Dragon Seed: A LitRPG Dragonrider Adventure (The Archemi Online Chronicles Book 1)

by James Osiris Baldwin

Once I found a comfortable position, sleep hit me like a ton of bricks: deep, dreamless, time-dilated sleep, the kind where you feel like you closed your eyes, counted to five, and open them again to find the sun shining. Game sleep.

  We hustled out to find that the center of the village had been converted into an improvised ordinance line. The quartermaster was set up in his tent, banging some dents out of pieces of armor, while Blackwin and her men were getting ready around a map. There was a mage here, too. He was working at a table in heavy robes, his face concealed by a deep hood. We assembled in a loose rank. I watched the others, and assumed the same old-fashioned at-ease posture they did.

  Blackwin strolled between the lines, correcting form, and once she was satisfied, she stopped in front of us and linked her hands behind her back.

  “Good morning, would-be dragon riders! Today is the day! This is your only chance to qualify for the most-holy-and-arduous Trial of Saint Grigori! If you can’t survive a couple of bandits on the road, you are certainly not going to survive crashing into someone at fifty miles an hour while ten thousand feet off the ground! And if you can’t survive those bandits without a respawn, believe me when I say you won’t enjoy the Bond Sickness.” She paced in front of us in her blue and silver armor, scanning our faces with her hawkish amber eyes. “The faster you perform your feat, the faster we get to leave this sty and go home. You will be working in groups of four. The first order of the day is outfitting with basic weapons, armor, and supplies. Once you have obtained your share from the quartermaster, you will sort into teams and be assigned your task. Am I understood?”

  Bond Sickness...? I glanced at Baldr as everyone - myself-included - shouted out in reply. “Yes Ma’am!”

  “Salute! Dismissed!” The Sarge barked each word as we complied.

  While we lined up, the quartermaster laid out chain shirts alongside basic, but non-rusty weapons. There were jerkins and leather and wool pants, armor and weapons, packs and belts, and I finally got to see what was going on at the other table. The mage behind it motioned with his gauntleted hands over a collection of small metallic spheres. Mana gas shot out like tiny lightning bolts from the crystal-sheathed gloves to each sphere, activating it and causing it to jump up and hover in the air.

  Bursting with questions, I waited for my turn. When I reached the quartermaster, he already had a pack and a sheathed sword and shield ready on the table. The man had the build and clothing of a blacksmith.

  “Do you mind if I compare the stats of this gear to what I have on?” I asked. “Or do we have to be in uniform?”

  “No, but I’m sure the sergeant would prefer it.” He heaved the armor and weapons to one side, and threw a bandoleer on top of the bag. “This might be useful.”

  “Thank you, sir.” The [Ilian Militia Armor Set] was of identical quality to what I was wearing, with no special buffs – it weighed more, had one less point of Slashing defense but +1 resistance Bludgeoning Damage Reduction compared to the Jack of Plates. I decided to stick with what I had. The bandoleer was definitely useful, though: it took me to 40 item slots. I opened the inventory in the backpack he’d handed me, and transferred the contents over to my own. “Are you a blacksmith?”

  “Weaponsmith, aye.”

  “Then I have a question for you.” I lay the Spear of Nine Spheres on the table. “Do you know what metal this is?”

  “Let me see…” he muttered, taking it in hand. “If I’m seeing this right, this is bluesteel. Steel forged in mana fire. Where’d you get something like this?”

  “Long story. Is there anyone at the Fort that can repair it?”

  “Gods, no.” He shook his head and handed it back to me. “This is an Artifact, and Mana fire is deathly poisonous. It’d kill a man, or Strange him. The only ones who work bluesteel are the Mercurions. You’d have to visit them, I reckon.”

  I got an alert. [New Glossary Entry: Bluesteel A]

  “Thank you, Sir. And one last question: how do you go about acquiring trade skills in this... uh... here?” I asked, glancing across as Baldr and one of the female PCs strolled up.

  “Find a Craft Master. Or you can read Skill Manuals to get started, if you can find them,” the quartermaster replied, watching the other aspirants browse the things on the table. “The cunning men in the guilds scribed their knowledge into books so they could send them off to frontiers and train people without the masters needing to travel. They’re Stranged things, but they won’t hurt you.”

