Eloria's Beginning: A LitRPG/GameLit Epic (Enter The louVRe Book 1)

by Tom Hansen

  He took a step, listening to the silence around him. Another step. The noise of his breathing bounced off the far walls and back at him, putting him on edge.

  He reached the water and dipped the container in the water. The cool liquid splashed up, covering his arm. He suddenly realized just how fatigued his muscles were. He was also incredibly thirsty.

  Quest Update! Mudder’s Milk:

  You retrieved Mother’s Milk, now return it to Helu Hillbender so he may use it to help you progress in your Way. (Gained 100 XP!)

  He pondered for a moment just how deep underground he was right now. He’d climbed down into the darkness on that rickety ladder for who knew how long, then the gentle slope had continued at least a kilometer if not two further into the reaches of the earth.

  Now here he was, alone, deep underground, and the reality of the situation was beginning to seep into his mind. He was here for a single quest and had already been sidetracked enough.

  He scooped water in his cupped hand and brought it to his parched lips. The water was sweet, quenching his burning throat as it cooled all the way into his stomach. He needed more, not realizing just how dehydrated he truly was.

  A new buff appeared.

  Effect Status: Spiritsight:

  +100% to Spirit Abilities. Grants user sight beyond mortal limits. Other Effects Unknown. Duration: 1 Hour.

  He drank more, and more. Five, six, seven handfuls, each one refreshing the few seconds that had ticked off the timer. Finally, he felt better, his lips weren’t so dry, and his stomach wasn’t growling anymore.

  He made sure the stopper was fully seated on the gourd that Hillbender had given him, and he turned around.

  The room was filled with ghosts.

  Chapter 25

  The entire room now swarmed with ghostly apparitions. This had to be a side effect of Spiritsight. All ten Elorian races and some he hadn’t seen milled about the place.

  He only needed twenty steps to make it out of the room. The light from the pool lit the ghosts, making each stand out in a brilliance compared to their dark surroundings. Their steps left haunting prints in the soft sandy floor that dissipated over the course of a second or two. The ones further away glowed less, presumably from the lack of light making it back that far.

  Near the cave entrance a shadowy visage of a Tau’raj strode purposely out of the cave. It paused and Scarhoof noted the swirling shadowy form turn back to glance over the room. They locked eyes for only a moment but that was enough to raise the hair on his mane. The ghost continued out the doorway and melded into the darkness beyond.

  A deep shudder ran down his spine as he tried to push the encounter from his mind. Staring into those eyes made him feel like he was drowning in an ocean of stars, choking from the lack of air.

  Don’t make eye contact with ghosts.

  He took a hesitant step forward, watching the patterns of the remaining ghosts as they meandered. One stepped right through him as he stood frozen in his spot.

  The ghost’s touch was fiery, and it hissed and lashed out with claws that hadn’t been there an instant before. The claws cut into his stomach, searing pain up his torso, and taking off a tenth of his health in one hit!

  Filthy Tau’raj! It hissed as it struck him.

  He stepped back, clutching his wound. As soon as he was no longer blocking the ghost’s way, it continued on in his path.

  Only one thing had changed. The ghost was now red instead of white.

  Scarhoof watched the ghosts for a moment before casting Mending Force on himself to top off his health. He would have to be more careful.

  The healing spell felt amazing as it mended his torn side, stitching together skin and muscle. Then, an alarm sounded, and a timer he hadn’t noticed in the corner of his vision flashed. He looked up at it just as the timer went from 20 to 15.

  Healing spells have angered the peace of the undead in this room, and have hastened the return of the Spirit Beast. Minus five minutes until it arrives to cleanse the living from the place of death. +10% speed to the milling ghosts.

  The entire group of moving ghosts started walking faster, the one in red doubling his steps.

  Scarhoof eyed the timer in the corner. He hadn’t noticed it start, and it must have been triggered when he took the water from the pool. Now he had fifteen minutes to get out of here. It had taken him nearly an hour to get in.

  He remembered all the bleached bones of the Tau’raj and others just outside the entrance of the rope ladder.

  The thought caused a shudder up his spine. He needed to get out of here. He now knew what had killed those that had ventured this deep. He had fifteen minutes to make it out of here alive or his bones would join those of the rest of the previous adventurers.

  He studied the throng of spirits again and noticed that they were largely made up of nine rings of ghosts, each about two paces from each other. Each ring walked in one direction and at a different speed. The red ghost was walking twice as fast, but still in his lane. When he came upon another slower ghost, he would push past them.

  “So alternating ghosts, any of them that touch you will lash out and take off 10% of your health. And they will speed up if they touch you. This is going to be fun.”

  He watched them for another full minute, trying to ascertain a pattern, then realized how much time he was wasting trying to do it.

  “Time to move.”

  He took his first step forward, into a gap between ghosts, then waited for the next gap. It came, and he stepped into it, watching for the next gap as a large Nagos ghost to his left came barreling at him, with a determined look on his face.

  Memories of the recent fight with Grath’gar popped forefront in his mind. The memory of his bones crunching as the Nagos punched him in the side filled him with dread.

