The Lost City: The Realms Book Two: (An Epic LitRPG Series)

by C. M. Carney

  “Gryph. Come back to us.”

  Gryph pushed up through the haze and opened his eyes. He was on the ground lying beside the rejuvenated empyrean tree. Golden light, like the twilight sky over the ocean, emanated from the tree and warmed the room.

  He blinked his eyes clear and saw Tifala and Ovrym looking down upon him. Thoughts of Wick came rushing back to him and he grasped the gnome woman’s small hand. “Tifala, I am so sorry.” Tears welled in her eyes and she nodded and then brought his hand to her lips and kissed it. He stroked her face gently and after a moment she pulled back and turned from him.

  Ovrym helped him to his feet and locked eyes with him. “I too must offer my apologies,” the xydai said, deep sadness staining his voice.

  Gryph shook his head no. “We are not going down that path.” Errat stood behind Tifala and Ovrym, cradling Wick’s body in his arms. Grimliir had ditched his goliath rig and stood by his son’s side, barely coming up to the massive warborn’s waist.

  Barrendiel knelt next to Sillendriel’s body, and the Steward Gartheniel had a steadying hand on the ranger captain’s trembling shoulders. Numerous elves stood behind them exchanging dull, shell shocked looks, while a cadre of warborn looked at everyone else in confusion.

  Gryph stumbled from pain and fatigue and Ovrym handed him his spear. Gryph gave him a nod of thanks before leaning on it for support. He looked around and found all eyes were on him. He sighed, his shoulders slumping as the true weight of the burden of leadership fell on him. I never wanted any of this.

  He looked at the body in Errat’s arms and the reality of Wick’s death hit him. He wanted to comfort her, but no words would come. Tifala placed a hand on his forearm and smiled through her tears. He patted her hand lightly and then turned to the others.

  “I know the thoughts that plague you, because I am thinking them. I know the anger and the pain you feel because I feel it as well. I also know this, that together we will heal, but we will never forget.” His eyes fell on Barrendiel and then turned back to Tifala. “None of you were responsible for your actions while the black fog had you. You will not believe that, you will not feel that, not today, and perhaps not for many moons, but deep inside, where our lost loved ones will always live, you know this to be true.”

  Gryph knelt down and picked up Myrthendir’s broken skull. “Only one was responsible, and he is dead. But that is not punishment enough. While we will never forget what he did this day, we will strike his name from our chronicles, wipe him from the annals of history. Today, right now, is the last time the name Myrthendir will be spoken aloud. From this day forth, he will only be the Aberrant. Let this be a lesson to all betrayers, all murderers, you will not be lauded or worshipped or celebrated. Your name will be forgotten. You will be nothing but dust.”

  There were many wails of pain from the crowd, but there were also many nods and cries of agreement. The deep sound of a gong flowed through him and a prompt popped into his vision.

  You have made a Decree.

  Decrees are statements of such truth and potency that the motive power of the Realms coalesces around them. While not binding, Decrees are considered universal truths and nearly all sentient beings in the Realms will abide by the Decree.

  From this day until the end of days the name Myrthendir, Prince Regent of Sylvan Aenor, will not be spoken. He will henceforth be referred to as the Aberrant. No histories will record his name and soon his name will be forgotten, lost to the aether.

  “What the hell?” Gryph muttered to himself. Apparently, I need to be careful about what I say. Murmurs of surprise turned to approval and several people came to him and shook hands, clapped him on the shoulder or pulled him into a deep embrace.

  Tifala came to him and pulled him into a tight embrace. “Thank you.” Gryph’s face grew warm and flushed.

  Gryph looked down upon the Aberrant’s skull and a prompt popped into his vision.

  You have defeated a legendary opponent known to history as the Aberrant.

  Do you wish to use your Divine Perk Assimilation?

  YES?/NO?

  Assimilation was the first Divine Perk he’d chosen when his Godhead had evolved. Once per week it enabled him to select a single skill from a defeated enemy and make it his own. Not only would he learn a new skill, but it would also be leveled instantly to one third the level of the defeated enemy.

