Infinite Assassins: Daggerland Online Novel 2 A LITRPG Adventure

by Peter Meredith

Roan followed along after him and sure enough the man was waylaid ten feet in front of him. There was a struggle with flailing fists and swinging clubs. Roan knew he should dart around the melee, but he hesitated as the “good” part of him clashed with the “evil” part. Should he help the innocent man or should he jump in and snatch his pouch? He didn’t know. The slight hesitation was all it took for the man to be killed. Now four people fought over his meager belongings and as they did, Roan managed to slip into the store.

  “This is crazy,” another man said as he rushed in right behind Roan. He had a red beard and was as tall and brawny as Roan, and like Roan, he wore the basic dull woolen clothes. “You ever see a city in Daggerland like this?” When Roan said he hadn’t, the man went on, “It’s like a free-for-all out there.”

  “For safety’s sake, maybe we should leave together,” Roan suggested. “We can watch each other’s backs.” The man agreed and they arranged to meet back at the front door in thirty minutes. It was plenty of time for Roan to shop for the basics.

  With a blank-eyed NPC salesperson in attendance, he started with weapons. Picking up a long sword, he cut the air with it, but as rogues weren’t proficient with the long sword, it felt clumsy in his hands. He tried a short sword next, however the reach left a lot to be desired and it felt like a child’s toy.

  His last option for a bladed weapon was the rapier. Although a rapier had better reach, it was simply too brittle to use in large fights.

  “Of course, as an assassin, I want to avoid those at all possible.” He unsheathed a gold tasseled rapier and swished the air with it. Next, he went into a lunge, his long body unfurling nicely. It made him feel a bit like a Musketeer and that more than anything helped him to decide on the weapon.

  Almost as an afterthought, he grabbed a thick-bladed dagger and then went for a longbow. Once again, human rogues weren’t naturally gifted with the longbow and he was forced to settle on a heavy crossbow, which was ungainly and had a terrible rate of fire. On the plus side, the crossbow was a beast of a weapon, capable of doing great damage.

  “And if I add a little poison, it’ll do nicely.” He handed the crossbow to the salesman and went to the armor section. Things went quickly from there and he managed to gather everything he’d need for a city adventure:

  Studded Leather Armor—35 Gold

  Rapier— 20 Gold

  Crossbow— 50 Gold

  Dagger—2 Gold

  Quiver—1 Gold

  Bolts x 20—1 Gold

  Backpack—2 Gold

  50’ rope—1 Gold

  Potion of Healing X2—100 Gold

  Black Cloak—1 Gold

  High Leather Boots-Black—2 Gold

  Box of Matches—5 Silver

  Thieves Tools—25 Gold

  Altogether, outfitting himself respectfully set him back 245 and a half gold pieces.

  While Roan waited on the other man to finish up, he dressed in his armor and cloak and prepared his crossbow by cranking back on the side winch and fitting a steel bolt into the slot. The salesman gave him a look of annoyance, which Roan ignored.

  “You ready?” the blonde-bearded man asked a minute later. He was clad in shining chainmail, a shield on one arm, a broad sword in his right hand. Roan was glad the man was a fighter. He’d been worried that he was taking up with another thief.

  “I’m good to go. Since you’re the tank, I should follow you.” The fighter didn’t bat an eye at this and led the way out as though spoiling for a fight.

  The early evening was fading and now there was more shadow than light. Roan paused just outside the barred door, waiting for his eyes to adjust. He was used to playing an elf and now missed his old low-light vision.

  The fighter grabbed Roan’s arm and started dragging him forward, moving to the right, heading up a side street. They were approached by three men in leather.

  “Hello! If it isn’t a couple of newbies!”

  “We’re not as new as you’d think, shuck-breath,” the fighter growled, raising his sword. “If I were you, I’d just keep on walking.”

  Perhaps it was their intimidating size, but the three let Roan and the fighter by. Roan turned and walked backwards, the heavy crossbow at his shoulder, pointed at the little group, almost daring them to approach. Now that he was armed and armored, he was ready to get down to business.