  Scarhoof tried to ignore the ghost. It didn’t hate him anymore than the rest.

  He just needed a gap to weasel through, but none was opening. He had to take a step back, right into a female Tau’raj who lashed out at him with a sharp swipe to the leg, cutting into his flesh and knocking 10% health off.

  You invited them onto our land and let them slaughter our children!

  He stumbled back to his starting location. Twelve minutes remaining, and he was still back at square one with his leg in pain.

  He couldn’t risk another heal with the timer this low. He suspected that whatever it was that had killed those others would chase him to the rope ladder. He needed to make it through this room and all the way through the rest of the crag, well over a mile, and up the rope ladder before it got to him.

  He watched the ghosts again, taking note of the two red ghosts pushing past their brethren in the line.

  Scarhoof shook his head, clearing out the aberrant thoughts. He was running out of time here and dwelling on things he couldn’t answer right now was just going to get him killed, adding to the pile of bleached bones in the crag.

  He remembered his recent Yantra training. What a fool he’d been! Just like at the guard station, forgetting that he could heal until it was too late was going to get himself and others killed.

  He squeezed his fists together so hard that they began to hurt. He relished the pain. Pain would help him remember. Pain helped him think.

  He switched over to Mitigation Yantra. Pace wasn’t going to help him here, he had no problem stepping between the ghosts, it was the pattern of them that tripped him up. 10% less damage would prove to be a better asset to him right now, because he was going to try something very, very stupid.

  He glanced at the timer, less than 13 minutes left. He was already cutting it close and things were about to get a whole lot worse.

  He waited, watching the first two lines of ghosts, when he saw the two notches and gaps line up for him, he ran, but instead of stopping on that third, he barreled through.

  Damage Taken! 9% Ghost of the Past. The hubris of those little bastards will kill us all!

  Damage Taken! 9% Ghost of the Past. I lost
my child to the horrors of the depths, and I have never been the same since.

  Damage Taken! 9% Ghost of the Past. She’s healthy, my love, but the other one didn’t make it.

  Damage Taken! 9% Ghost of the Past. It’s been ten months since he headed off for that battle, I wonder if I will ever see him again.

  Damage Taken! 9% Ghost of the Past. She came to us offering peace between the races, and we accepted.

  Warning! Health Falling!

  Damage Taken! 9% Ghost of the Past. What I’m about to show you is so top secret that only three people know about it.

  Damage Taken! 9% Ghost of the Past. You had your chance to escape, but you instead saved his life. Why?

  Warning! Health Low!

  Damage Taken! 9% Ghost of the Past. I’ve seen them, black and swirling, terror incarnate. The host will swarm us all.

  Damage Taken! 9% Ghost of the Past. What sort of life is she going to have like this? I can’t stand to see her suffer.

  Warning! Health Critical!

  He stumbled out the other side, his heath critically low; the pain intense. His whole body screamed from the strikes as he pushed past the seven layers of ghosts. Proper technique would have meant only being hit by seven ghosts, but he didn’t have time for that, and thus had clipped into two more than he had hoped.

  His Mitigation Yantra saved his life. That ten percent reduction in incoming damage was huge. Nine hits should have killed him. He bled from every limb and pain lanced through his chest with each labored breath.

  He struggled to stand, but his legs would not work, would not support his weight. He could not make it out of here alive.

  He needed to heal, even though it would take time away from the quest.

  Gritting through the painful hand contortions, he cast Mending Force. The cool energy enveloped him, closing up multiple wounds and stopping most of the bleeding.

  Healing spells have angered the peace of the undead in this room, and have hastened the return of the Spirit Beast. Minus five minutes until it arrives to cleanse the living from the place of death. +10% speed to the milling ghosts.

  The ghosts did indeed speed up, but they were no concern to Scarhoof.

  7 minutes left.

  He struggled to stand erect. He still limped, and blood continued to pour out of a gash in his thigh. He struggled to walk, let alone run. He needed to sprint a kilometer up a rocky and sandy slope, in the darkness, with a single glow orb to light his way, dodging boulders, sharp turns, and he still didn’t know what was going to attack him.

  He took a few more steps, testing his legs. He estimated maybe a quarter of a mile before he would collapse, assuming he pushed himself to his limit. This simply wouldn’t do. He needed to get himself above 50% health to get rid of the speed debuff.

  He took a slow breath, focusing on his hands and carefully cast Mending Force, making sure to pronounce everything perfectly.

  Critical Heal!

  His health was finally back up to 75%! He hoped the extra healing was worth the timer dropping immediately to 2 minutes.

  He hung the glow orb loupe on one of his horns, tying it securely. He wouldn’t be able to use hands for the next bit.

  He cast his Pace Yantra, followed immediately by Fourhoof, and sprinted down the narrow corridor.

  Together, the two bonuses gave him an extra 50% speed. He hoped it would be enough.

  The first minute passed by in a flurry of hoofs, flying sand, and slamming into walls to cut corners. He strode like he’d never strode before. Down on all fours he had twice the number of limbs to use and use them he did.

