Infinite Assassins: Daggerland Online Novel 2 A LITRPG Adventure

by Peter Meredith

  Throwing down the vial, he pulled out the next one and drank that one as well(Healed +4 HP). “If I live through this, I’m going to pay that shopkeeper a visit.” Roan was so furious that his fear of the jump faded into the background, but that didn’t mean he lost his common sense.

  Taking off his pack, he pulled out his rope. With it, he tied his pack and crossbow together. He then threw the bundle across the chasm. Having just lightened his load by thirty pounds, he backed up twenty feet and ran for the edge and flung himself across. His outstretched arms caught the edge of the building, while his feet immediately began to scramble for purchase on the uneven bricks.

  He found two very narrow toe-holds and was just pushing up when a dagger clanked against the brick next to his face and tumbled down, down, down to the alley between the two buildings. Roan turned and saw the man who had been his chief taunter on the building he’d just leapt from.

  “You made the jump,” Roan said, heaving himself up and rolling onto the roof. “That was the easy one. If you think you’re a man, try this making this jump.”

  The man went to the edge and glanced across. He was actually considering it, which Roan found slightly unnerving. Roan had made the two jumps out of necessity. This man really didn’t need to jump. All of the buildings up and down the block were probably even then being surrounded and Roan was very likely going to be caught no matter what he did. Only a fool or a higher level character would try the jump, and the man didn’t look like a fool.

  Roan turned away, grabbed his pack and jogged towards the door to the stairs. He kept an ear cocked and sure enough, he heard the brisk steps of the man sprinting, followed by a grunt as he leapt. As Roan had, the man didn’t land perfectly. He too clung to the edge and had to scramble to keep from falling.

  When he finally got a safe perch, he looked up to see Roan’s rapier staring him straight in the eye. “Don’t,” the man said in a hoarse whisper. “Please.”

  “Does this look like the face of mercy?” Roan asked and struck.

  2—

  Congratulations! You are now a Level Three Rogue and have gained the following bonuses:

  Increased Hit Points(+8)

  Attack +1

  Will Saving Throw +1

  Fortitude Saving Throw +1

  Special Ability Sneak Attack +2D6; Lucky Roll

  Special Ability Trap Awareness

  You have +11 skill points to allocate

  Roan had killed five men and gained a level and yet he really wasn’t much closer to his goal than when he had started. But he had an idea. He had gone building to building and he was sure that his pursuers were moving in the same direction. What would happen if he doubled back?

  The one problem: the jump he had made had been nerve wracking and he really didn’t want to have to make it a second time at least “as is.”

  He had eleven skill points to allocate and so far he hadn’t given any to jump. That was about to change.

  Character Name: Ratchet

  Class & Level: Rogue - Level 3

  Race: Human

  Alignment: Lawful Evil

  Experience Points: 1455 XP To Next Level: 1745

  Strength – Dexterity – Constitution

  S: 16(+3) D: 15(+2) C: 17(+3)

  Intelligence – Wisdom – Charisma

  I: 16(+2) W: 16(+3) C: 16(+3)

  _______________________

  Armor: 13(15) Hit Points: 25/25

  Initiative: +2Speed: 12

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

  _______________________

  GOLD: 808.4

  _______________________

  -EQUIPMENT-

  Weapons

  Rapier

  Crossbow

  Dagger

  Armor

  Studded Leather

  Magic

  Potion of Healing x2

  Potion(Unknown)

  Misc

  Quiver * Bolts x14

  Backpack * Cloak

  Box of Matches * Waterskin

  Pouches x2 * 50’ of Rope

  Thieves Tools * Thumbs x2

  _______________________

  † Spells Known †

  Cantrips:

  Tier 1 Spells:

  Tier 2 Spells:

  † Spells Prepared †

  Cantrips:

  Tier 1 Spells:

  Tier 2 Spells:

