by Chris Fox
“Are you even kidding me?” Nutpuncher rumbled as the gnome waddled over to the half-ogre. His voice was far too deep for a human’s, much less a gnome’s. “Half-ogre? That is so unfair.”
“Yeah.” The ogre gave a wide grin that exposed a truly disgusting set of rotting teeth. “I was going to dump stat charisma anyway, and that’s their only real downside.”
“They give you a -2 intelligence too,” Kit pointed out absently. “That’s one less skill point per level. And a -2 to dex. That lowers your AC.”
“So?” Crushstuff, the half-ogre, gave a low gravelly laugh, like a truck idling. “I get +6 strength, and a +2 con, and twelve hit points a level. I can take some hits, so I don’t care about the AC penalty. We’re ninth level.” The ogre reached over his shoulder and unstrapped a comically large battle-axe. A bladed weapon for someone with the word ‘crush’ in their name. “As a barbarian I can use oversized weapons. I only need a 2 plus to hit pretty much anything, and I do an obscene amount of damage. If you haste me I get six attacks a round with this thing.”
“I feel like an idiot.” Nutpuncher scuffed the dirt with his tiny shoe. “I mean, gnomes are cool, but I could have been a firbolg. Or—why not an ancient gold dragon if we’re using unplayable races? Don’t they have like a 45 strength?”
“46 to 47 average,” Kit supplied absently. She stared past her party at the path leading into the valley below. She knew that it led to a town they’d been to before. $Placeholder, where she’d left Bert in charge. How had things changed since they’d been away?
“So what’s the adventure?” Crushstuff the ogre rumbled. “Tomb of Deadly Death again? New dark lord means new loot, and more xp.”
“We’ll start there.” White gave a snap of his fingers and a flying carpet unfurled out of thin air, then moved dutifully to float before him. “We’ll use this to travel. It will expand to be as large as I need. I could accommodate an army with this thing.”
Crushstuff stepped gingerly atop the thin cloth, which effortlessly supported the ogre’s weight. Kit stepped on as well, and a moment later Nutpuncher leapt up to seize the floating carpet. He pulled himself atop, and rolled to his feet. “I can’t believe I went with gnome.”
“Why is your voice so deep?” She figured she ought to ask, or it would keep bugging her.
“Oh.” Nutpuncher gave her a smile from under his moppy hair. “I expect to be hasted most of the time, so I made my voice deeper. That way I’ll sound normal with haste up.”
Kit turned toward the wind with an amused laugh as the carpet accelerated up the path. She had no idea what to expect, but for the first time she had hope, especially after how the last adventure had ended.
She’d never gotten the better of White before.
Still, there was a nagging feeling that something wasn’t right. There was something she should be doing, or getting. Something from the real world that kept trying to intrude into the game.
Kit ruthlessly shoved it away. Whatever it was—it wasn’t important. Her game time was sacred. The real world had no place here. Whatever it was could wait until the game was over.
3
An Adventure
The following morning, after breakfast of course, Bert and Boberton headed up to the tower once more. This time the throne room was dominated by a massive oaken table, large enough for an entire family of goblins to live underneath.
Perhaps he could rent the space. Upkeeping a kingdom had proven more expensive than he’d expected.
Bert had gathered his very best advisors, who sat around the round table. Bert’s own chair had a very large booster seat so that he could just barely peek over the lip of the table.
To his right sat Bumbledork, the wizard’s musty smell overpowering from this small distance. To his left sat the Finger of the King, his newly appointed spymaster. Well, ‘sat’ wasn’t quite right. A slug couldn’t really sit. They more just kind of…oozed.
“Bert call council to order.” Bert withdrew a small wooden mallet from his pack, which sat beneath the booster seat. He rapped the gavel against the table, and the other advisors perked up.
Brotep the mummy sat on the far side. He never added anything, just beatboxed under his breath, and raced out of the room as soon as meetings were over. Perhaps he needed a new job, or something.