  “Do you sell any?” I asked.

  The man shook his head. “No, but you can find them in the library back at Fort Palewing. Survive the day, and you’ll be able to learn all you like. Now, off you go - I have to see to the others.”

  I waited off to the side while Baldr and the woman – the hard-jawed girl with the large doe eyes – got their gear. While they were busy, I had a look through the few other things I’d gained with my new gear:

  Awl

  A thick bone needle used for sewing leather and hide. Used for crafting and repairs.

  Needle

  A slender steel needle used for sewing fabric. Used for crafting and repairs.

  Hide Lace

  Used to repair armor.

  Catgut

  Used to repair armor.

  Pickaxe

  Used to mine materials from the earth.

  Damage: 6-7

  Bonebreak Poultice x 5 (Alchemy Component)

  A healing herb applied to injuries. Heals 50 health.

  Pennyroyal x 5 (Alchemy Component)

  Rubbed on skin, protects against disease-carrying insects for 1 hour. Poisonous if consumed.

  Yarrow x 5 (Alchemy Component)

  Reduces damage from [Poison].

  Holy Basil x 5 (Alchemy Component, Cooking Component)

  Protects against blood poisoning from cuts while [Bleeding].

  I nodded thoughtfully. I knew all of those herbs thanks to Owen and Kira, but there was still a lot to learn about how to maximize the benefits of Alchemy. Poultices were the lowest-tier healing item besides food. You blanched herbs in boiling water, then dipped them in cold water and wrapped a gauze cloth around them before slapping them on an injury. Potions, tinctures, and decoctions were more effective, but required more ingredients and tools that the healers of Lyrensgrove couldn’t afford. For some reason, this skill fascinated me. I’d always enjoyed life skills, especially cooking and smithing. Archemi’s Alchemy system was so complex and nuanced that I wanted to dive right into it, but I hadn’t had any time for life skilling because of the real-time demands of the game. I was contemplating my unused skill points when Baldr and his companion strolled over to join me.

  “Hey there.” I extended a hand to the girl. “Hector.”

  “Nethres.” She had a husky, hollow voice that matched the hardness of her face. Like me, Baldr had stuck with his old gear, which was of much finer quality than anything anyone else here was wearing. Nethres was now wearing the issued heavy armor and carrying a sword and shield.

  “Want to party up?” Baldr asked us both. “If we can pick up a DPS, we’ll have our bases covered.”

  Nethres nodded curtly in acknowledgment. “Casper. He’s DPS.”

  “Your buddy?” Baldr asked. “You know where he is?”

  Even as Nethres shook her head, I saw the mage motion to us out of the corner of my eye and turned. “Hang on, we’re being summoned.”

  We approached the table as a group, and the mage called one of the orbs to his hands, never actually touching it. It floated just above his fingers. Like Rutha, he wore a strange glove with channels and tubes for mana.

  “Assspirants.” His voice hissed out from under the hood. “These are Orbsss of the Watchersss. You will each be asssigned an orb for the duration of the day. It will follow you and observe your conduct, your successss and failuresss in combat, and it will report these things to your assessorsss. Once you have left the village, do not return until your objective is complete. If you perish, your orb wi
ll return here alone. You, Tuun, give me your hand.”

  Without hesitation, I stepped forward and extended an arm. The mage waved the orb into my palm and traced a sigil over it. The tracery flared a vivid crimson. I felt a warm jolt of energy through my hand, followed by a weird, hot smell, like a stone baking under the sun. The magical artifact rose and floated around, until it hung silently beside my ear.

  “The orb isss now attuned to you,” he said. “Lord Hyland?”

  Baldr smirked and strode up, hand out. I couldn’t help but snort at the title. How the hell had he wrangled his way into being a ‘lord’ anything? I’d been so taken with the whole Tuun concept that I hadn’t really paid attention to the other Human starting options, but if you could choose to be aristocracy, then what was stopping everyone from being lords and ladies?