  _______________________

  Attacks

  Name - Bonus – Damage

  Crossbow +4 1-12

  Rapier +4 1-6

  Dagger +4 1-6

  Abilities

  Locate Traps

  Lucky Roll

  Sneak Attack +2D6

  Trap Awareness

  Skills

  Skills: Balancing +4, Bluff +4, Climb Walls +6, Enable/Disable Traps +5, Disguise Self +6, Hide in Shadow +6, Jump +6, Move Silently +5, Pick Lock +5, Search +6, Sleight of Hand +4, Spot +4, Use Magic Item +5

  He added three to Jump and, along with his strength, he was at six skill points. He also added one to Balancing, Climb Walls, Enable/Disable Traps, Disguise Self, Hide in Shadow, Move Silently, Pick Lock, and Search.

  This time when he jumped back across the chasm, he made the jump, landing on his feet. He didn’t waste time congratulating himself; he ran for the far edge of the building and jumped without hesitation; he was back where he’d started from. He sped for the stairs and rushed down into the building. With his mind on escape, he’d forgotten about the two men he’d killed on the stairs.

  There was a small crowd of about half a dozen around the two corpses; they were stripping the bodies and arguing over who got what. Roan drew his cloak around him and skirted by. When he turned for the next landing, he began running again.

  At the bottom, he blasted out the door and nearly tripped over the body of the man he’d killed in the alley. Although it was full dark, Roan saw that he still had his thumbs and his possessions. Roan figured he had time to take one but not both, and decided on the thumbs. Out flashed his dagger, but as he knelt, he felt an ugly, cold feeling sweep him from behind.

  It was the thing from the basement. It had come up after him and was framed in the doorway, a black shape against a black background. The smell of it was enough to weaken Roan’s knees and when it stretched out a hand, he saw that the flesh on its bones was rotting and covered in tumors of mold.

  Roan backed away, his dagger held out in his shaking right hand. The creature advanced, its stench enough to cause Roan to reel. Gagging, he stumbled back up the alley, only just then he saw people in black racing towards him. Again, he was caught between a rock and a hard place. The thing behind him was so dreadful that he decided if he was going to die, it wouldn’t be by being fed upon by the creature.

  He held his puny dagger out to the four men. They ignored it. Their attention was on the creature which was slowly backing to the building and, as Roan watched, it disappeared down the stairs.

  “What was that?” one of them asked.

  “If I’m not mistaken, that was a ghast,” another answered. “It’s like a ghoul, but tougher.” He clapped his hand on Roan’s shoulder. “That bugger almost got you.”

  Roan was still shaking and weak from the stench of the ghast. “Who are you?” he asked, hoping that this was an adventuring group and that they’d help him.

  It was not. “We’re from ‘M’. We heard there’s been an attack. Who is it? The Ghak? The Double A’s?”

  “We don’t know yet,” Roan lied. “I was just checking to see who that is.” He pointed at the body of the man he’d killed earlier and went on, “When the ghast almost got me. Come on.” He walked towards the corpse and stood over it. “He’s one of ours.”

  “Oh yeah, that’s Trolley,” one of the men said. “He’s British. He says he can drink anyone under the table. It’s how he got his nickname. He’d say, ‘let’s get trollied.’ It meant getting hammered. Boy, he’s going to be pissed that someone killed him.”

&
nbsp; They all nodded solemnly until the leader of the group suggested that they move him to the front of the alley. “He’ll be back for his stuff.”

  Roan hadn’t counted on that and he pulled the hood of his cloak up around his head. While the four grabbed the body, Roan picked up the man’s shield and discovered that the thing was basically for show. It was light as if it was made of balsa wood covered with the thinnest veneer of tin.

  Strapping it to his arm, he followed the men from M Street to the front of the alley where they were joined by a few other thugs, one of whom was a higher level thief. He ordered them to help with the search for the attacker. Roan was forced to follow along. He kept close to the team from M Street, using them as camouflage.

  Everyone assumed he was one of them.

