Dead Man Gaming: A LitRPG Series

by A. J. Markam

  “Yeah, yeah,” I said as I set off to go kill some bandits.

  I went into Stealth mode and made my way through the wheat. This would be interesting. Thief against bandit – a good matchup.

  It took me a minute or two, but I finally found one crouching in the field – a human male in tattered clothing, grubby as hell. He looked like this world’s version of a homeless person, but with an evil glint in his eyes.

  Of course, I was the dangerous one here.

  I pulled Backstab on him and came out of Stealth. He screamed, turned around, and started jabbing at me with his own pair of knives.

  After a few seconds, it became apparent that this was going to be closer than any fight I’d had in the game so far. I literally fought the guy for a full minute. Stab for stab, we were evenly matched.

  My vision was going red and I was down to my last couple of hit points when I finally delivered the killing stroke. He gurgled and gasped, then keeled over in the wheat. I fell on my knees and groaned, rolled over onto my back, and stared up at the blue sky as I waited for my hit points to replenish.

  If I’ve got to do that for every single bandit, this is going to suck.

  One thing I was NOT going to do was eat the sonuvabitch. Besides not having had a particularly good time during my last brush with cannibalism, this guy looked like he’d be carrying some kind of disease. Ugh.

  It took about two minutes for my hit points to get back to normal. When they did, I looted the body for 30 coppers and a piece of moldy bread.

  Yes, you heard that right – a piece of moldy bread.

  What the hell?!

  When I examined it, the little window that appeared told me I would get some extra hit points faster if I ate it.

  I dropped it in my bag and hoped I never got that desperate.

  I went back into Stealth and started stalking the fields again. Within 60 seconds, I found the next guy.

  I came out of Stealth and proceeded to fight the exact same battle over again. One of my knives to his gut, followed by one of his daggers to mine. I slashed his shoulder, he cut my chest.

  I was nearly dead again, and that piece of moldy bread was sounding awful good, when suddenly I heard the swish of wheat stalks all around me.

  I looked up and saw three more bandits run out of the field and head right for me.

  DAMN IT.

  I had all but resigned myself to a visit to the local graveyard when suddenly there was a scream and a blur of metal.

  Something about three feet high ripped through the wheat like a cannonball and slammed into my bandit, knocking him instantly dead.

  I looked over in shock to see a goblin in full plate armor with a shield and a giant sledgehammer.

  My first thought was, Am I really that bad that the farmer needed to give me a hand?

  My second thought was, Sneaky little bastard – if he’s a friggin’ superhero, why’d he hire me in the first place?

  But the warrior’s Cockney accent told me it wasn’t the same goblin at all.

  He flashed me a grin. “Hey, mate! Mind if we give you a hand?”

  I didn’t even have time to answer before he launched himself at the next three bandits with a high-pitched scream.

  Seconds later, I felt a warm rush throughout my body as purple energy swirled all around me. It felt exactly the way Arkova’s healing blast had – and just like then, my hit points shot up back to normal within a second. But where the hell was it coming from?

  Probably from the same place as the ice ray.

  One second there were three bandits fighting the little goblin, and then a second later, a beam of blue light hit one and encased him in ice. I’m talking full-on human popsicle.

  One down, two to go.

  Another voice suddenly joined the fray: a woman’s, but with an American accent. “Okay, Russell’s drawing their Agro – Seth, get in there and help him out! Richard, hang back here with me!”

  “Hey, dude!” said a gigantic green orc as it rushed past me. He sounded like a good-natured pothead – which was hardly the voice I would have expected out of an eight-foot-tall monster with biceps the size of watermelons.

  He was wearing chainmail armor, and had a massive curved sword in his hand that he used to whack at one of the two remaining bandits.

  “Time to harsh somebody’s buzz!” he joked as he basically impaled bandit number two.

  I looked behind me in shock. About 30 feet away, a tall, wiry troll wearing purple robes and a pair of tiny spectacles on his massive nose was shooting out beams of energy from his hands.