  The mage repeated the small ritual for Baldr and Nethres. Once that was done, he dismissed us with a flick of his fingers, and the three of us went to search for Nethres’ friend, Casper. He turned out to be a big, dark-skinned guy with a ponytail of tight cornrows that stuck out from under his helmet. We found him stringing the longbow he’d received from the quartermaster, bending the frame like a toy. In some stereotypical game world, he’d have been the heavily armored tank and Nethres the skimpily-dressed archer, but here, the reverse was definitely true. Admittedly, if I was built like Casper, I probably wouldn’t want to wear a shirt either.

  “Who’ve we got, kid?” He said to her as we walked over to him.

  “Baldr and Hector,” Nethres replied. “They’re okay.”

  “That’s a high compliment comin’ from you.” Chuckling, Casper hung his bow and settled his quiver across his lower back. “You ain’t gettin’ all verbose on me now, are you? Talkative and gregarious?”

  Nethres’ mouth drew across in a sloping grimace.

  “You two know each other?” I was never good at this small-talk introduction shit. Obvious as it was, Nethres wasn’t exactly giving me much to work with.

  “Sure do. We knew each other in meatspace,” Casper said.

  “Military?” I asked.

  “No. Construction.” Nethres replied. “We were Shardbuilders.”

  “It’s where I got my taste for the sky.” Casper folded his arms over his broad chest. “And this was one of the options the union offered when we got HEX. We’re stuck in here while President Powell is up in the Shard that we built.”

  “Hey now, I’d rather be here breathing the open air than being stuck inside a Shard,” Baldr said. “Because sure, he ain’t gonna get no HEX, but Mr. President’ll get real sick of his recycled water and 3D printed meals six months in, I tell you what.”

  I glanced over at the mage’s table, and around at the other aspirants. We were all dolled up in leather and chainmail, with swords and bows. The wagons had wooden wheels. None of the thatched hovels had plumbing or running water. It was easy to forget about the real world in here. But all things considered… I had to agree. We’d gotten the better deal. “He’s right. Think of it this way: those guys paid half a billion dollars each so they could live inside great big glass dildo with nothing but their own piss to drink.”

  That made Casper laugh, and Nethres smiled. The big archer clapped me between the shoulders, and I stumbled forward a step under the blow. “True enough, true enough. Hell, son – we’re gonna be dragonriders!”

  “There’s only three eggs,” Nethres said dourly. “And thirty-two of us.”

  “And? There’s only six players. All that means is some of us have to wait a while until the next batch shoots out of momma dragon,” Casper said. “Let’s ace this thing!”

  “Sure. Hold on, though – I think we have to form a team to get our orders.” Brow furrowed, I queried [Party Formation] in my HUD, and then sent friend and party requests to the three of them. As each one accepted, I felt a warm pressure behind my eyes and was suddenly able to see more information about them. Their HP rings came to life with color and detail, showing their classes and their health, along with their level and EXP. Nethres was already a Level 8 Knight. Baldr was maxed out at Level 10 and seemed to have some kind of variant class ‘Spirit Knight’. Casper was a Level 7 Warrior, and I was the lowest, at Level 4.

  “Aww man, you’re a baby,” Casper said.

  “Yeah.” I hunched a little, feeling prickly. “I had a weird start to the game.”

  Nethres turned on Baldr. “I thought you said he matched our level.”

  “He does. Between me and him, we’re Level 5 each.” Unfazed, Baldr grinned. “Gotta learn somehow.”

  The woman was about to retort, but then our quest updated and all of us got the far-away look of people processing invisible information.

  Quest Update: Prove Your Mettle

  Now that you are at Camp Prichard, you and your team have been assigned to patrol the road leading to a recently cleared battlefield and supervise the soldiers and peasants working there. You must act in accordance with the Skyrdon’s Code of Honor and report any sign of insubordination to an overseer.

  Special: You may not die during this mission. If you die, you automatically fail the quest.

  So you keep telling us, I thought, and dismissed the notification.

  Chapter 25

  Before we went out the village gate, I insisted we hang back and work on some drills to see how we functioned as a team. Baldr refused, overly confident in his - and our - abilities, but the other two were happy to participate. Just as well. Archemi was a weird game, in that magic couldn’t be used to heal. There was no ‘Cleric’ or ‘Priest’ class tree. Food, herbs and potions filled the role, which meant that as a team, you were all responsible for healing one another. I had a feeling that there had been a Priest class, but that it had been snipped out of the game for some reason - maybe because the devs were predicting an influx of refugees.

