they would do some good in the world by rotting quickly enough to fertilize the growing weeds so no one would have to think about them ever again.

  Plainly put he was annoyed though he had no reason to be, or almost no reason. “What the hell is that smell?” he growled through a sneer.

  Oberast stunk worse than the lowest level of Tir-khan where the feces and urine ran down to collect in foul pools. The smell reminded him of the body of a witness he’d tracked down two years before. He’d found the body in a trunk of a car. It had been July and the body had been bloated like a grey balloon.

  Only with this place there was an underlying chemical stench that grated on Roan’s nerves. He seemed to be the only one affected by the smell. “Probably because these idiots don’t have the wit to know the difference between a rose and a pile of crap. They’re more like human sludge strained…”

  He stopped and shook his head, trying to clear it. For a few seconds, he didn’t understand this strange, hateful feeling that had come over him and wouldn’t leave. Then it dawned on him. “I’m evil.”

  He paused to take stock of his “character” bringing up the stats that defined who he was in Daggerland:

  Character Name: Ratchet

  Class & Level: Rogue - Level 1

  Race: Human

  Alignment: Lawful Evil

  Experience Points: 0 XP To Next Level: 300

  Strength – Dexterity – Constitution

  S: 16(+3) D: 15(+2) C: 17(+3)

  Intelligence – Wisdom – Charisma

  I: 16(+3) W: 16(+3) C: 16(+3)

  _______________________

  Armor: 10(12) Hit Points: 9/9

  Initiative: +2Speed: 12

  SAVING THROWS: Will: 3 Fortitude: 3 Reflex: 4

  _______________________

  GOLD: 1000

  _______________________

  -EQUIPMENT-

  Weapons

  None

  Armor

  None

  Magic

  None

  Misc

  None

  _______________________

  † Spells Known †

  Cantrips:

  Tier 1 Spells:

  Tier 2 Spells:

  † Spells Prepared †

  Cantrips:

  Tier 1 Spells:

  Tier 2 Spells:

  _______________________

  Attacks

  Name - Bonus – Damage

  Fist +3 1-2

  Abilities

  Locate Traps

  Sneak Attack

  Skills

  Skills: Balancing +3, Bluff +3, Climb Walls +4, Enable/Disable Traps +3, Disguise Self +4, Hide in Shadow +4, Move Silently +3, Pick Lock +3, Search +4, Sleight of Hand +3, Spot +3, Use Magic Item +4

  What stood out the most: lawful Evil. It explained much. He had been looking around at the people, thinking they were dull, vile creatures, with sinister eyes and feral smiles. That they were evil. But it was him, he was the evil one.

  The lady selling baguettes from a rickety wooden cart was just a lady, just a person, no more. The men hauling tree trunks through the cobblestone streets were only woodsmen. The grimy children with their brooms and coal-colored cheeks were nothing more than chimney sweeps

  And the man in leather armor with the sharp eyes who turned away the second Roan looked at him was…well he was probably a thief. He was a thief who had found his mark and Roan was that mark. He was weak and unarmed, a first level nobody with a pouch full of gold.

  If there was one thief, there’d be more. They probably stalked the spawn points picking off the unwary. Usually, each kill would net them only a few experience points and a handful of gold each. Roan had more than a handful and he wasn’t about to give up his gol
d without a fight. Only he had nothing to fight with except with his fists, but he did have his feet.

  Without a word or another thought, he took off running, sprinting through a strange city. Above him, the buildings soared, seeming to lean out over the streets. Most were made of wood, though some were of brick or stone. Many were apartment buildings and there were hundreds of shutters flung open and lines of laundry were strung everywhere.

  The streets were packed with people of all types: white, brown, dwarven, orcish and halfling. There were people in armor and billowing capes, some in robes and others, like Roan, in dull noob clothes of homespun wool. There were haughty fighters, wizards who wore pinched looks, and clerics who tut-tutted the prostitutes, beggars and thieves.

  As he raced down some unknown street, a bearded young man in stained leather, jumped out from a doorway and, without warning or any sort of provocation, swung a short sword at Roan’s throat. Roan dodged to the side, ducked around a burly man in platemail and sprinted up a slimy alley, now with five men chasing him.

  “What the hell is going on?” he hissed, running full throttle for a hundred yards before dialing it down to about fifty percent of his maximum speed.

  A glance back showed he had a twenty yard lead on his pursuers and it was growing quickly. The would-be thieves did not have his constitution and they were soon gasping and flagging. In another minute, the last of them gave up the chase and Roan dropped his speed down to a brisk walk.

  He couldn’t help wondering if Arching had set a trap for him, but when he looked back and saw the pathetic-looking thieves heading back to the spawn point to waylay the next person to drop into Daggerland, he decided that they were just everyday thugs.

  To make sure he wasn’t being followed, he ducked into a street-side cafe and took a table near the front where he could watch the people coming and going.