Legend of the Sword Bearer
Tempest Chronicles - Book 1
Jeremy Fabiano
Legend of the Sword Bearer
Tempest Chronicles - Book 1
JEREMY FABIANO
Copyright © 2019 by Jeremy Fabiano
All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to reality is coincidental.
Print ISBN: 978-0-578-43316-5
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
www.jeremyfabianoauthor.com
Cover and map design by http://www.derangeddoctordesign.com
Editing by Kelly Hartigan http://editing.xterraweb.com/
Illustrations by Brandi Fabiano
Also by Jeremy Fabiano
The Tempest Chronicles
A Fable of Magic - Prequel Novella
Legend of the Sword Bearer - Feb 1, 2019
A Fable of Flame - Mar 1, 2019
Legend of the Dwarven King - Coming Soon!
The Bishop Archives
Bishop’s Gambit - Jan 15, 2019
Bishop’s Ultimatum - Mar 15, 2019
Co-Authored Works
Roger - Tales of Courage from the Apocalypse - with T M Edwards - Jan 1, 2019
Adam - Tales of Courage from the Apocalypse - with T M Edwards - Coming Soon!
For my loving wife, and my amazing son.
It is my hope that these words, excavated from the depths of my imagination, written upon these pages and ink, pixels and electrons, outlast my mortal body and are remembered for all time.
On Writing and Authoring -
Did you ever get that “I’m in over my head, but this isn’t so bad…” Feeling?
I have the “Winging it as usual” feeling. Is it the same?
Jeremy Fabiano & Ian Lahey
Contents
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
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
A note from the author…
About the Author
Acknowledgments
1
Village of Origins
My face rocked to the side as Slag's enormous fist connected with my jaw. Droplets of my blood glistened on his neck and face. He smiled. “Where is the artifact?”
Darkness crept into my vision, closing to a small tunnel. I wouldn't last much longer. Unfortunately, two of his biggest goons held me by my arms.
“Up your ass,” I said. My face rocked the other direction. The room began to spin as the tunnel shrank even more.
“Listen, kid, I can do this all day. And once you pass out, I'll take a break, grab a bite to eat. Then come back and beat on you some more.”
“Fuck off, Slag. You aren’t getting the artifact.” I spat blood in his face.
He grinned and attempted to wipe some of the red away with the back of his hand, smearing it. “You’ve got spunk, kid. I can respect that. But you're in over your head. Just give me what I want, and you won't need to suffer so.”
Considering I didn't have anything interesting to say, I decided instead to throw my head back, smashing the back of my skull into one of the goon’s face. A scream of agony followed the crunching sound of his nose breaking. Blood showered my neck. I freed my arm from his grip and pulled his dagger from its sheath on his belt, inverted the blade, and swung at Slag’s face with an uppercut. Blood sprayed me as I slashed a deep gouge from his jaw to his eyebrow.
“Son of a bitch!” he bellowed. The goon whose nose I had broken grabbed my arm before I could stab anyone. Slag scowled, blood flowing freely down the left side of his face. “You know, I was trying to do this the easy way. Now I think it's time I teach you some gratitude.”
The rain of blows was ceaseless. He used me as his punching bag for what felt like an eternity. The tunnel closed in all the way, and my vision went black.
You are unconscious.
You will wake up in one hour.
Think about the choices that led you here.
Make better choices next time.
Well, shit. I just got my ass beat. So… You're probably feeling a little lost at the moment. It’s understandable, coming into a story just in time to witness the protagonist getting his ass royally kicked. No, it definitely was not my finest moment. So, let's rewind a bit and get you caught up, shall we?
My name was Steven Benson. I was taught young that life was never easy. It was the struggle that defined us. Or at least that was what my dad had always said. If that was the case, I would hate to see my definition in the dictionary. Life wasn’t always bad though. A few years ago, I was a network security engineer by day and avid gamer by night. Typical for us nerdy types, but I loved it. I even had a girlfriend for a while, too, but she couldn't handle my crazy hours at work, and by the time I had to stop working, she'd already married and had children.
But those were the good times. One day, when I still worked for some large firm, I collapsed and was rushed to the emergency room. It turned out I had stage four pancreatic cancer. At least that explained the constant nausea and pain I had been feeling for the last several weeks.
Months went by, treatment after treatment. My insurance didn't cover all of it, and my savings were starting to run low. On the umpteenth day in the hospital, a nurse came up to me. “Mr. Benson, there’s a Paul Nelson here to see you, should I send him in?”