  It was an incredibly powerful ability. He had used it only once to date, on Ouzerio the Barrow King, and he had not only gained Soul Magic, but the Apprentice Level tier ability Soul Bind, the same ability that had enabled Gryph to defeat the Aberrant. Once again, he was amazed at how the smallest decisions in life, could have unforeseen, and in this case critically important, consequences.

  Assimilation was capable of assimilating a skill from anyone Gryph defeated but the perk seemed to have some kind of intelligence behind it, and suggested the best times to use the ability. The motive power of the Realms, perhaps? Gryph thought. Whatever the hell that is.

  He decided to worry about that mystery at a later date and toggled Yes and a massive amount of information rushed into his mind. The true power the Aberrant possessed astounded him. He had somehow hidden it not only from Gryph, but from everyone else around him, and he’d done so for years.

  The possibilities were overwhelming, so Gryph applied another of the Colonel’s mantras to the task. The rarer the resource, the more potent its power. He scanned all the options and brought two to the fore of his vision. Aetherial Magic and Lore.

  AETHERIAL MAGIC

  Aetherial Magic allows the user to harness the basic building blocks of the Realms. Aetherial Magic focusses on spells that alter, twist or otherwise mold the world around them. It is one of the rarest of all magical affinities and Grandmasters of the sphere are among the most powerful beings in all the Realms.

  Aetherial Magic was an ultra-rare skill that allowed adepts to alter the basic laws of reality. It was the main weapon of the Prime and could well be a game changer on the level of Soul Bind. Gryph suspected that he would face off against the Prime sooner than later and getting a leg up on their weapon of choice could be the difference between life and death.

  LORE

  Every skill in the Realms relies of hidden, secret or specialized knowledge. Lore grants its users a deeper understanding of all things, including all other skills, by granting adepts access to the Sea of Knowledge, an undercurrent of information that twines through the aether.

  Adepts gain bonuses to the progression of all other skills, can uncover hidden knowledge that others would overlook and see connections that others would not make.

  Lore is one of the most closely guarded skills in all the Realms and is only taught by a consecrated loremaster at one of the three Lore Guilds on Korynn.

  Under almost any other set of circumstances he would have rushed to assimilate Aetherial Magic, but two things held his hand. First, he had Errat, who had shown proficiency in Aetherial Magic. Eventually the warborn would reach a level where he could, if he were willing, teach Gryph the skill.

  Second was the option to take Lore. Information was power in every universe, but in the Realms knowledge was literally power. Spells were nothing more than recipes for reordering the world around you. If you had the knowledge in your mind, you could cast the spell. Names also held power. Wick had proven this with both Avernerius and that pain in the ass imp Xeg. He had controlled them, somewhat anyway, because he had known their true names. The description of the actual mechanics of the Lore was vague, but one thing was obvious. Lore was a force multiplier of epic proportions, and that made the choice simple.

  He chose Lore.

  You have learned the skill LORE

  Levels: 1 - 21 - Tier: Apprentice - Skill Type: Passive/Active.

  Lore allows the user to unconsciously tap into the Sea of Knowledge and use information in a more efficient manner than others.

  Lore increases the speed of skill progression by a tier-based multiplier. Lore also ena
bles adepts to get a more refined level of knowledge from books, spell stones, trainers and other methods of learning.

  A slew of other prompts blinked at the corner of Gryph’s vision, but he knew his people needed him. My people? When did I decide they were my people? Oh, fuck me. He opened his eyes, took a deep cleansing breath and spoke.

  “We have entered a new era. We cannot know what the future holds.” His thoughts went to Sillendriel, and then to the rejuvenated empyrean tree. “There is hope that it will be a bright future, but we must not stand idle and let the Realms dictate our destiny. We will make our mark, we will lift our people up and we will destroy anyone who seeks to do us harm.”

  Raucous cheers rose inside the Spire and for the first time in a long time Gryph felt like he belonged somewhere. After a few moments he held up his hands and called for silence. “There will be an endless list of things that need tending to, but now is not the time.” His voice became low and heavy. “Now is the time to bury our dead and mourn. Tend to the injured and the fallen, heal, rest and then we will rebuild.”

