Infinite Assassins: Daggerland Online Novel 2 A LITRPG Adventure

by Peter Meredith

  “What? He’s not going to…”

  “Please. It’s very important. Lives are at stake.” The cleric lifted a single shoulder in a half-shrug nearly causing Roan to slug him in the face. “I’ll pay you, how about that? A hundred gold pieces and all you have to do is pray to Apollo and tell him Roan needs to speak to Sariah. He’ll know what that means.”

  He tried to impress upon the cleric the need to keep their conversation a secret, but with his friends looking on, Roan felt he was wasting his breath. “I’ll meet you back here tomorrow at sunset.”

  The others clocked out, but with the streets as quiet as they were, Roan decided to go back to his rented room first. As he walked, he felt eyes on him, but since he was armed this time and kept to the very middle of the street, no one bothered him.

  Beckwen was up when he walked in. She had a set of knitting needles in her hands and was busy creating something out of red yarn. Next to her on the side table was a dusty pile of gold—his gold. “I can’t very well cook with gold sitting in the stove. You might try putting your money in the loose floorboard beneath your bed. That’s where my son used to put those things that boys hide from their mothers.”

  Seeing as she could have stolen what was likely five years’ worth of pay and disappeared into the city, Roan could only thank her as he scrapped the mound of coins into his pouch. The loose floorboard was just where she said it was and when he pulled it up, he found a neat little cubby about the size of a shoebox. He kept just over a hundred in gold and the rest went under the floor.

  With a feeling of accomplishment, he clocked back to the real world where he expected the feeling to carry over. After all he wasn’t evil in this world. But the feeling left him quickly. The feel of the motel was one of despair and depression.

  Slipping off his coupler, he shoved away the furniture from the door and left, heading out into the night. After so many hours in Daggerland, he needed to stretch his legs and, more importantly, call Amanda.

  He needed to hear her voice; he needed to know that she was alright. She picked up before the first ring ended. “Roan, thank God. Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. I was just in Daggerland snooping around.”

  “Are you close to the Pelinores?” The Pelinores had once been the Pelinore Empire, but were now a number of small kingdoms that were in the midst of a relatively civilized, civil war. The kings and queens involved had made a conscious decision not to allow their citizens to suffer from the usual cruelties of war. Pillaging and rape were not permitted by any of the combatants with the result that battles were now a form of theater with people attending with picnic baskets and wagering on their favorite champions.

  It was a beautiful land and Roan already missed it as much as he missed Amanda. “No, sorry,” he said. “And even if I were close, I have too much work to do. I’d like to tell you about it, but I know you’d just worry. Just rest assured that I am safe. What about you?”

  She gave him a tired account of her day. The stress in her voice came across the airwaves loud and clear. “You should get some sleep, darling,” he told her. Once more, just as it had for months, he felt the desire to tell her that he loved her, and once more, he swallowed the words. They were too far apart for a real relationship; he knew that and, judging by the fact that she kept her lip zipped when it came to love, she knew it as well.

  “Good night, darling,” was the closest he would allow himself. After what had happened the year before, the FBI would never let them work in the same office and probably not even the same state. In his heart he knew that they were doomed as a couple unless one of them gave up their careers. Roan didn’t think he was cut out to do anything but be an FBI agent, and he feared that it was the same for Amanda.

  He decided to sleep in his own body that night and when he woke, he didn’t automatically clock back into Daggerland. First came his exercises and then came an internet search of Apollo, Oberast and assassin guilds operating in Daggerland.

  The information on the “Sun God” was pretty straightforward: a greater god identified with light, the sun, poetry, prophecy and healing. There was only a single temple in Oberast dedicated to him. Roan memorized how to get to it from Rinely’s Cafe.

  What he found out concerning assassins wasn’t nearly so straightforward. There were over a thousand assassin guilds operating in Daggerland, with at least six in Oberast alone. For good reason, none of the guilds advertised an address and none seemed remotely connected with Atticus Arching, of course, since duplicity was a hallmark of assassins it was hard to know the truth.

  He clocked back in, deciding to head straight away to the temple of Apollo without waiting on the cleric. One thing he did not count on, however was his stomach growling. Beckwen wasn’t in and after a quick peek at the meager stores inside her ice box, he decided to go to Rinely’s for breakfast.

  Stepping from his door, he began to head toward to the fire escape, which was the most direct route to the cafe. He stopped himself. “When in Rome,” he said to himself. It made sense to get used to the frightening footbridges. There was a lot of traffic on them that morning and Roan had to pass eight different people. They were unconcerned, while he was sweating by the time he got to Rinely’s. He sat in the same seat he’d taken the day before.

  “You okay, milord?” It was the little serving girl.

  He touched his forehead where the skin glistened. “It’s hot is all.”

  “No, I meant your arm. It looks like you got cutted.”

  Roan glanced at his arm where he’d been slashed the night before. Even though he played the game on extreme, he was still a tough man and could ignore minor pain like this. “It’s nothing. Can I have three over-medium eggs, toast, sausage and coffee, please?”

