The Hobgoblin Riot
Dominion of Blades, Book II
Matt Dinniman
First Edition
THE HOBGOBLIN RIOT © 2018 by Matt Dinniman
All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. Also, no hippos or polecats were harmed in the production of this book. The author may or may not have abused himself in various ways.
For permissions, please contact [email protected]
Cover art © 2018 by Richard Sashigane
https://www.artstation.com/makingpicsslowly
Formatted by Kody Boye Publishing Services
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Table of Contents
“Jesus, it’s beautiful,”
Note from the Scriptorium Guild.
Author Unknown Note 1.
Part 1
Jonah Note 1
Jonah Note 2
Jonah Note 3
Jonah Note 4
Jonah Note 5
Jonah Note 6
Jonah Note 7
Popper Note 1
Popper Note 2
Popper Note 3
Unknown Note 2
Popper Note 4
Popper Note 5
Popper Note 6
Popper Note 7
Popper Note 8
Part 2
Unknown Note 3.
Popper Note 9
Popper Note 10
Popper Note 11
Popper Note 12
Popper Note 13
Popper Note 14
Popper Note 15
Raj Note 1
Popper Note 16
Unknown Note 4
Jonah Note 8
Jonah Note 9
Jonah Note 10
Gretchen Note 1
Popper Note 17
Jonah Note 11
Gretchen Note 2
Jonah Note 12
Jonah Note 13
Jonah Note 14
Popper Note 18
Jonah Note 15
Popper Note 19
Gretchen Note 3
Popper Note 20
Jonah Note 16
Gretchen Note 4
Gretchen Note 5
Jonah Note 17
Popper Note 21
Jonah Note 18
Popper Note 22
Jonah Note 19
Part 3
Unknown Note 5
Popper Note 23
Gretchen Note 6
Popper note 24
Popper Note 25
Popper Note 26
Jonah Note 20
Jonah Note 21
Jonah Note 22
Jonah note 23
Jonah Note 24
Jonah Note 25
Jonah Note 26
Raj Note 2
Gretchen Note 7
Jonah Note 27
Popper Note 27
Jonah Note 28
Gretchen Note 8
Popper Note 28
Jonah Note 29
Popper Note 29
Jonah Note 30
Jonah Note 31
Popper Note 30
Epilogue
Author’s Note:
I suspect most people don’t read author’s notes, especially long ones, so I’ll keep this short. This book is out a few months after I promised. Sorry about that. However, here’s a plot twist:
What you currently hold in your hands is actually Dominion of Blades Book 2 and Book 3. If you’ll notice, it’s significantly longer than the last one. Here’s why. My original intention was to have the action of Books 2 and 3 happen at the same time. One would be from Popper’s point of view, and the other would be from Jonah’s. As I came to the end of the first draft of Book 2 way back in August of 2017, it became clear that wasn’t going to work. As a result, I’ve combined the two.
(And yes, I’m still going to call the next one Book 3, so as not to be confusing. But it’ll really be Book 4. Shhh. It’ll be our little secret.)
Thanks so much for your time, and thank you from the bottom of my heart for reading.
Maps of the two major locations found within this story may be found on Matt Dinniman’s author page on Facebook.
“Alice: How long is forever?
White Rabbit: Sometimes, just one second.”
― Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland
“Jesus, it’s beautiful,” Smallthunder said. The first mate of The Hibiscus stood watch, sipping coffee out of a paper cup. The blue and green planet of Arcadia swirled on the view screen.
Science Officer Conestoga studied the readouts of the probe. The planet looked almost identical to Earth, only with the continents and water all jumbled up. And without that filthy brown streak in the upper atmosphere, she thought. The screen flashed, numbers populating the analysis. She sighed with relief. It all checked out. Green across the board. It was beautiful. She looked up from the report to see the entire bridge watching her.
She was supposed to report only to Captain Barnes, but he was currently asleep.
“How’s it looking?” Wallis asked, peering over his shoulder at Conestoga. The engineer knew the Captain’s order just as well as she did. She caught the eyes of the XO who gave her the slightest nod.
She smiled at Wallis and gave him a thumbs up. The bridge broke out in applause.
“Commander, when are we waking up the main science team?” Wallis asked.
“In five days,” Smallthunder said. The large man made a show of rubbing his eyes as if something was in them. The man had been out of stasis for almost two weeks now, and Conestoga didn’t think he’d slept once the entire time. He certainly hadn’t slept last night. She’d woken up next to him, and he’d been sitting up in his bunk, staring out the porthole. He hadn’t even acknowledged her as she gathered her items and fled back to her quarters. The man was a machine. They’d said he’d been a marine before joining the navy, taking part in the lunar skirmishes with China.
She’d slept with him twice now. The first time had been about 6,000 years ago, during their fifth, three-day rotation. The second time was last night. He was oddly emotionless, bordering on robotic. It was only during the throes of passion where he showed any emotion at all. He’d, absurdly, told her he’d loved her last night. She’d fallen asleep in his arms while he stroked her hair. When she awakened several hours later, it was as if it had never happened.