The last advisor was even newer than the finger, one who’d come to the castle just the week before. The leprechaun stood just a bit taller than Bert, with a green jacket and a bristly black beard. He wore a conical hat, which seemed rather dangerous if one was clumsy, as Bert tended to be. You could put an eye out.
“Darby report first,” Bert commanded. He rather liked commanding people.
“Course, your dark lordness.” Darby hopped up onto the table and gave a little bow. “No new adventurers have come through my level. In fact, no new adventurers have been in the town at all since you came to power. Your lordship…have you given any thought to my petition?”
On the one hand Bert rather liked the word petition. It was new and he’d learned it just the other day, when Darby had explained it at the last council meeting.
“Not today. Bert have important business.” He rapped his gavel again, because it was fun. “Rock fell from sky, and still need to hear from Finger of King. Can hear about rainbows later.” Darby’s face fell, and Bert felt a little bad. “Will get to petition. Bert promise.”
That perked his advisor up, so Bert felt safe to move on to the next one. “Anything to report, Brotep?”
“Nah.” The mummy stared down at his smartphone. “Just keep scooping litter, and waitin’ for someone to show up.”
“They gotta catch me before they can get to you.” Darby began dancing a happy little jig. “I’ve never been caught. That movie was a lie. Nothing but stereotypes, I tell you.”
Bert didn’t know what movie he was referring to, but nodded patiently as he didn’t want anyone to feel unheard. Finally he turned to his favorite advisor, the slug he’d met on his first day in town.
“Finger of King,” Bert intoned. “Give report.” Having a spymaster was one of the very best parts of being a dark lord.
“Well.” The slug blinked its eye stalks sheepishly. “I mean…it’s taken me three days to get from the moat to here, so if anything has happened in that time I am unaware of it.”
He wasn’t a very good spymaster, but that was okay. Spying on people was rude, so best to have someone not very good at it.
“What about Paradise?” Bert rose up in his seat. He hadn’t seen his mum in ages.
“Ah.” The slug rose up to his full height, about six inches. “Your mum-ness has refused the royal invitation. She said, “Tell Bert no reason to come to stupid humans. Send more garbage. Come home on Sundays.”
“Ah, your dark lordship,” Bumbledork interjected, “I understand following formalities and such, but perhaps we can discuss the reason we’ve come together today? The strange glowing rock?”
Bert absently pet Righty as Boberton pressed into his hand. He used his other hand to rap the gavel against the table. “Bert now discuss big sky rock. First, who knows what rock is? Or where it come from?”
Answering one question might answer the other, or so Bert hoped at least. Interesting things didn’t happen very often, and he dearly longed to know more about the strange flaming rock.
His advisors eyed each other blankly for some time. There was an awful lot of blinking, and the occasional cough or throat clearing. Hmm. They’d need him to do that leadership thing, he supposed.
“Bert want to know about rock.” He turned to Bumbledork. “You, great wizard. Can you use magic to see rock?”
“Ah! A scrying spell.” The ancient wizard straightened his spectacles and smiled out from his snowy beard. Well, mostly snowy. The part that dragged on the ground had become quite brown and fuzzy. “I, ah, I don’t actually know any of those. Other members of the OLP were quite adept at divination, but now they are quite dead, so, we’re rather lac
king in that department.”
A booming knock came from the door, and Bert blinked in that direction. The door stood open, but Sir Patrick the Death Knight politely rapped on the wood as he stepped into the room. “Your lordship, we’ve received a report from the high elves. The stone has impacted in Keeble Forest, and they say it is causing chaos. They request whatever aid you can send.”
“Bumbledork.” Bert rapped his gavel. Not for any particular reason. Perhaps he could bring some nails to the next meeting and hammer them into the table. He glanced up and realized they were staring at him. “Bumbledork, go to forest, get rock, bring back.”
“Well, I would,” the wizard protested, “but that sounds rather dangerous. Perhaps there are some children we could send. I’ve worked with as young as ten, and find they’re quite able. Very few casualties, and there are always more children about.”