  The thugs, now numbering close to fifty, surrounded three different buildings. Roan lost an hour while he stood outside one of them as a special team went through the building floor by floor, room by room. Roan couldn’t get away, not even to take a piss. Then it struck him. “I have to get back and check on my dog,” he said to the man next to him.

  “Yeah, sure.”

  Roan clocked out, waited for twenty minutes, killing the time by exercising and checking his messages. When he clocked back in, he was by himself. The search had moved further down the block.

  He immediately turned to head back to the first build where he’d left three bodies. “Let’s hope Trolley comes back for his stuff,” he said. Trolley had put up such a good fight that he had likely been a higher level when Roan killed him. Now, he’d be a first level weakling and it would be nothing for Roan to kill him a second time.

  “It’ll be two for the price of one.”

  And, as an added benefit, Roan would be able to get all of his belongings. Unfortunately, Trolley or someone had beat him back to the corpse. It wasn’t all bad news. The bodies of the four men Roan had killed around the building were piled halfway down the alley.

  They were naked and growing stiff. Rona hunkered down in the shadows and went at the grisly work of sawing off the thumbs of his victims. As he worked he felt the presence of the ghast grow behind him. For reasons unknown to him, the ghast did not attack; it only waited for its turn to feast.

  When Roan had his thumbs, he backed out of the alley, watching the fiend come closer and closer. The sight of it turned him cold and it was with a great deal of relief that he made it to K Street where he was surrounded by the simple greedy evil of humanity.

  He went two buildings down and found the last man he’d killed. He too was naked, lying in a pool of blood and brain. Roan cut off his thumbs.

  “Fifteen more,” he said, standing and sighing. The first five kills had been more difficult than he had imagined. It was likely the rest would be just as hard, if not harder. The key would be to find the thugs alone and kill them quietly. “Assassinate them,” he corrected himself. “How would a real assassin accomplish this goal? He would attack his prey when their guard was down, when they were least expecting an attack.” But where would that be?

  He strode back to K Street where the hookers were out in force and the nightly routine was beginning to return to what passed as normal. Roan stood in the shadows and watched the street walkers and the hustlers and the drug dealers working. K Street was the Vegas of Daggerland. Any desire could be had for the right price.

  The thugs who ran the streets began to filter back from hunting Roan. Most slipped into buildings or down dark alleys, however a few chatted on a corner and then went as a group to a tavern.

  “Ah, there it is!” The answer was right in front of him. Drunks made the easiest targets. He hurried across the street and caught up with the group just as the last entered the bar. The place was gloomy and dark, the floor sticky and all the waitresses wore bored expressions.

  “Step one,” Roan said. “We have to turn this into a party.” He bellied up to the bar and announced, “The first round is on me. Shots for everyone!”

  Chapter 14

  The Sign of the Dirty Krown, K Street

  Roan received a cheer from the eight thugs lined up at the bar and became an instant friend to them all. “Where you boys working? K-Street?” he asked. They all nodded. He pointed a thumb at his own chest and said, “M Street. We heard about your ruckus and came running.”

  “M Street? Do you know Dymore the Blessed?” one of them asked.

  He had never heard of Dymore the Blessed or anyone else from M Street. “Oh yeah,” he lied and then sent the conversation back. “What’s going on with Trolley? I heard someone got to him.” Before he knew it, everyone was telling stories about the famed drinker: Trolley.

  While they went on, Roan quietly ordered a second round of shots. Twenty minutes later, things were going well and the bar was getting loud and raucous when Trolley himself came in. “Hey Trolley!” one of the men cried. “We was just talking about you.”

  “Oh yeah? Nothing good I hope.” The only spot at the bar was right next to Roan. He plopped down just as Roan signaled the bartender for another shot. “Do I know you?” Trolley asked.

  “You should,” Roan replied. “We got roaring drunk together a while back. I think you had like ten drinks in you before I even showed up and you still drank me under the table.”

  Trolley’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t remember that.”