  He had two weeks to gain enough levels to become an assassin, find the group operating on the other side, infiltrate them and discover who they really were. It wasn’t a lot of time.

  “Hey,” the bearded man hissed. “Look.” Ahead of them, the street looked as though it was undulating and shifting, next there came a strange and growing sound like muted thunder. “What the…” It was a veritable flood of people running at them. They were all dressed in black with green armbands and armed with swords and shields.

  “What do we do?” the bearded man asked. Roan didn’t think there was anything they could do except surrender. He raised his hands and stood to the side, next to the wall of an apartment building, thinking that if he were attacked, he would simply clock out and give up on the new character before he was hacked to death.

  But neither man was hurt in any way. A few of the black-garbed men gave them a quick look and then raced on toward the arms store where a brisk fight broke out between the thugs with the green armbands and the thieves who had been waylaying people.

  Roan and the man watched the battle unfold. The men with the green armbands were too numerous and they swept away the ruffians leaving a dozen dead. The man that Roan was with watched the fight as if he were at a bar watching a boxing match and Roan realized that with his crossbow cocked and ready to go, he could kill the fighter with relative ease.

  One shot and he’d be dead. It would Roan’s first kill as an assassin and wasn’t that why he was there? It was true, however his conscience argued meekly: Yes, but it would be wrong.

  And it really wouldn’t hurt him, either. It would be a quick sting and then off he’d go. Yes, but… Sure he’d be upset, but what about the greater good? Roan’s conscience didn’t have an answer to that and his finger began to tighten around the trigger of the crossbow and as it did, his face tightened as well until it was stiff and rigid, his teeth clamped, sweat sprouting…

  “Damn,” he whispered, lowering the crossbow. The game could affect his mind and skew his emotions, but it wasn’t going to make him do evil things. He would have to do them himself…if he could.

  “You okay?” the fighter asked.

  Roan passed a hand across his face. “Yeah, it’s nothing. It’s just all this, I guess. What are we looking at? A gang war?”

  “I don’t know what this is. Hey, my name is Charlie Martin…I mean it’s Dorsett. Sorry, I keep forgetting to use my Daggerland name.”

  He stuck out his hand and Roan took it. “My name is Ratchet. I just started a new character, so I’ll probably do the same thing.”

  “Are you going to be playing a while? I have a group and we’re going after a temple deeper into the city.” Roan’s eyes narrowed and Dorsett quickly added, “Not a good temple. These loons do all sorts of human sacrifice. It’s gross, let me tell you. So, what are you? A rogue?”

  “Yeah, level one.”

  Dorsett chuckled ruefully. “I’m level one, too. I was third level, but a trap got me. I opened this door and bam, the next thing I know I got a spear sticking out of my chest. We had two rogues with us. They both got killed and only one decided to come back. He’s not the best. Anyway, we have like eight guys and so far, there’s a lot of treasure.”

  “Count me in,” Roan said, eagerly, seeing a way to get experience and treasure without being evil. “Raiding a temple sounds a lot like an Indiana Jones movie. Whose temple is it? I don’t want to piss off the wrong god.”

  “It’s not anyone from mythology. They worship something called the Infinite One.”

  2—

  Roan did not put much faith in coincidences, and for a few seconds he gazed ar
ound at the city of Oberast as if he could see the “game” behind the facade, and he was close to calling out the name Sariah again.

  Was the game helping him? It seemed impossible. It was Roan who had chosen Oberast as his starting point, not the game. And he had met Dorsett through a series of decisions that could not have been dictated by an outside force.

  It had to be a coincidence that Roan was heading to a temple dedicated to the man who was hell bent on killing him. He wished it wasn’t a coincidence. The chance of his quest succeeding without help from a “higher” power seemed exceedingly small.

  This played out in his mind as he and Dorsett walked through the streets, their weapons out and ready. With the gangs behind them, there was far less danger in the air. Normal city people walked around with what might have been a spring in their steps. There were even children running about playing tag and giggling.