“Sir, I’m receiving a message precursor from home base,” the communications officer said. “ETA, seven minutes.”
“It’s about time,” Smallthunder said. “Alice, Gemma, please authenticate.”
Conestoga wanted to learn earth’s fate just as much as anybody else, but she was almost afraid to know. They either pulled through or they didn’t. She was almost more afraid to hear that everything had turned out fine, that the entire trip to save humanity had been for nothing. Humans were alive and well and thriving.
Alice’s soothing voice came over the speaker. “The message is authenticated. Message sent three years, 22 days post departure. Decoding now. Six minutes and 28 seconds until it is ready.”
“Confirmed,” Gemma said. Gemma—the tactical AI—had a more commanding voice, louder than Alice. Conestoga startled at the sound.
LPE Daniels entered the cockpit, carrying a tablet. He worriedly showed some numbers to Smallthunder. Conestoga had only known the wormy propulsion engineer for a grand total of a month—albeit a month spread over many thousand years worth of three-day shifts—and she did not like him
at all. The man was continually worrying or complaining about something. He spent the rest of his energy creeping on the female crewmates, Conestoga included.
Last night at chow he’d whined for an hour straight about how he’d been stuck as a blackjack dealer in the game. No one was sympathetic. Conestoga had been a chimney sweep for the alchemist’s guild. Captain Barnes had been a barmaid at a brothel. Not everyone could luck out like Wallis had. He’d been on an airship crew. His cycle had been almost three years. He’d actually enjoyed his time in the game.
Smallthunder looked up at the ceiling. “Alice, why aren’t we making the correction now?”
Alice seemed exasperated. While the other two ship AIs—Waldo and Gemma—both retained their no-nonsense, emotionless attitude, Alice—the primary systems and navigation AI—seemed to have developed an actual personality over the course of the voyage. “As I explained to Daniels earlier, it will be more efficient to make the correction two hours and three minutes from now.”
Smallthunder shrugged and handed the tablet back to Daniels, who sighed, muttering something about protocols.
“Do you think we’ll get a notification about the main colony fleet in the message?” Wallis asked. Conestoga knew Wallis had a wife and three kids scheduled for the next boat. Her own sister was supposed to be on one of the colony ships also.
“I hope so,” Daniels said, turning. “My son is on there.”
“Really?” Conestoga said, genuinely surprised. “I didn’t know you had kids.”
“The message is ready,” the communications officer said. “It appears to be captain’s eyes only.”
“Very well,” Smallthunder said. “Go wake him up.”
“Yes, sir.”
The officer was gone for several minutes as they nervously waited. Daniels chewed on his nails, lingering on the bridge. Wallis drummed on his console. The rest pretended to work. This was it. First confirmation of what had happened to the world after they left.
The message was only three years post departure, true. But the world had seemed to be on the brink. They were expecting more messages at 10, 15, 20, and 25 years as well. All of those messages should arrive one after another over the next few days. Conestoga was a biologist not a physicist, and she only had a basic grasp of the science behind how they slung the packets from Earth to Arcadia. It was hard to wrap your mind around it.
The lights dimmed. They all looked at each other in surprise. That had never happened before.
Waldo’s male voice came over the loudspeaker, suddenly, unexpectedly, even more jarring than Gemma’s. “AI Alice has been taken offline. It appears her primary stack was melted via a burst originating from AI Gemma. I have removed Gemma’s access to the primary network, but she is currently attempting to regain control. It is unclear if I will be successful in keeping her out.”
“Waldo, explain,” Smallthunder barked.
“What the fuck?” Wallis said.
Six soldiers, all from the medical team burst onto the bridge. Conestoga recognized a few of them. One was VanPelt, the man who had helped her out of stasis the last time. He’d told her a funny story about how he’d sneaked his cocker spaniel onto the ship. The dog was somewhere hidden, in its own special stasis pod. She also recognized Isabella Farooqi, another one of the hospital corpsmen.
All six of the medical officers were armed.
“What is the meaning of this?” Smallthunder demanded.
“I’m so sorry,” Farooqi said.
Note from the Scriptorium Guild.
The following pages are a collection of writings from the former King Jonah and his most-trusted companions, written in the days before the Great Cataclysm. These pages were delivered via messenger, postage paid by one Master Gold from the town of Icardi, country Dace. Included with these writings was payment for publication and distribution similar to King Jonah’s original work, one Dominion of Blades.
Like King Jonah’s previous book, most of these notes are incomprehensible gibberish to all but those deemed Awakened. Be assured these notes, while several years old at the time of publication, have been copied rune for rune. All notes have been published in the order they were presented, as requested by Master Gold. The author of the individual letters, when known, is indicated at the start of each section.
Master Bledsoe of the Scriptorium Guild, Grandeur.
This third edition of The Hobgoblin Riot has been compiled by Master Fritz of the Scriptorium Guild, Kosil. Changes from previous editions are noted within the text.
Author Unknown Note 1.
Appears to be written by a half-ogre named Elijah.
Well, shit.