Bert frowned at the wizard. He certainly didn’t seem good so much as expedient. Sending the wizard would be a bad idea. No, he needed someone smarter. Someone brave.
He needed…himself, he realized. No one else here could be trusted to find the rock, and if he sent someone, and waited, what if they failed? He’d have to send someone else.
Besides, castle life had already grown stale. He missed following adventurers in the wild, and raking up copper. And he could bring Boberton, who would keep him safe from any threats. Plus Bert was a dark lord and had all sorts of power now.
It was time for an adventure.
“Bert will go,” he decided aloud. “Will take Boberton, and brave scary forest to find rock. Finger of King in charge while Bert is away.”
The slug slumped in obvious relief. “Oh, thank the moat. I’m so happy I don’t have to go back right away.”
Bert nodded sagely. Good leaders took care of their people. “Brotep, bring slug food, please.”
“Sure.” The mummy didn’t look up from his smartphone.
“Okay, Bert go now. You protect Tomb. Remember, no killing!” Bert made a grr face to make sure they knew he was serious, but no one seemed especially intimidated. He hoped they listened.
Adventurers could get hurt if they weren’t careful.
Bert hopped out of the booster seat, and onto Boberton’s back. “Okay, boy! Let’s start adventure.”
4
The Moist Mountains
Bert decided to head out immediately rather than wait for another morning, and so found himself atop his war cart, an upgraded version of the original wagon he’d once constructed.
One of the very best parts of being dark lord was that he could acquire whatever building supplies he wanted. That included everything from springs to nails, and so his cart was impressive indeed.
The big black wagon had spikes along the outside, except for the area where he threw the ladder over the side to reach the ground. The wheels had been made from tough rubber that would do well on rocky forest floors, and he’d added enough pillows that bouncing along was actually rather fun.
Boberton had already been cinched up the wagon, and stood proudly, ready to begin their next adventure. He really did make the best of friends, and Bert silently thanked the shopkeeper who’d first introduced them.
“Okay, boy. Go!” Bert hung onto the wagon and Boberton burst into a run.
They raced down the cobblestone road away from the Tomb of Deadly Death, and into Bobertown. Bert waved at everyone he passed, but very few people waved back. That was okay. He supposed people ought to find dark lords intimidating.
Boberton galloped by bakeries, with the wonderful aromas of pies, and weapon shops, and the monster shop of course, as they wound down the hill and toward the gate that led through the wall and out into the wilds.
Ratlings swarmed the line of people entering the town, their little paws eagerly relieving visitors of a portion of their gold. Bert hated the necessity, but paying for new walls and cleaning up the streets cost far more coin than he felt it should.
He’d reduced some expenses through clever use of critters, but it still cost an awful lot, and he needed to find a new source of gold soon. Perhaps he could find something valuable on his adventure. Perhaps the stone itself would be valuable.
Bert wondered an awful lot about that stone as Boberton wandered over the stone bridge, and they finally left the town behind. The sun had hit its zenith, and had already begun slinking down the other side of the sky.
Boberton carried them unerringly along a well repaired road, something he’d paid for but never had a chance to enjoy. Bert had never headed up into the moist mountains, because very few adventurers had reason to head into Keeble Forest, and because most moist things were genuinely unpleasant. Unless they were also gooey and chocolatey.
As they wound up the trail and into the mountains Boberton began to pant, and tongues lolled out of both mouths, but he never slackened or slowed. It would have taken Bert days to walk the same trail even if he were not carrying anything at all, and he wondered just how fast Boberton would get if he never stopped growing, as the shopkeeper had promised.
It quickly became apparent how the moist mountains had earned their name. A thick mist clung to every slope, which both cut visibility and made everything damp. Why hadn’t they been named the misty mountains? Or the damp mountains? Perhaps those names had been taken.