  This is how the world is supposed to be, Roan thought right before the temple to the Infinite One came into view. It was the one building in Oberast that didn’t rise up into the sky. From the outside, the temple looked like nothing more than a windowless brass dome that was surrounded by a high wall. The dome was thirty feet tall and not more than fifty yards in diameter. For a temple, it wasn’t very large, and Roan guessed that they would be going underground.

  They crossed through a gate that had been bashed open and walked slowly past a number of bloody bodies sprawled on the ground. They headed for an open door in the dome from which a glow was emanating. Dorsett peeked inside, looking left and right, before striding in. Roan was right behind him, stepping quietly on plush carpet that bore blood stains and more bodies.

  Roan paused and inspected the closest, his mind going through its usual narrative: white male, early twenties, shaved to an odd hairless state which includes eyebrows. The victim has three tattoos: sideways figure eights beneath both eyes and in the middle of the forehead. Death by exsanguination from two massive lacerations to the torso. He turned over the victim’s right hand and inspected the palm. There were calluses built up along the ridge of the palm suggesting prolonged practice with a weapon of some sort.

  “What are you doing?” Dorsett hissed, interrupting him. “Keep up. We already nabbed everything of value from these guys.”

  Dorsett waited for Roan to catch up before continuing on past a white marble altar that sat in the middle of the dome. On it were bowls of fruit. “I thought you said there was human sacrifice,” Roan said, taking a step towards the altar.

  “That’s what our clerics say,” Dorsett answered, pulling him on. Behind the altar was a high wall cutting off the back third of the dome. It looked utterly seamless, however there was a secret door placed within it.

  The door was marked with a black scorch mark. Dorsett pushed on the mark, opening a door to a room that was lit by a pair of lanterns. There was another body cast off to the side. This one had a full head of hair and strangely, the corpse’s face was dark purple in color.

  “Some sort of poison gas,” Dorsett said in answer to Roan’s look. “There are traps all over the place, so keep a sharp eye out.”

  That was far from reassuring, especially since Roan was exceedingly new as a rogue and really didn’t know much about traps. “I’ll do my best, but…” He stopped when they heard a distant cry that was followed by the sound of metal ringing on metal.

  Dorsett raced through a second door which led to a stunted hallway of some thirty feet in length. There were four doors leading from the hall, one of which was propped open with a chair. Beyond the chair was a dark, curving stairwell that seemed to descend deep into the earth. The two of them rushed down the spiraling stairs, going so fast that Roan began to get dizzy.

  They passed a heavy iron door that stood half-open. There was a body on the floor just inside of it, a steel dart protruding from its right eye. Was it the second of the rogues to have died? Roan had no idea.

  Four more flights down, they passed another door and now the ringing of metal grew louder. They came a third level and a third door. Dorsett raced through while Roan was slower to rush into what sounded like a sharp battle. He stopped in the doorway that led to an open room. It was round and seemed to be an exact match to the temple’s main floor.

  On one side of a wild melee were a dozen or so shaved men and women in ringmail, while on the other were five adventurers. Dorsett let out a bellowing war cry and charged with his sword above his head. Roan was more circumspect. He had a crossbow and it made sense to use it. Taking a knee, he fired at one of the bald people.

  At first level, a rogue was no better of a fighter than a wizard. Luckily, his fifteen dexterity gave him a +2 with ranged weapons, unfortunately, the ringmail of his opponent gave her a fourteen armor class. The bolt skipped off the armor without hurting her.

  Cursing, Roan worked the winch, pulling back the lever used to fire the crossbow. He tried again, this time moving to his right so that if he missed again there was a chance that the bolt would hit one of the others. He did not miss this time. The bald woman flung out her arms as the bolt sunk itself four inches deep into her neck (XP +55).

  Roan immediately began cranking back on the winch again. There were only four left when he got it all the way back. He couldn’t fire it; there was too much of a chance of hitting one of the fighters on his side. Setting aside the crossbow, he pulled his rapier and dagger and came at one of the bald men from the side. Lunging, he stabbed the man through the armpit.

  The rapier didn’t do a great deal of damage, however he was a rogue and received a rogue’s extra damage bonus for what was essentially a sneak attack. He felt the blade slide off a rib before it tore through the left ventricle of the heart. The bald man took a stumbling step towards Roan, but his legs gave out and he fell(XP +55).