  The room cleared, leaving only Gryph, Tifala, Ovrym, Errat, Grimliir, Barrendiel and Gartheniel behind. Once they were alone Gryph bent down and retrieved the Iron Crown. He held it before him, and the gemstone reflected the golden light of the tree in a rainbow cascade.

  He used Identify.

  The Iron Crown

  The Iron Crown was the symbol of the Stone King of the Thalmiir, a symbol of his authority over all the Thalmiir. The first Thalmiir High King Durgath the Doom Bringer crafted it as a symbol of authority and unity after his victory over the last Dragon King. Each of the seven gemstones embedded in the band of cold iron is an Icon that represents the power of each of the seven great Thalmiir kingdoms. The six smaller stones represent the six smaller kingdoms, all subservient to Dar Thoriim as represented by the central luminescent diamond.

  Item Class: Elder Artifact - Item Category: Passive/Active.

  Passive Powers.

  Power(s): Unknown

  Active Powers.

  Power(s): Unknown

  Mana Limit: Unknown Cool Down: Unknown.

  Icons Slotted: 7 of 7.

  Icon Powers: Unknown.

  Gryph took his gaze from the elder artifact and saw looks of apprehension on the faces of those around him. They feared the power of the artifact, and its ability to control the black fog, and rightly so. He looked at Grimliir. “You told me back in Dar Thoriim that you once tried to destroy the black fog.”

  “I did, and I failed miserably,” the burly dwarf artificer said, his mouth turning into a scowl. “The crown and the weapon are symbiotic. Both must be destroyed simultaneously, and nothing I tried was successful. If there is a way to accomplish this herculean task, I do not know it.”

  “We will find it together.” He turned to the rest of the group and held the Iron Crown out to them. “I Vow to all of you here and now that I will destroy both the black fog and the Iron Crown. I ask for your support in this venture.”

  Gryph held the crown out before him and one by one the other members of the group placed their hands on it and made their own Vow. Tifala was last to agree to the Vow, and she demanded additional conditions.

  She turned to Barrendiel. “Do you have a secure place to store the black fog?”

  “I am not the ruler of Sylvan Aenor,” Barrendiel began, only to be cut off by the Steward.

  “Actually captain, by the ancient laws of our people you are the next in line to rule.”

  The captain sputtered and backed away no more interested in the mantle of leadership than Gryph had been. “I cannot.”

  “Yes, you can,” The Steward said. “And I will help you.”

  Barrendiel’s mouth opened, words of complaint and rejection forming on his lips, but then he closed it again and he nodded.

  “Good,” Gartheniel said. “As Steward of Sylvan Aenor, I now pronounce you the Regent of Sylvan Aenor, until the High King returns.”

  Everyone present knew that would never happen, that the burden Barrendiel had just agreed to was for a lifetime. But no further complaints came from the new Regent. “Until his return,” Barrendiel said in a low voice.

  Tifala turned to the new Regent. “Do you have a safe place to store the adamantine cube until we can destroy it?”

  “The Bastion has a vault that will suffice.”

  “Good,” Tifala nodded and turned to Gryph “You will keep the Iron Crown safe until we learn how to destroy it.”

  “You trust me that much?”

  She placed her hands on her stomach and kept her gaze steady.

  “I trust you with my life, and the life of my unborn child.”

  “Child?” Gryph asked, eyes stunned. Tifala nodded, and more tears welled in her eyes. Gryph pulled her to him. “I give you my word that I will do all in my power to protect you and your child.”

  “Thank you Gryph,” she said, wiping tears away and smiling at the others. “I will tend to the wounded.” She bowed her head and walked down the steps of the dais.

  “When did they find the time to …?” Ovrym asked.

  Gryph looked at the xydai with a ‘really dude?’ expression and shook his head.

  “Find the time to do what?” Errat asked. Everyone stopped, grinned and then laughed out loud, a cathartic laugh that meant life would be okay again, some day. “Did I tell a joke?”

