“Now!” Roark croaked at Kaz.
The feather-banded Changeling sprinted out of the alcove and down the corridor as Roark rushed the archer. PwnrBwner_007 managed to get off one arrow, an off-balance shot that twanged into the wall behind Roark. Then Roark was too close for a bow. His falcata might not have been shiny and new like their weapons, but it was perfectly balanced. It swung with the force of a full-sized ax, but sliced through the air like the small sword it was. Roark slashed at PwnrBwner_007’s ankles, opening a gash in his right boot and tripping the flustered archer.
PwnrBwner_007 went down in a jumble of arrows and cursing. Roark ducked under dual blows from Dude_Farkowitz’s swords and dashed off down the corridor after Kaz.
Shouts of “Little turd!” and “Get him!” followed behind.
The thud of running boots and clanking armor rang out behind Roark. He willed his stumpy, mismatched legs to run faster, but he could feel the raiders catching up, their long strides eating up the distance with ease.
Kaz appeared in the doorway at the end of the hall. When he saw Roark coming, his eyes opened wide and he started shaking his head.
“No, Master, there’s—”
Roark blew past Kaz into the room.
“—no way out,” Kaz finished with a gulp.
The room was barely larger than a cell, and Kaz was right, it was a dead end. Roark searched the walls, floor, and ceiling frantically, but found only unyielding stone. Nothing to hide behind.
The rog slammed to a stop outside the door, grabbing the elf before he barreled inside.
“Wait, do you think they’re some kind of trap?” she asked.
“On level one of, like, the newbiest dungeon on the northern coast?” the elf scoffed.
“I mean, have you ever seen mobs run like that before? There’s got to be something special about them.”
“Naw, look at them, Kel—no elites, nothing.”
“But that one’s got a weapon,” the rog insisted. “When have you ever seen a Changeling with a weapon? Those little jerks use teeth and claws, period. Plus, look at their tags—Roark? Kazko? That’s straight-up quest fodder.”
“So, they’re quests,” PwnrBwner_007 said, elbowing past the elf and rog. “Who cares? Let’s waste them, and we’ll wiki who to collect our reward from later.”
Shrugging in silent agreement, the larger two warriors followed the archer into the room.
Roark swallowed hard as they fanned out, trying to herd him and Kaz into a corner. Roark knew from long years of combat experience that he couldn’t let himself be cornered. He had to take out the biggest threat and hope that would open up an avenue of escape. The archer again, then. He was the only one who could cut them down from a distance without taking any damage and the one who was blocking the best angle to the door.
Roark lunged at PwnrBwner_007, swinging his rusty falcata. An arrow thudded into the meat of his leg, making it weak with pain. The filigreed vial appeared in his vision, nearly a sixth of the red liquid draining away in a flash. But at the same moment, his blade chopped into the archer’s wrist. Roark spun on his uninjured leg, slicing across PwnrBwner_007’s guts this time and knocking his bow out of the way.
“Punk-ass little growler!” PwnrBwner_007 shouldered his bow and drew a spike-studded mace and a fragile-looking rapier from his belt.
Roark darted in for another blow while the human was vulnerable, knocking off a fraction of PwnrBwner_007’s already disappearing red bar.
“Eat steel!” the former archer screamed, taking a massive overhand swipe with the mace.
Roark backpedaled. He tried to catch his balance, but PwnrBwner_007 pressed his advantage, slicing the rapier through the air after him.
Behind Roark, Kaz cried out in pain, surprising him. He’d forgotten he wasn’t fighting alone here. There was another Changeling to worry about. Another Changeling basically helpless and fighting two well-armored and heavily armed warriors. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Kaz’s rapidly draining red bar flashing a critical warning.
A spark of panic ignited in Roark’s mind. Kaz was the only creature he’d gotten any answers out of since the portal dumped him off here, and there was no telling if this world would resurrect the Changeling as it had him. He had no idea what the rules were for Greater Vassals, and the only creature he could ask was about to be killed.
In his moment of distraction, the spiked mace slammed into the back of Roark’s head, knocking him flat. Sparkling white worms squirmed in the corners of his vision. He blinked, stunned. His filigreed vial was three-quarters empty, and his falcata was gone.
PwnrBwner_007 stood over him, raising the mace for a killing blow.
If ever there was a time for desperate measures, this was it. With one black claw, Roark carved a spell into the flesh of his left arm. Cantrips worked in flesh were dangerous, and he ran the risk of casting its deadly effects upon his own body, but it was all he could think to do.
The air within ten feet compresses rapidly, then ignites.
The letters were clumsy from his dazed state and awkward from the stubborn resistance of his leathery blue hide, but Roark punctuated them as the mace fell. He squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the cantrip to backfire and his entire body to combust, showering the walls with red.