  “Who’s this meat-suit?” one of the members of Dorsett’s party asked when their enemies were all dead. He was a fighter in a full suit of blood-splashed field plate. Lifting up his face guard, he looked closely at Roan, suspicion in his dark eyes.

  “I met him when I was getting re-outfitted,” Dorsett explained to the others. There were six of them still standing, four fighters and two clerics. “He seemed like a good guy and with Jack taking a break, I figured we’d need another rogue. Speaking of which, where is Kuja? And what the hell happened to Asula?”

  They all glanced down at a woman in white robes, her head sitting in a little pool of blood a few feet away.

  The man in the field plate shrugged. “I told her to stay out of the fight, but she wouldn’t listen. She was out of spells anyways.”

  “That’s pretty cold, bro,” one of the other fighters said, as he went down to one knee and turned her body over. He started pulling a ring off her finger. “Do you guys think she’s coming back?”

  “I could clock out and see what she’s going to do,” one of the clerics said. She was a young woman in chainmail, her brown hair spilling from beneath the steel cap she wore.

  The fighter in the field plate grunted, “Yeah, do that. And see if Kuja is coming back. I don’t want to have to rely on some stray that Dorsett picked up. No offense, dude, but a thief is a thief, right? You can’t trust ‘em.”

  “I’m not offended,” Roan lied. Perhaps it was the evil he had voluntarily let into his mind, but he was offended and he found it easy to smile into the fighter’s face while considering knifing him in the back. He raised his hands and stepped away. “I’ll leave if you want me to. It looks like you guys know how to spring traps as well as any blind man.”

  Dorsett came between the two. “I say we give him a try, Sirant. With Kuja out, we’ll need another set of eyes. This place is trap central.”

  Sirant shrugged his steel-clad shoulders again. “Fine. Have him start checking out the altar and keep an eye on him. If he steals anything, it’ll be your responsibility Dorsett, and it’ll come out of your pocket, got it?”

  “That guy’s a bit of a tool if you ask me,” Roan muttered to Dorsett when Sirant stomped
away to help strip the bodies of the dead. Dorsett wouldn’t comment. He only gestured to the altar twenty feet away. The remains of a human body were spread eagled upon it.

  “Remember I mentioned human sacrifice?” Dorsett said. He swallowed thickly and wouldn’t come close to the steps leading up.

  Roan went alone and even with the evil inside of him, what he saw brought a tear to his eye.

  Chapter 7

  The Free City of Oberast, Daggerland

  In the weak light of a pair of lanterns, Roan moved warily around the altar. Despite the danger, the child held his attention. “White female, approximately six years of age. Protruding ribs and lack of normal muscular development are evidence of extreme malnourishment. Death was likely due to blood loss.”

  Dorsett stood ten feet back, craning his neck, his red beard catching little glints of lantern light. “That’s a lot of blood. It was probably quick, right?”

  “Probably,” Roan lied. He knew better. The girl had been expertly and exquisitely tortured. The blade used to slice her into pieces had missed every major vessel.

  Hate grew within his breast. It was a fire of fury that was nearly beyond his ability to control and he knew that if the person who had done this to the little girl was in the room just then, he would lovingly torture him in the same fashion that he had tortured the little girl and he was sure he would do so with a smile on his face.

  Along with his hate, he could feel the evil in him roil and grow. The one tear he had shed had dried up as if it had fallen on the floor of a desert.

  “You okay, Ratchet?” Dorsett asked.

  “Yeah. This is just messed up. Alright, I’m going to need you to stand back, just in case.” As Dorsett stepped away, Roan drew his rapier and stepped even closer to the altar. He studied every inch of the bloodstained hunk of marble, looking for any crack or seam that would suggest a hidden spring or lever. Next, he reached out with his rapier and tentatively touched the altar.

  After a minute of this, he touched it with his bare hand. “Okay, I think we’re good.” Other than the poor child, there were only a few items on the altar: two silver candelabras and a crystal bowl etched with gold and filled with congealing blood.