  Her pert nose wrinkled. “I never heard of no coffee. We have tea, milord.”

  “Fine. And stop calling me, milord. It sounds fruity. Call me Ratchet. What’s your name?”

  “Everyone calls me Cricket because my legs are so long and skinny. I don’t think that was my borned-with name, but I haven’t seen my mom since Rinely bought me.”

  Roan hadn’t felt the evil in him since clocking back in. He felt it roaring back into him. “He what? He bought you?”

  “Oh yeah. He says it was a kindness since they woulda made me a happy-girl like my mom.”

  Roan couldn’t decide whether he wanted to get up and kill Rinely, buy Cricket from him, or just clock out, move to Alaska and let humanity deal with their own problems. “How much did he buy you for?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Some silvers maybe. It couldn’t have been much. He says girls aren’t worth as much as boys since they can’t carry so much and don’t work very hard.”

  The balance in Roan’s mind began to slip towards killing Rinely. “Boys work harder than girls? That’s funny. All I ever see that guy do is stand around.”

  Cricket’s sea-grey eyes shot wide before she stifled a giggle behind her hand. She cut the giggle off quickly when she saw Rinely staring at her. “I should prolly get your order in afore he gets mad.”

  Let him get mad, Roan thought. What’s he going to do? He sat back, putting his feet on the table and his hand interlocked behind his head. “Relaxing” like this reminded him of his injury and he gave it a glance. “Just a flesh wound.” To be sure, he checked his character sheet:

  Character Name: Ratchet

  Class & Level: Rogue - Level 2

  Race: Human

  Alignment: Lawful Evil

  Experience Points: 380 XP To Next Level: 720

  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: 13(15) Hit Points: 16/17

  Initiative: +2Speed: 12

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

  _______________________

  GOLD: 680.7
/>   _______________________

  -EQUIPMENT-

  Weapons

  Rapier

  Crossbow

  Dagger

  Armor

  Studded Leather

  Magic

  Potion of Healing x2

  Misc

  Quiver * Bolts x17

  Backpack * Cloak

  Box of Matches * Waterskin

  Pouches x2 * 50’ of Rope

  Thieves Tools

  _______________________

  † Spells Known †

  Cantrips:

  Tier 1 Spells:

  Tier 2 Spells:

  † Spells Prepared †

  Cantrips:

  Tier 1 Spells:

  Tier 2 Spells:

  _______________________

  Attacks

  Name - Bonus – Damage

  Crossbow +3 1-12

  Rapier +3 1-6

  Dagger +3 1-6

  Abilities

  Locate Traps

  Lucky Roll

  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—You have eleven points to allocate—

  He saw that the scratch was negligible. His health was down a single hit point, something he hoped he could live with. Under the skills section, he had eleven points to allocate but twelve actual skills, all of which he felt he would need as a thief. As he waited on his breakfast, he went back and forth trying to decide which was the least important.

  Finally, he decided that the first two: balancing and bluff were the least important and that he would alternate leaving one of them out. In this case, balancing took the hit and remained at a plus three.

  He then sat back, watching Cricket struggle a heap of eggs, sausage and toast to him on a plate that looked like a platter in her tiny hands. “How much do I owe?” he asked.

  “Rinely called it a ‘fancy’ breakfast cuz you ordered an extra egg so I’m supposed to ask for two silvers.”

  He was sure he was being swindled, but watching her had put him in a good mood. Fishing out three silver coins, he handed them to her, making sure that Rinely didn’t see the extra coin.

  “Thanks, milord…I mean Ratchet. That’s a funny name, you know? But I guess Cricket is, too.” She skipped away, heading straight to Rinely. Roan saw her palm the third silver and thought that she would make an excellent thief.

  “And how would that be good?” he wondered. Shaking his head, he tucked into his breakfast, which he found to be worth the three silvers he’d paid. Ten minutes later, he picked up his crossbow and went in search of the temple of Apollo. He crossed one of the rivers that split the city and when he did, he saw that the local toughs carried shields emblazoned with a capital K.

  They could only be the K Street Killers. They glared Roan’s way and he did his best to keep his features neutral. It seemed as though there were pairs of thugs on almost every street corner; too many for Roan to take on as a lowly second level thief.

  Thankfully, they weren’t interested in violence for the sake of violence and let him pass through their territory without issue. Two miles later, he saw the temple of Apollo. It was surrounded by a fifteen-foot tall wall that was made of heavy granite blocks. Beyond the wall was a temple that looked as though it had been lifted straight from the Greek isles.

  First there was the thirty-foot tall marble statue of Apollo, standing with a spear in one hand and a ball of golden light in the other. Then there were the Doric columns that supported the gold-shingled roof of the temple. Unlike the many ruins found in Greece, the temple itself was walled off.