  Next to him stood an elf – not a red-skinned one like Arkova, but a pale blue woman with silver hair and yellow eyes, dressed in flowing white robes and carrying an ivory staff. She was absolutely beautiful.

  “I need a heal!” the goblin yelled as he smashed the other bandit’s head in.

  “Coming right up,” said the troll in a nasal British accent.

  Purple light flew from his hands and whooshed over the little goblin.

  “Heads up,” the female elf yelled, “you’ve got incoming!”

  Seven more bandits came running out of the wheat fields, armed with everything from sickles to swords.

  The big orc looked down at me. “Dude, you in or out?”

  It took me only a second to realize what he meant.

  “In,” I said, and leapt to my feet and rushed the bandits.

  It was a complete free-for-all. I was swinging my arms around in a windmill, indiscriminately slashing all the bandits.

  Well… I think I nicked all of them, anyway. ‘Slash’ is kind of overselling it.

  I was way more enthusiastic than I was good. One bandit knocked me on my ass within seconds.

  The others did far better.

  “Crikey, this is way better’n the wetlands!” the goblin whooped cheerily as he punched a bandit’s face in with his giant hammer.

  “By virtue of their not being wet,” the troll said as he sent another bolt of healing energy into me.

  The entire time this was going on, numbers kept appearing in the air around me: 60 XP. 60 XP. 60 XP. A flurry of golden light shone all around me and a choir sang out amongst the sounds of battle –

  “Guys, get back and I’ll hit them with a blizzard!” the female elf called out.

  The goblin took off running past me through the wheat, back towards the elf and troll.

  The orc grabbed my arm and pulled me to my feet. “Time to haul ass, dude!”

  I had no idea what was going on, but I followed him as fast as I could.

  Up ahead of us, the elf was crouched down and weaving her arms through the air in elaborate patterns and gestures. I could see traces of light following her arms and hands, like she was dancing in a strobe-lit club – except it was bright sunshine.

  There was the sound of sheets of ice cracking and breaking into pieces, followed by the WHOMP WHOMP WHOMP of massive objects slamming into the ground.

  I looked back over my shoulder and my eyes went wide with amazement.

  Huge shards of ice – longer than my legs and thicker than my chest – were raining down from the sky. Two of the bandits got impaled right there out in the wheat.

  More golden numbers hovered in front of my eyes: 60 XP. 60 XP.

  The other two bandits made it out of the field alive, but they were covered in frost as they tried to escape the hellacious ice storm.

  “Nope!” the goblin yelled cheerfully as he hurtled through the air and killed the first one.

  “Hell to the naw!” the ogre said as he used his scimitar to impale the other.

  60 XP.

  60 XP.

  “We good?” yelled the elf.

  “Far better than the poor bastards on the ground,” the posh-sounding troll said.

  “No, I meant – ”

  “I don’t see anybody,” the orc said as he peered out over the wheat field with his palm shading his eyes. “And we got way more than the six we needed.”

&n
bsp; “Alright – good work everybody!” the female elf said happily with a huge smile. She looked at me and added, “You too, Korvos.”

  I stared at her, my jaw dropping open. “How did you know my name?!”

  The entire group stared at me – and then burst into laughter.

  “Looks like we got one fresh off the boat!” the goblin cackled good-naturedly.

  Since I could see all their names hovering above their heads in blue, I immediately realized my mistake. I looked up to see my name – and, of course, it wasn’t there. Because it was tracking with my head as I bent it back.

  The entire group laughed again as they watched me.

  “Dude, it’s like a dog chasing its tail,” the orc advised me in a friendly voice. “You’re never gonna catch it. And if you do, you might disappear up your own ass.”

  “More like Seth here tryin’ ta suck his own dick!” the goblin hooted.

  The orc chortled. “Dude, if I could do that, I’d never leave the house.”

  “Not like you leave the house anyway,” the elf chimed in.

  “True – my pot dealer makes house calls.”

  “Perhaps we shouldn’t be discussing drug-related issues at the moment?” the troll suggested. His voice wasn’t snooty – he just sounded incredibly deadpan, but there was a warmth beneath it. He sounded like he was slightly amused at everything, just not quite enough to smile.