I tried to think where I’d heard that name before, but nothing came to me. “Sure, why not? Not like I’m going anywhere.” The nurse gave me a small smile as she left. Damn, was she cute. Maybe if I wasn't dying, I’d have asked her to dinner.
A man, perhaps in his late thirties, with chocolate-colored skin and a sophisticated air about him, strolled in like he owned the place. For all I knew, perhaps he did. The man was wearing a dark suit, glasses, and a trilby.
The man projected an aura of confidence such as I’d never seen before. “Good afternoon, Mr. Benson. I am Paul Nelson, CEO of Tempest.” He removed his hat and set it and his briefcase on his lap. He sat in the visitor's chair, arms crossed but visibly relaxed.
Tempest. That's where I'd heard his name. “What can I do for you Mr. Nelson?”
He smiled. “You see, a few years ago, you did some freelance security consulting for one of our projects. You did very fine work, and I would like to offer you an opportunity to work for Tempest again.”
I burst out laughing. Literal gut-wrenching laughter. It was pure agony as pain wracked my body, but I couldn't stop. Even as the coughing started, I continued to laugh until the nurses had to come in and calm me down. Maybe I was high from all the morphine and everything they were pumping into me. After a few moments, I was able to speak again. “I'm sorry, sir, but if you hadn't noticed, I'm a bit tied up.” I lifted my arms, IV lines and sensors trailing from my body like spiderwebs. “Even
if I wasn't stuck in here, I only have a few weeks left. I'm not of any use to you.”
Mr. Nelson let the silence hang in the air for a few long heartbeats. He leaned toward me with a conspiratorial look about his features. In a low voice, almost a whisper, he replied, “Son, it’s your mind we need, not your body.” I must have flinched because he sat back apologetically, hands outstretched in a placating manner. “Your consciousness really. We’ve developed the technology to transfer a person's consciousness into a computer system. A person can literally live forever as a construct within a digital role-playing game. Imagine it, Mr. Benson, living as one of your characters would. Magic, swords, bows, catapults, even ancient technology from an era long since passed.”
At this point, I think I was in shock. I mean, what gamer hadn't been dreaming of precisely that idea since the very first time they saw Tron? “I don't know, it seems too good to be true. What's the catch? And why me? I'm sure there are plenty of other people who would pay anything for something like that.”
“You're right. This technology is beyond price. But I have a net worth of twenty-five billion. I don’t care about money. What I do care about is helping people become more. What better way than making them immortal and giving them the opportunity to start over?” He could tell he almost had me convinced. “The catch, Mr. Benson, is that the transfer is permanent. It is definitely a one-way trip. And there will be tasks to complete before you're free to do as you please. That's the job offer. As for why you? Let's just say that between your accolades in the gaming community and your previous work for us, you are uniquely qualified for the tasks we have in mind. The real question, Mr. Benson, being that you're already dying, is what have you got to lose?”
Anything was better than dying of some stupid disease, right? Besides, for me, this was a dream come true. “Where do I sign?”
I opened my eyes, or at least I thought I had. It was pitch-black. Text blinked to life in front of me, blindingly bright:
WHAT IS YOUR NAME, ADVENTURER?
There wasn't any kind of keyboard, but the first thought that came to mind typed itself in the box.
WELCOME, ABALONIOUS! YOU HAVE CHOSEN THE CLASS OF WARRIOR!
ARE YOU READY TO BEGIN YOUR ADVENTURE?
“Wait, I didn't choose my class!” I blurted out into the nothingness.
A small note appeared below the floating text:
NOTE: Character classes are chosen based on the personality profile of the player. Some things in Tempest Online are automatically selected while others are your choice.
I sighed. I guess this wasn't entirely like other games I’d played. “I'm ready.”
I woke up in an old-fashioned bed, layered with sheepskin blankets. Rays of sunlight stabbed at my eyes through dusty, crosshatched windows. I seemed to be in some sort of log cabin. A fire burned in a nearby fireplace, warming the room. Waves of heat rolled through the atmosphere, warming my face and the blankets weighing on my body. It all felt quite real. I noticed food and drink sitting on a nearby table along with a note. My stomach rumbled with hunger, and I read it as I ate.
Good morning, Abalonious! I hope the food helps, the transition can be a bit unsettling at first. After you've had a chance to get used to things, seek out the village elder, Agamor. He will help get you acclimated to your new life.
Paul
Just as I’d pocketed the note, a glowing dialog box materialized right in front of my face.
Quest Received: Meet the Elder
Meet Agamor, the village elder.
Rewards: unknown.
ACCEPT?
“Yes?” I said to the empty room. The notification faded to nothing.