  One limb would reach up to help him balance as he flew at a wall, using the momentum forward to translate into movement sideways. He dodged, weaved, and tried his best to avoid contact with the walls.

  The sandstone walls tore into his flesh, slowly whittling down his health with each hit. He couldn’t afford to pull out of travel form to heal himself again. He had to keep moving forward.

  The Beast awakens to defend the Horned Crag. You better run.

  Behind him, the ground shook as if something massive had just slammed into the earth. Fissures appeared in the stone walls which shook with the concussion, spraying fine dust into the air.

  The dust got in his eyes, and he had to blink furiously to get it out. He slammed into a wall too late to use his legs as a cushion, taking off more health and knocking the wind out of him.

  It doesn’t matter. Keep going!

  His lungs and legs screamed with pain, but he blocked out the anguish, concentrating on putting one hoof in front of the other.

  THE BEAST HAS AWOKEN.

  A bloodcurdling scream erupted from far behind him, shaking even more dust free. He slowed as it got into his face, closing his eyes and stopping so he wouldn’t slam into any more walls.

  Behind him, something followed. He could sense its steps in the ground and in the air around him. He ran. He dodged and weaved, but the beast stayed right behind him.

  It wasn’t traveling the same path. It had to be a ghost because he could feel it come directly at him through the stone.

  The thought struck his heart, making his stomach clench. He had no idea how many twists and turns he’d taken since coming into the crag. For all he knew the mile stretch could have brought him almost directly to the same location underground.

  He had no idea where the beast was or how long it would take to get to him. The only thing he knew was that it was behind him, and somehow, he could feel how far away it was. Maybe a quarter mile. He was at least halfway back if he had to guess, and his legs continued to pump through the sediment and sandy slope.

  He was slowing down. His stamina was nearly tapped out and the rocky sandy slope was difficult for his hoofs to get solid purchase.

  He wouldn’t make it, but he would try his hardest.

  The bones scattered on the path became thicker as he continued to sprint up the gentle slope. This is how far most of them make it before succumbing to the beast’s advances.

  Behind him, the beast let out another scream that rattled his teeth in his clenched jaw. It was no joke. It was out for murder.

  Scarhoof continued to push his weary body as fast as he could. He was grateful for travel form and the Pace Yantra. He didn’t know how he would accomplish this without them, but he worried they wouldn’t be enough.

  He rounded another corner; the ravine continued to straighten and widen with each small bend. He was getting closer. He glanced up briefly, trying to see the sun overhead, but he was not able to. It was quite probable that it was nighttime now, as he’d arrived at the trainers’ around midday. He had descended into the crag about an hour before the sun receded into the horizon.

  His hooves continued to scramble for purchase in the sandy ground. Every now and again he would slip, struggling to right himself. Sometimes it meant he would slam into the wall. He didn’t know if losing health or time would be worse. In the end he was fighting for both, and he wouldn’t have one without the other.

  Behind him and to the side, the demon roared again. It was close, dangerously near, and closing fast.

  It sounded like hundreds of feet pounding along behind him. Now beside him. As he ran, bits of ghostly appendages began to flit in and out of the rock. He hazarded a glance but wasn’t able to make out exactly what it was.

  Then, it appeared.

  It wasn’t a massive beast, but a man, or a ghost of a man. Human, white, and glowing. Behind him, a larger framed Tau’raj’s horns protruded from the stone face, this time it’s ghostly form was red.

  This wasn’t one beast, it was the host that had barred his way from the pool room. They were all running after him.

  The mass of ghosts protruded from the wall. For every step he took, they took one and a half, slowly catching up.

  He rounded the next bend, and the ravine opened wider. The group was unseen again, then slowly creeped up on his other side.

  His body was fatigued, he had been running
on empty for too long, but he couldn’t stop or he would die. His legs and arms burned, and his health was down to 53%. One hit from the mass of ghosts would drop him under 50% and that would be enough to slow him down. Then it would all be over.

  A thought flashed in his mind, remembering his traveling through the Eternal Plains the day before. Had it been so soon?

  He began to turn back Fourhoof just a bit, enough to turn his hooves into hoof-hardened fingers. He cast Mending Force on himself, panting the whole time as he breathily spat the words.

  It worked! 65% health! He did it again, and again! 100% health. He turned his attention to the group, casting Spirit Shock first on the closest ghost.

  It hit, and the ghost sparked from white to red, lashing out in anger.

  He wanted to try again, but the discussion earlier with Hillbender flashed through his mind. Violence wasn’t always the answer. Maybe there was another way?

  He decided to try tendrils on another ghost, a white one this time, but the spell took his mana and didn’t stop the ghost. However, a red ghost a few bodies back was caught in its web!

  It worked! He didn’t have time for elation, though. He had to focus on navigating around a boulder and dodge around a mass grave of bleached bones. He had to be getting closer to the exit, as the bones were piling up more and more.

  The mass of ghosts was only a meter behind him, and even turning around at all allowed them to inch up on him. They snarled and bit, gnashing teeth and swearing at him in foreign tongues.