  “Why, am I offending you?” the orc asked.

  “Got yer knickers in a twist, Richie?” the goblin teased the troll.

  “I’m fairly clutching my pearls,” the troll answered. “No, it’s just that perhaps our new acquaintance might not be quite as comfortable with controlled substances as we are after your 5000th weed joke of the day.”

  “Dude, it’s legal in California!” the orc protested. “And – ”

  “Colorado, and Oregon, and Washington state,” the elf, goblin, and troll all said in unison, obviously mimicking something they’d heard a million times.

  “Aaah, screw you guys,” the orc grumbled, then added under his breath, “And Nevada and Massachusetts and DC, too…”

  “Perhaps he’s not from California,” the troll said, gesturing to me. “Or any of the other places you plan to take your next holiday.”

  “Aaaah, he’s a dead guy – he can take it.” The orc slapped me on the back in a friendly manner, but his hand was almost as wide as my torso, and I stumbled a couple of feet forward.

  The female elf addressed me directly. “You’ll have to forgive our friend – he’s a little...”

  “Overly herbally enthusiastic,” the troll suggested.

  “Naaah – I’m just 420-friendly is all,” the orc said, then asked me, “You smoke, dude?”

  I shook my head ‘no.’

  “Too bad – you be a lot cooler if you did!” he guffawed, then smacked me on the back again good-naturedly. Then he got quiet. “That’s a quote, by the way. Dazed and Confused.”

  “Which is how he looks right now, so leave him alone,” the female elf scolded the orc. She turned to me. “Sorry to jump in on your kill back there, though… to be honest… it kinda looked like you could use the help.”

  “No – I mean, absolutely,” I said, stumbling over my tongue. “Thank you! I was about to die back there!”

  “Yeah, we noticed,” the goblin said cheerfully,

  “‘About to die’ is a bit of an understatement,” the troll said.

  “Did you heal me?” I asked him.

  “I did,” he said with a tiny bow.

  “Cool!” I said, overcome with enthusiasm. “Thanks – that was awesome!”

  The troll looked around at the other members of his group. “If only my friends were as enthusiastic about my services as this gentleman.”

  “Whatever,” the orc said. “It’s your freakin’ job.”

  “Perhaps then I should unionize,” the troll said. “Get a bit more respect.”

  “Yer not gonna get any more respect as long as yer bein’ a pratt, Richie,” the goblin said.

  I scrunched up my face in confusion.

  Richard?

  But the ID over his head was –

  R’i’c’h’a’r’dus.

  “What’s with all the apostrophes in your name?” I asked.

  “You see!” the orc exclaimed, hands out, like I’d somehow just proved a point of his.

  The troll ignored him and addressed me. “Thank you for noticing. It’s a parody of the pretentious spelling of character names in high fantasy novels.”

  The troll didn’t sound like he was being a snooty asshole. In fact, he sounded like he realized he was being vaguely ridiculous, but was inviting me in on the fun.

  “Nobody gets your lame jokes!” the orc argued.

  “The important people do,” the troll answered.

  “Who’s that – you?” the elf asked in a sarcastic voice.

  “And me alone, apparently,” the troll said, and sighed as though he were humorously pitying himself. “The cheese stands alone.”

  “So he’s Richard,” I said, pointing to the troll. “And you are – ”

  I turned to the orc, but stopped as soon as I saw his name.

  “…Slothfart…?”

  The orc started laughing uproariously. “Awesome, right? Epic, right?”

  “Crude,” the troll said.

  “No man, it’s the best name ever! Nobody’s going to remember your dumb name – only the apostrophes, if you’re lucky – but they ALL remember Slothfart! Right?” he asked me, hugging me tight to his side.

  “It’s, uh… definitely memorable.”

  “Don’t encourage him,” the elf said. “Just call him by his real name – Seth.”

  “Slothfart,” the orc insisted.

  She rolled her eyes.