A boom and a flash of light shook the cell.
When Roark opened his eyes, the archer lay on the floor, the last of the man’s red bar draining away. It flashed as it hit zero. PwnrBwner_007 was dead.
Roark tried to rise. He’d killed before when forced to and knew that getting up would be that much harder once the weight of what he’d done crashed down on him. But his legs wouldn’t hold him, and he dropped back to the floor in a heap. His own filigreed vial was dangerously low—barely a sliver of red remained. The cantrip must have taken it out of him. Something to remember for the future. Cast too advanced a spell in blood and he’d be dead, too.
Stumbling and lurching, Roark managed to regain his feet. On the opposite side of the cell, Kaz had picked up his rusty falcata and was laying into the downed elf.
Close by, the rog staggered drunkenly and blinked her yellow eyes. At least Roark wasn’t the only weakened one—her red bar was nearly gone as well. He launched himself at her muscular shoulders, biting and ripping with tooth and claw. She dropped her sword and tried to tear him off, but Roark slashed the remaining red from her bar before she could extricate him.
She fell to the floor, dead, a look of disbelief frozen on her green-skinned face.
Roark spat, suddenly aware of the coppery taste of blood in his mouth. That little bit of animal savagery was going straight into the nightmare vault.
Golden light flared in a halo around Roark, and an ascending chime sounded from nowhere. Strength returned to his limbs, and the aches and pains of the battle smoothed away in a rush of warmth and vitality. As he watched, his filigreed vial refilled itself completely with the mysterious red liquid.
[LEVEL UP!] a line of glowing golden text shouted at him.
“We won?” Kaz mumbled at his side. He shook his head, sending the feathers in his leather band bobbing with confusion. “But Kaz never wins. Kaz always dies. Kaz has never leveled up before. What do we do now, Master?”
“First, I already told you, I’m not your master,” Roark said, brushing his hands off. “I’ve got no taste for kings or tyrants, mate. I’m just Roark. That’s it.”
“Roark,” Kaz grunted, nodding slowly. “Roark,” he said more slowly, tasting the word. “What must we do now, Roark?”
“Now, I ask you a lot of questions and you teach me everything. If I’m going to survive on this world long enough to find my way back home, then I need to know how this place works.” He glanced down at the cantrip etched into his arm, greenish Changeling blood oozing from the letters. “And I’m going to need some supplies.”
EIGHT:
Troll Taboo
Roark rubbed the back of his neck, feeling the hairless flesh of a Chang
eling rather than the scruff of short-cropped hair he was used to, and stared down at the bodies. It’d been kill or be killed, and he wasn’t sorry that he’d won. It just took a few moments to settle with taking a life. As it settled, Roark sized up the archer. The elf and rog were both comically oversized, but the human…
Roark lifted PwnrBwner_007’s right leg and tugged at his boot.
Kaz gasped. “What is Roark doing?”
“It’s not as if he’s going to need it,” Roark said, a touch defensively. “This citadel is a lightning rod for raids. I’ve been in this world less than a day and I’ve already been through two. We’re both going to need some weapons and armor if we want to survive.”
Ignoring Kaz’s incredulous stare and gaping jaw, Roark turned back to the task at hand. A grimoire page opened on his left, this time listing the items currently on the dead man’s corpse—two gold pieces, a Slender Rapier of the Falcon, and a pair of Leather Boots—while his own Inventory opened on the right. Roark concentrated on the Leather Boots. They promptly leapt from PwnrBwner_007’s page into Roark’s Inventory.
“Efficient,” he murmured, selecting the remaining items. And without the usual mess that came with looting the corpse of a fallen enemy.
He dismissed PwnrBwner_007’s now blank page, then turned to the rog and began emptying her Inventory. Two more gold pieces and a Kaiken Dagger.
“No,” Kaz said, his bulging eyes blinking wildly. The feathers on his head shuddered as he shook his head. “No, no, no. Trolls cannot loot heroes. Heroes can loot other heroes they kill, yes. But Trolls? No! What will the heroes do when they return, Roark? They will have no items to retrieve!”
Roark dismissed the rog’s Inventory and turned to Kaz before the Changeling became too agitated.
“You’re saying they’ll be back?” he asked. “This world resurrects their kind as well?”
Kaz nodded, wringing his hands. “In three hours, they will respawn and return for their belongings, but what will they retrieve if Roark takes it all?”
“Is there a way to ensure they stay dead?” Roark asked, frowning down at the bodies. “A sealing or ritual, perhaps?”
“No,” Kaz said, shaking his head. “Hearthworld is not the heroes’ home. The heroes dwell outside Hearthworld and only venture here to fight or explore. They cannot be forever-dead here.”