  Roan walked through the gate in the wall and paused, gazing around at the beautiful gardens that ran from the temple to the granite wall. There were springs and fountains dotted here and there—the delicate splash of falling water and the soft chirps of the tufted bluebirds that flew back and forth were the only sounds on the temple grounds.

  A touch of unease made Roan bring his crossbow up. For a temple it was too quiet. The two-story tall double doors were made of planks of smooth white wood and had to weigh five hundred pounds each, yet they opened easily with just a gentle push.

  Similar to the exterior of the building, the interior was constructed and decorated in heavy granite and glinting gold. The floors and walls were all granite, which seemed to amplify the silence in the building. The tremendous doors opened onto a circular room where there were more columns that stretched high up to the ceiling.

  Roan glanced up to where a mural of the night sky had been hand-painted. There was magic in the painting; as Roan watched, a shooting star zipped across the ceiling. The mural was fantastic, he had to force his eyes away and concentrate on his surroundings. Something bad had happened in the temple—he could feel it in his bones.

  With the columns as wide-spaced as they were, a door to the temple itself was necessary. Roan crept past the columns and was confronted by another statue of Apollo. This one was even bigger than the one outside the building. It dominated the room to such an extent that at first Roan missed the bodies lying in pools of blood off to his right.

  2—

  When he saw them, he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stick up. Slowly, he turned in a circle, the crossbow at his shoulder. Nothing moved but him. He was alone with the dead.

  Moving quietly across the granite floor, he went to the bodies to check and see whether any of them were the clerics that he had worked with the night before. When he saw that they weren’t, his mind turned clinical once more: six deceased; robes and sandals suggest they were either priests or followers of Apollo. Two had their throats cut; they probably died first. The other four died of multiple stab wounds almost exclusively to the back. They were undoubtedly surrounded and attacked from all sides.

  Scattered among the bodies and the blood were five copper bowls, fifteen apples, ten oranges and five bananas. It was a lot of food for six people. “Probably an offering,” he said, touching the closest body. It was cool and rigor mortis was well advanced. “Time of death was right around sunrise.”

  Checking each one, he discovered the bodies were devoid of jewels, jewelry or any coins, though there was an empty pouch lying discarded a few feet away. They had been robbed, but that wasn’t the reason for the murders…no, these were assassinations. This was retaliation for the part the clerics of Apollo had played in the attack at the Temple of The Infinite One.

  “All the more reason you should help me,” he said, speaking to the statue. He waited for a few seconds before turning away. “I guess he’s not home or he would have squished the assassins.”

  Since they looked expensive, the thief in him wanted to gather up the copper bowls and take off before anyone caught him at the crime scene, while the FBI agent in him wanted to head deeper into the building to look for clues. He chose both paths. In a city filled with thieves, it didn’t make sense to leave valuable objects lying around for just anyone to take.

  “Jeeze,” he whispered as he realized how insidiously the game had changed his outlook. Playing a thief was making him think like a thief. As upsetting as that was, the logic could not be refuted. As soon as the locals found out that the temple was no longer being watched over, they’d tear the place apart.

  Stacking the bowls, he stuck them in his pack, and went to the door that was held partially open by the leg of one of the dead. He stepped over the leg and into a room with comfortable couches and chairs for lounging in. There was a fine wooden table covered in books and scrolls. Scattered candlesticks suggested there had once been candelabras located near every chair. Roan turned away from the room and had the choice between stairs leading up and a short hallway with four doors opening from it.

  The doors led to church offices, one of which held the corpse of a burly man with a stylishly trimmed brown beard. He’d been killed by a singl
e dagger thrust in the back of the neck. His death had been so swift that he hadn’t taken a single step. Unlike the others, the corpse wasn’t wearing robes, he was nearly naked and the lack of blood on his bare shoulders suggested he’d been wearing something that had been removed after his death.

  “Like armor,” Roan said to himself. “This was a professional hit. They snuck in, killed everyone in seconds, and as far as I can tell they didn’t leave any clues besides a few shoe prints and weapon impressions.” There was a chance he would find fingerprints on the candle sticks or doors, but without a Daggerland data base they’d be next to useless.

  The cleric’s office had been ransacked and a safe that had been hidden behind a picture sat open and empty. Roan poked around, first in the desk, and then in the other offices, coming away with a fancy silver pen with a gold nub, ink in a bottle made of mother of pearl, a stack of cream-colored parchment, a silver letter opener, a bottle of wine and two glasses made of crystal.

  When he was done in the offices, he went upstairs to continue his search. He found six bedrooms, all of which had been quickly ransacked. Hoping that something had been overlooked, he tried to actively use his “search” skill. Quickly, he discovered that trying to will a discovery was a waste of time. He had to physically look for items and he did find some things of value: fur-lined winter gloves, a silk shirt with onyx buttons and two gold pendants bearing the sun symbol of Apollo.

  The second he turned for the stairs with his pack bulging, he saw a flash in his vision (XP +50). Roan had no idea what he had done to deserve the experience points, but he had long since stopped looking gift horses in the mouth.