  Grimliir led Errat away by the arm and Ovrym and Barrendiel grinned before taking their own leave.

  A prompt popped into Gryph’s vision.

  You have made a Binding Vow to destroy the Black Fog and the Iron Crown.

  Vows are powerful promises made binding. They are enforced by the ancient magics of the Realms and will inflict severe penalties if the terms of the Vow are broken. Gryph, with the aid of Tifala, Ovrym, Errat, Grimliir, Barrendiel and Gartheniel has promised to destroy the Iron Crown and the Black Fog.

  Barrendiel will store the adamantine cube containing the black fog in the Bastion and Gryph will store the Iron Crown in his Soul Bound bag until a means of destroying both artifacts is discovered.

  Difficulty: Herculean - Reward: Unknown - XP: Unknown - Penalty for Failure: Reputation Penalty and possibly the end of free will in all the Realms.

  Gryph returned his attention to the world around him, and saw Gartheniel standing at his side, looking up at the tree. “You made up that part about Barrendiel being next in line, didn’t you?” Gryph asked.

  The Steward smirked and looked up at Gryph. “I did, by law they would name me Regent, but I am a better counselor than leader, and Barrendiel is a born leader, as are you.”

  “I do not want to lead,” Gryph said, his heart heavy with the weight of the unwanted responsibility.

  “That is why you just might make a good one.” Gartheniel walked away before pausing and turning back to Gryph. “I trust you will remain quiet on truth of Barrendiel’s claim to the Regency? Honor will force him to accept the burden, but if he is given a reason to refuse the burden, he will take it.”

  “You have my word,” Gryph grinned, and the Steward nodded and turned away. “Say, Gartheniel, you wouldn’t want my job, would you?”

  “Not if you offered me another 2,000 years of life,” he said with a grin.

  “Well shit.” Gryph couldn’t be sure, but as Gartheniel walked away, he thought he heard the Steward snort. Had to be my imagination, he thought with a grin.

  Gryph sighed and walked up to Aurvendiel and smiled as her light bathed over him. Something about Aurvendiel’s rebirth bugged him. Not that he suspected any ill will, any fool who basked in the empyrean tree’s light knew there was not an iota of malice in its wood, but something was off.

  Perhaps it was the blood loss, or the stress of the last battle, but he couldn’t get over the idea that he’d had help. He placed a hand upon the warm bark of her trunk and felt the life thrumming though her. He closed his eyes and eased his will inside.

  Are you in there?

&n
bsp; Epilogue

  Night had fallen again, and the boredom made Lex wonder if he was stuck in another time loop, but this time there was a lot less theft and murder. He’d been leaning against the huge bronze colored doors for so long he suspected the bas relief scenes carved into their surface would be permanently scrawled onto the skin of his back.

  He closed his eyes and started to doze.

  I must protect Gryph, came a voice from the deep recesses of his mind, the part that was programmed for brainless loyalty. Lex’s eyes snapped open. “Oh, mother loving abyss, I don’t even like the guy that much.”

  “Like who?” Vonn, the shifty rogue turned religious guru, asked.

  “I wasn’t talking to you.”

  “You do know we’re the only ones here, right?”

  “Shut up,” Lex grumbled, then stood, walked in an aimless circle. “I’m bored.”

  “They say boredom is the province of a weak mind.”

  “Do ‘they’ or did you just make that up?”

  Vonn shrugged and pulled his hood over his eyes. “Why don’t you get some exercise, it helps clear the mind.”

  Lex stood and kicked the door several times, doing no damage to the ancient, and apparently impenetrable, gates. The visage of a regal, if smug, Thalmiir stared back at him without a care in the world.

  “I cannot believe those assholes in Harlan’s Watch thought I was one of you pompous dicks,” Lex said to the noble dwarf.

  “Oh, they didn’t, I assure you,” Vonn said. “The Thalmiir were a noble people of great wisdom and artifice. Those folks back in town thought you were from the Grumling Clan.”

  “Didn’t you say that Grumlings were all thieves and murderers who never bathed?”

  “Yes,” Vonn said and sighed, perfectly at ease.