The raid started with 1,500 players, and we were down to 30. I’d been a lucky motherfucker so far, but it would not last much longer. That last hour had been brutal. The lightning towers just past the prison were like a kick in the balls, killing most of us in seconds. I’d only survived because of my boots, which had an Insulation enchantment. Before that, we’d been ambushed by a group of about 100 hobgoblins, screeching and frothing at the mouth on their beetle and spider mounts. It’d been a quick, bloody battle that had killed many more of us than it should have.
Those of us who remained were battered, tired, and tapped out of potions. We’d made it further into the spiral than most parties did, but I knew we wouldn’t last much longer. I wouldn’t last much longer, that was for sure. I was the only half-ogre left in the group, and I loomed over everyone else. I felt exposed, like a glistening, wiggly worm popping out of the dirt on a Sunday morning.
“Incoming!” someone shouted, and we all hit the deck as the wail of inbound artillery filled the air. The ground quaked as massive, flaming rocks crashed against the streets of Castellane. Walls crumbled around us, and shouting rose. Several grayed-out notifications scrolled by as party members left the game.
Next to me, Monobrow Sam cursed as blood spewed from where his left arm used to be.
“Damn it all to hell,” my friend said, downing a healing potion, his last. “That ruined my bracer.” I watched as my friend’s arm regrew. “Just a quarter of a mile more, and we hit the safe room.”
Sam was delusional. Even if we made it to the entrance to the Catacombs, then what? We’d be able to rest and buy a few more potions. Theoretically, we could wait four hours and see if the next group made it this far, and we could join up with them. But I had to work in the morning, and the last thing I needed was to stay up all night. I’d promised Juliette I’d be out by midnight, and I knew it had to be pushing 11 P.M. already.
“Keep moving!” a man shouted from the front of the ragged group. He was a dwarfish barbarian wearing scorched furs. The name floating over his head read Slytherinyourmom. The rest of us groaned and jumped to our feet, following the dwarf as we jogged down the wide, rubble-strewn boulevard.
I clutched my sword tightly and held my kite-shaped shield against my chest. This stretch of the spiral didn’t contain any apparent defenses, though we remained vulnerable to the long-range artillery and the occasional lucky shot from the Sentinel Tower.
“Wait,” a texugo warden called. The woman’s pet, a black panther, hissed a warning.
“Stop! Trap!” another female voice called. This came from the auric rogue jogging a few steps in front of me.
Slytherinyourmom either didn’t hear or reacted too slowly. His foot hit the pressure plate, and that dreaded sound, the loud, gun-cocking click echoed through the street. We all stopped dead.
The ground around the dwarf exploded upward in a geyser of rock and blood.
Player Slytherinyourmom (Level 64, Barbarian, Dwarf) has left the game.
Dozens of fat babies with wings and fangs burst from the crater, zipping toward us. The pudgy, red monsters wailed as they corkscrewed through the air, claws out.
“Gloom cherubs!” someone yelled as the biting little assholes covered him.
I smashed one with my shield, and it splattered against the steel like a rotten tomato. I cleaved a s
econd in half. Experience notifications started flying.
They kept coming and coming as if that trap had opened a portal to hell.
“Shit, shit!” Monobrow Sam called. He’d stupidly pulled up a magic shield around himself. These things used a physical attack, and the blue shield did nothing. He had one cherub on the back of his robe, biting down furiously. Sam danced around as if he’d caught on fire. He panic-cast Raise Dead, and a few of the dead cherubs around our feet twitched. It would be of no use. We were fucked.
Warning! Your connection is unstable. Retrying in 3… 2…
Shit! Now? I sliced through the air with my sword, but my blade cut through the gloom cherub like it wasn’t there. Damnit! Another brownout? Pittsburgh had been experiencing the occasional loss of electricity lately, and it had been getting worse. The apartment had battery backup, but my rig pulled too much juice for me to plug into the red outlets. The super watched our levels like a damn hawk, so I had to do my gaming on the non-essential grid. Without power, the capacitors in my rig wouldn’t keep me connected much longer.
“We’re going sinkhole,” I called out to Monobrow Sam. I jumped back so the interruption wouldn’t take out the other members of the party. Sometimes when your rig crashed, you took out everyone around you. It was common etiquette to shout “sinkhole” and try to run away from the other players. If the power at my place was out, Sam would be kicked also. He lived three apartments down.
“I’m fine,” Monobrow Sam called, rushing away from me. He wasn’t fine. Two more of the little fuckers had latched onto him. He’d be down at any moment. I barely had time to wonder why I was going sinkhole when he wasn’t. My vision flickered.
…
Error. Warning. Neural cradle interfere…
A shredding pain crashed against my mind as I was cruelly peeled away from the VR. This felt like an emergency eject, but worse. My brain ripped, like stuck together and dried pages of a book being forced apart. What the hell was going on? My head screamed in agony, and twin flames roared behind my eyes. My arms and legs tingled as the digital tendrils of the computer system disconnected from my nerves.
The Hobgoblin Riot: Dominion of Blades Book 2: A LitRPG Adventure Page 1