  “He just said you had ten drinks in you,” one of the men chimed in. “Hey, how come he’s got a shot and I don’t?” The bartender had put a shot of whiskey in front of Trolley. After a nod from Roan, he began pouring more. In no time, Trolley was smiling dully and remembering the epic night of carousing he and Roan had engaged in.

  It had cost Roan twenty in gold to get the men to this point. Now he just had to start a fight. It wasn’t all that hard. Many of the patrons were surly-looking and seemed put out that someone was having more fun than they were. Roan found four sitting at a back table. By their arms and armor, they looked like mid-level adventurers.

  Coming back to the bar, he cast a hard look towards the back. “There’s some morons back there talking bad about the K Street Killers. I thought I heard them call us the K Street Criers.”

  The nine of them turned as one. “Which ones?” Trolley demanded.

  “Far back on the right. I heard them when I was going to the bathroom.”

  “But the bathroom is the other way,” Trolley said, once more a note of suspicion in his eyes.

  Roan was impressed. Trolley had down six shots and yet he still had his wits about him, at least a little. “I-I got lost. I almost pissed in the kitchen!”

  “Well, okay then,” one of the men said. “We can’t have people pissing in the kitchen and calling us names. Who’s with me?” All nine cheered and marched straight away to the table in the back. Roan made a show of going back for his shield, which he had left behind on purpose.

  By the time he caught up, the brawl was in full swing. Swords were whistling through the air left and right, while blood was flying everywhere. The adventurers were hard men and Roan stayed just long enough to be certain his side was going to lose before he slipped away into the crowd that was watching.

  Once outside, he lurked by the door until the sound of the fight began to dwindle. He then jogged to the nearest corner, where a pair of K Street Killers were standing. “Some of your boys just got killed over at The Sign of the Dirty Krown.”

  The men ran in two separate directions yelling an alarm and crying out for help. In thirty seconds, there was a veritable troop of thugs rushing to the tavern. Roan watched from across the street, lurking in the doorway of a stable that was snugged up under one of the tall buildings. The place reminded him of underground parking in the real world.

  Strangely the smell of donkey crap was much preferable to the stench of decay and rot that hung over the rest of Oberast.

  Five minutes of shouts, metal striking metal, and people racing out into the street passed before the thugs came marching out of the tavern in victory. Many of them
carried the weapons and armor of the dead. Roan counted ten shields(XP +200). “Now all I have to do is collect the thumbs.” He supposed that the bodies would be dumped in the alley behind the tavern and, not wanting to be too obvious about things, he took a long way around the block.

  As he turned up the alley, a strange and heinous smell struck him. It wasn’t another ghast; it smelled like more burning hair. “No. They can’t be burning the bodies.” He ran up the alley with his crossbow out until he came to the rear of the tavern and, sure enough, there was a huge brick oven billowing smoke. It could only have one purpose: getting rid of bodies.

  Human ash was already floating in the air, swirling like a God-awful snow.

  “Wait! Stop!” There was a high fence and without even looking, he leapt up, grabbed the top and clambered right over. When he landed on the other side, he was confronted by three grey-skinned, beak-nosed goblins, each with daggers pointed at him. The blades were bloody—a platter of human flesh sat on the ground off to the side, blood seeping from the cuts of meat.

  Roan dragged his eyes from the platter. They swept over the bodies stacked next to the oven and came to rest on the goblins. “I just need the thumbs.”

  The goblins looked back and forth. “Whose tumbs?” one asked.

  “Theirs.” Roan pointed at the remaining six bodies. “I’ll give you a gold piece for each.”

  The goblins jumped at the chance and they fought each other over the thumbs, poking and slashing each other with more theatrics than bloodletting. “Here, milord. I have dis many tumbs. It’s eight, I tink.”

  “That’s five. And you have four and you three.” He counted out the gold and opened his pouch to receive the thumbs.

  One of them ran back to the bodies. It held up a cold leg. “What of deir toes? How much for dem?” Roan shook his head. The goblin smiled, its grey rat-like teeth, protruding. “What of deir lips?”