I stepped outside into a quiet little village. Quaint log cabins filled the immediate area, separated and sectioned off by worn dirt paths. Smoke curled from several stone chimneys, a contrast against the bright morning sky. It was noticeably cold, and I could see my breath, but the cloth shirt, pants, and leather boots I wore seemed to insulate me sufficiently.
In the real world, I think I’d have been shivering already, but here, it was just mildly uncomfortable. I started to wonder where the elder might be at, and in an instant, a map of the village appeared before me. It showed a simplified layout of the village—simple squares and other shapes littered the screen—but what had caught my attention was the bright green dot that seemed not too far away from my current position, which I assumed was the white dot in the middle.
I started toward the waypoint on the map. As my attention was directed toward the path in front of me, the map shrank to a small icon in my peripheral vision. I passed a few older people who were resting and watching from among their porches. Some knitted, and some sewed leather pieces together into clothing. Some bounced small children on their knees while others watched the little ones running to and fro, tossing a small leather ball. Many waved at me and smiled. I waved back. It was odd to think that these weren't real people but NPCs. The only things unreal in this world that I'd seen so far had been the menu screens. These people had wrinkles, scars, tan lines, and a uniqueness each their own.
As I reached the heart of the village, I was greeted by a charming Tudor-style cottage. Moss was growing along the roof shingles, butterflies floated among the various hydrangea bushes, and the entire house seemed to lean to one side in a comical, fairytale fashion. An elderly man sat upon a rotting log in the front garden, tossing cornmeal-like grains to the chickens that clucked and strutted at his feet. I could only assume that this kind old soul was the village Elder. His weathered eyes raised from the hens to meet my face. “Good morning, Abalonious, how are you feeling?”
I stretched my shoulders a little. “I’m a bit stiff, but otherwise, I feel amazing if a little disoriented.”
The Elder smiled knowingly. “Yes, the Caretaker mentioned you may feel that way. Apparently, crossing over from your world to ours is a bit…taxing.” He wore a fine heavy robe made from some sort of brown-haired animal. I couldn’t tell how old he was just by looking at him; he was quite fit and carried himself well. Having finished feeding the chickens, he stood. “Walk with me, my son.” We circled to the back of his home, greeted by a gorgeous oak table with matching benches. On the glossy tabletop lay a massive sword. The thing must have been about six feet long. “This will be your sword, I’m afraid it doesn’t have the greatest stats in the land, but it’s the best our blacksmith could forge with the materials we have in the area. Go ahead and pick it up.”
I reached for the sword with one hand and picked it up, careful not to accidentally leave a gouge in the table as I did so.
Item Acquired - Bastard Sword
Item Level: 1
Damage 5 - 10 Slashing*
Damage: 4 - 8 Piercing*
Speed: Slow
Required Strength: 2H: 5, 1H: 15
*Damage Bonus: Inertia
The damned thing was much heavier than it looked. I gripped it with two hands and tested the swing. It felt like it took ages to get it moving. “Will it always feel this slow?” I asked.
The Elder chuckled to himself. “It’s not the weapon that feels slow, it’s your arms. That sword requires at least a five in the strength attribute. Currently, you have three. You’re able to wield any weapon you want, but there’s a penalty if you don’t meet the attribute requirements.”
“How do I see my attributes?” As if on cue, a dialog popped up in front of me, listing all my attributes.
CHARACTER ATTRIBUTES
Abalonious
Warrior
GENERAL
[Level: 1
[Health100 HP
[Stamina100 SP
[Mana 10 MP
[Damage (Phys) 5 - 10
ATTRIBUTES
Strength: 3
Dexterity: 1
Constitution: 1
Intelligence: 1
Charisma: 1
The Elder smiled. “You catch on quick!” he said as he started walking again. I followed as best as I could with t
he great-sword in both hands. “Once you level, you’ll be able to use that sword effectively. You will also learn to equip a weapon latch. It will let you carry your sword on your back. The blacksmith should be finished with it soon.” He paused next to a particularly vibrant display of flowers, taking a moment to admire them before going on. “Next, you will need to learn some basic skills. Normally, you would have to find a trainer, but I can teach you some basics.” The Elder raised his wrinkled palm to my forehead. I could feel his strength pulsating from him. “Close your eyes and clear your mind, Abalonious.”
I did as I was instructed. At first, nothing happened, and then suddenly a droning sound filled my head for just a second, like a swarm of bees. I opened my eyes to see several messages before me.
You have learned a new skill: Basic Herbalism!
Legend of the Sword Bearer: Tempest Chronicles Book 1 Page 1