  I looked to see her name. “And you’re – Jevari?”

  “Yeah, but you can call me Jen. Not like the Arabic for genie – Jen as in Jennifer,” she said, and stuck out her hand.

  I didn’t get the genie joke, but I reached out and shook her hand anyway. Her skin was soft and smooth to the touch.

  “Does everybody’s name start with the same letter?” I asked.

  “Yup. Makes it easier to remember.”

  “I’m Russell!” the goblin announced.

  “Not Rotgut?” I asked, reading his ID.

  “Ah, nobody calls anybody by their names in this group,” the goblin said, swiping his steel-plated glove through the air dismissively.

  “I would be happy to role-play – ” Richard the troll started.

  “NO,” everyone else in the group yelled back at him.

  “But it would add so much to the experience.”

  “I don’t want to have to call him ‘Slothfart’ all the time,” Jen the elf said.

  “Just address him as, ‘Hey, you – orc,’” the troll said, pointing at Slothfart.

  “Maybe I’ll just refer to you as ‘Hey, Stick Up Your Ass,’” Slothfart countered.

  “That wouldn’t be entirely inaccurate,” the troll said, then turned back to the elf. “Just think of the immersive nature of the – ”

  “NO,” she said. “If you want to do that, go form up your own group and play with your weirdo programmer friends.”

  “Wait – you guys all play together?!” I asked, stunned. I hadn’t even considered that as an option until about two seconds ago. I figured they were all playing separately and just somehow knew each other.

  The entire group looked at me for a second – and then burst into laughter again.

  “Uh, yeah – what did you think we were doing?” the elf asked.

  My face flushed red with embarrassment – or it would have, if I wasn’t dead.

  “I don’t know, I just… I don’t have any friends in the game, so…” I trailed off.

  “Aw!” the goblin said, and made an actual face of sympathy. “That’s the saddest thing I’ve heard all day, and I have to listen to Seth’s jokes all the time!”<
br />
  “Hey, my jokes are okay!” Slothfart protested, and pointed at Richard the troll. “They’re better than his!”

  “No,” the troll said in a deadpan voice, “that IS inaccurate.”

  The elf and the goblin joined in with the troll, all of them shaking their heads in mock sadness. “No, Richard’s are better. In fact, a third-grader’s are better.”

  “You guys suck,” the orc muttered, then wrapped his tree-sized arm around me. “I’m sure this guy would love my sense of humor.”

  “I’m not so sure of that, and we should probably stop inflicting it on him,” the elf said. “Nice to meet you, Korvos. Maybe we’ll see you around.”

  “Perhaps we should add him to the party,” the troll suggested.

  I looked around in shock. “Wait – there’s a party?”

  The elf frowned at me. “Uh… yeah?”

  “Is it a birthday party, or a surprise party, or – ”

  The entire group howled with laughter again, and my face felt like it was flushing beet red (whether it was or not, I don’t know).

  “Party in my pants!” the orc hooted.

  “I present Exhibit A: a sad, unfunny joke,” the troll said, gesturing to the orc as though he were presenting a case in court.

  “That’s a classic!” the orc yelled.

  “No, a classic would be, ‘The 1980’s called, they want their joke back,’ but I wouldn’t say that, because then I’d be lowering myself to your level.”

  The elf looked at me. “When he said ‘party,’ he meant like a dungeon party.”

  I stared at her blankly.

  She looked dumbfounded. “You do know what a dungeon party is, right?”

  “Is that like… 50 Shades of Grey?” I asked hesitantly.

  The entire group almost fell down on the ground howling with laughter.

  I just smiled uncomfortably, not really understanding what was so funny, but glad they were at least laughing.

  “Wow,” the orc said, wiping a tear from one eye, “you are somethin’, man. How long you been playing?”

  “…about eight hours, I guess?”

  “No – I meant MMORPGs.”

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  Everybody in the group looked at each other in amazement.

  “Massive multiplayer online role-playing games,” Jen the elf said kindly.

  “Is that what this is?” I asked, pointing at the ground like I was talking about the game.