At long last they made it to the top of the pass, and for the first time Bert beheld Keeble Forest below him, in all its splendor. He could see bits of it from the tallest tower window, but only a few bits, and they were mostly boring green trees. No offense to trees, green or otherwise.
Now he spied the elf towers, which broke the evergreen canopy. Those trees were taller, but otherwise identical, save that little streamers of smoke rose from the ovens where they baked their cookies.
Apparently high elf cookies were simply delightful, but having never tasted them Bert couldn’t attest to that fact. They were too far away to smell, but perhaps tomorrow.
“Look, boy!” Bert pointed at a faint green glow on the far side of the forest. “That’s the flaming rock. Looks like it’s still there. Bert bets the high elves will help us find it.”
Lefty gave a cavernous yawn, which caught both Righty and Bert himself. All three of them yawned together, and he realized he would need a place for them to spend the night. Bert scanned the pass, and while there wasn’t anything like a cave, there was a little ravine out of the wind.
“Boberton, take us there.” He pointed down below, and the dog sensed his need. The wagon rumbled into motion, and moments later Boberton backed it into the nice shelter of the ravine.
Bert fished out a plastic tarp he’d acquired from the dump in Paradise, then tossed it over Boberton’s back. The dog used both heads to pull the cloth about him like a coat. There was even a pair of little hoods Bert had sewn for the dog’s heads.
Bert withdrew a second tarp and affixed it to the spear tips lining the outside of the wagon. It took a while and wasn’t terribly efficient, but he enjoyed the process, and found himself humming as he erected his shelter for the night.
Life was pretty good these days. He had friends and magic, and was powerful enough to help people. The goblins had a better life now that his mum was the new G. Mayor, and the humans were much better off under him than they had been either the Kount or White.
Bert fluffed up his pillows, and sighed dreamily as he thought of all the adventurers he and Boberton would find. “Good night, boy!”
Righty gave a small bark, but Lefty had already drifted off to sleep. Bert lay awake for a long time staring down at the green glow in the forest. He wondered where Kit was. He didn’t have very many friends, and if there was anyone else he’d take with him into the forest besides Boberton it would be her.
Eventually Bert curled up among his fluffy pillows, and drifted off to sleep to the singsong of Boberton’s snores.
5
Bobertown
Kit stepped off the carpet, and gazed up in wonder at the city that had sprung up wh
ere $Placeholder had been. Pieces of the town still remained. The Tomb of Deadly Death loomed at the center of town, atop its massive hill, glaring at all the lesser buildings around it.
But so much had been added. The stone wall erected around the city was twice as tall, with parapets every hundred meters. At first she thought they were unguarded, but Kit realized there were precisely four crows standing atop each parapet.
“My god, he’s weaponized critters,” she muttered, impressed with the goblin’s ingenuity. “They’re guards.”
“What’s that sign say?” Crushstuff boomed, the half-ogre’s volume making Kit wince. “I can’t read. And I think I’m too loud ‘cause of the low charisma.”
“Bob-er-town,” White muttered as the wizard-necromancer strode over to the brightly painted sign, with a clearly recognizable rendition of Bert’s two-headed sidekick beside the written word. “I don’t understand. What does it mean?”
Kit couldn’t hold it in any longer, and began to laugh.
“What?” White spun to face her, his almond eyes narrowing as they judged her, and found her lacking. Somehow he made the dark elves, a race renowned for their beauty, ugly.
“It’s a play on words,” she explained. “You remember Bert? He had a pet demo dog named Boberton. Bober-town is a play on that.”
“Oh.” White did not appear mollified. “I still can’t believe you conspired against me with that…critter.”
“I didn’t conspire against you. I conspired against the Necromancer White, an entirely different character.” Now it was Kit’s turn to narrow her eyes. “I know you hate roleplaying, but try to remember…your penultimate wizard necromancer is a new character. You’ve never met nor interacted with Bert. And you have no reason to have any sort of grudge against him. Also, penultimate means second best. In case you weren’t aware.”