  The four of us rode out after that, and I was pleased to note that I was easily the best rider out of all of them. Nethres and Casper rode like nubs, bouncing around on the backs of their hookwings, while Baldr kind of faked it. I’d learned to keep Cutthroat on a short rein and ride her almost standing up in the stirrups. She worked best under tension, when she felt me alert and ready. If I slacked off or stopped paying attention, she got uppity. Riding a beast was nothing like riding a motorcycle, but also everything like riding a motorcycle. You had to pay constant attention.

  “I h-hate th-these d-damn th-things,” Casper said once we were out on the road. The hookwing’s trot was nearly bouncing him off the saddle, causing him to stammer.

  “Just remember you can only pull with the reins,” I said. “You can’t push, so don’t lean forward. And hold on with your legs.”

  “And shut the hell up already,” Baldr quipped from the front. “Every mob in a three-mile radius can hear your fat ass jingling up and down.”

  Hookwings weren’t as smart as dragons, but they were good practice for the real thing. I’d gotten used to Cutthroat’s antics after weeks of riding her, and even with EXP being hard to come by, I’d gotten a lot better – though nowhere as good as I’d been on a machine. It was humbling to have to relearn how to ride well again, but I was determined to master this new variation of the skills I’d learned as a teenager. It was already paying off: at Level 4, I looked a thousand times more comfortable on Cutthroat’s back than anyone else in the group did on their nice, tame hookwings.

  “What do you think ‘bond sickness’ is?” I pulled my mount up beside Baldr’s. “I don’t know about you, but I really don’t want to get sick.”

  “Sir Tim said it’s something to do with the dragons,” Casper replied from behind. “Like, when you impress a hatchling, you get sick for a while. Then you get over it and move on. He said not everyone’s tough enough to survive it.”

  “It’s Skyr Tymos,” Nethres grunted.

  Baldr grimaced and shook his head. “Maybe that’s what the Trial of Saint Grigori is? You have to be badass enough to survive bond sickness?”

>   “Maybe.” Call me crazy, but I was kind of phobic of getting sick with anything after HEX - especially now that I knew my body was dead. The thought made me nauseous. Somewhere, the real Hector Park was bobbing around in a cryotank, dead as a doornail, veins being pumped with preservative solution while scientists took core samples out of his brain while I – his ghost – gallivanted around this make-believe world. My stomach shuddered, and that was an odd consolation of its own. Make-believe or not, I could still feel ill.

  The land around Camp Prichard was grim. The forest had been cut down or blown up, and it was a steep, muddy wasteland of burnt tree stumps, overgrown ditches, and tumbled stone walls. The cold north wind whipped across the dirt and rustled the tall grass that had died at the side of the road. Crows picked at bodies left to rot and rust out in the sun. It didn’t look like there was much meat left on any of the remaining corpses.

  As we slowed, Nethres surveyed it with level eyes. “Lovely.”

  “That’s war for you.” Baldr’s nose wrinkled. “Our patrol takes us around the field here.”

  “The Lieutenant didn’t seem really pleased to see us,” I remarked, reining Cutthroat so I could check my map. Our patrol route was marked. The region was low, marshy terrain, wetlands and scrub forest. There were some unlabeled huts here and there. I could assume that the valor requirements of our mission meant random looting wasn’t on today’s agenda.

  “Course not. He’s a peasant dipshit. Probably a militiaman who was pulled off the battlefield when they ran out of people who actually knew what they were doing.” Baldr squinted, peering across the churned up field toward the edge of the living forest. “Some of those villagers are still Royalist scum, I bet. Nothing scares the rabble like dragons.”

  “Uh huh.” I kept a wary eye on the dead battlefield as we moved off. Something wasn’t kosher about this place. “That’s what set off the Civil War? Crazy king?”

  “Crazy as a cut snake,” Baldr said.

  Ugh, more politics. Not anything I was really interested in, but at least I had a basic idea what was going on now. “You sound like you’ve picked your side.”