“So, they’re interdimensional as well.” Roark wondered whether the same rules of infinite resurrection applied to him. He gestured at Kaz. “What about you natives? Changelings and Shambling Revenants and the like? Are you resurrected after death?”
“Kaz respawns every two hours if he dies. Same for all low levels.”
Talking about something other than looting the heroes’ bodies appeared to make the Changeling forget his distress at Roark flouting decorum. Roark glanced at the elf’s unlooted corpse wondering what sorts of armor and how many gold pieces it held, but decided the best course of action would be to keep Kaz talking a while longer before sending him back into a panic.
“Before, you said there were exalted levels. How does one get from here”—Roark pointed at his birdlike chest—“to there?”
“Difficult,” Kaz said with a grimace. “Very difficult. Trolls must win to level up. Kill the heroes and survive. Kaz has never done it before. But now that Kaz leveled, he will be more difficult to kill. And to level up again, he will have to kill even more heroes. Each time Troll levels, he must win even more to level again.”
This information tumbled through Roark’s head, interlocking like gears.
“It’s an exponential system, then,” he said. “The more one advances, the harder it becomes to advance again.”
“Even more difficult because until Kaz reaches level four, if he dies, all levels are gone.” Kaz slashed his hands through the air in an X to demonstrate the loss.
“But if you do reach level four?” Roark prompted.
Kaz’s eyes shone.
“Evolution,” the Changeling whispered reverently. “Kaz could become a Thursr. Strong, mighty. No longer puny and weak.”
“Thursr?” Roark asked.
“Roark has not seen the Evolutions? It is in the Character screen.”
“I must’ve missed it.”
With a thought, Roark opened the grimoire and found the page marked Character. At the bottom, the page was dog-eared and marked with a hooked arrow as if to invite a page turn. He focused on the arrow and a new page appeared.
A chart showed the potential evolutions Trolls could take if they survived long enough. At level four, they could become Thursrs, the musclebound brutes of Trollkind, and would continue on down that path for the remainder of their lives, gaining strength as long as they continued to level up. If they waited until level six to evolve, they could choose instead to become Reavers, a sort of Troll assassin or rogue with some access to Infernal magick.
Both interesting, but neither Roark’s style. He moved on to the third evolution. If he held off evolving and somehow survived to level eight, he could become a Jotnar. These were the Troll ruling class, the most powerful, able to wield the strongest Infernal magicks.
Roark closed out of the grimoire.
“Have you ever known a Jotnar, Kaz?” he asked.
“Oh yes, Dungeon Lord Azibek the Cruel is a Jotnar Exarch,” Kaz said, glancing from side to side as if searching for any ears that might overhear and carry his words along to the Dungeon Lord. “Azibek is a great and mighty ruler. Azibek’s infernal power fills the citadel and all cower before him. It is an honor to do the Dungeon Lord’s bidding without hesitation, and all who do not receive a just end.”
Roark had seen the same anxiety in the faces of the people of Traisbin as they sang the praises of the Tyrant King. As if they could protect their families from destruction if only they sounded loyal enough.
For the time being, Roark decided he would leave the subject of the Jotnar Exarch alone. At the moment, Kaz looked as if a good sneeze would stop his heart. Anyway, the Changeling would have enough anxiety to weather when Roark finished the job of looting the elf.
He scratched his chin—as smooth and stubble-less as a newborn’s, but significantly more leathery—considering the possibilities of this new world.
“So, if I’m to survive, I need to keep leveling up.”
“Yes,” Kaz said.
“And to do that, I must kill these interdimensional heroes.”
“Yes.” Kaz nodded.
Roark paused, forehead furrowed in thought. “And what if I kill other Trolls or monsters?” he asked. “Do they likewise allow me to level up?”
Kaz shook his head. “No, no, no. Heroes. It is the only way.”
“Very well. Then I’m going to need better equipment than teeth and claws,” Roark said. “You are, too, if you want to make it to Thursr. And the only way we can get that is by taking items from the bodies of the heroes we kill.”
Kaz stared at Roark for several long seconds without blinking, then slowly raked his claw-tipped fingers down both sides of his wide head.
“Glad you see it my way.” Roark turned to the elf and quickly emptied his Inventory, coming up with one piece of gold and a Dented Buckler.
With that done, he went through his Inventory and selected the Leather Boots:
╠═╦╬╧╪
Leather Boots
Armor Rating: 8
Durability: 35 of 35
Level Requirement: 1
╠═╦╬╧╪
They appeared on the rotating Changeling simulacrum meant to represent him, and immediately Roark felt their soft leather interior on his misshapen feet. They fit perfectly, no doubt due to the inherent magick of Hearthworld. Roark tried selecting the elf’s buckler, but received a notice instead.
[You have insufficient Strength to wield Dented Buckler.]
[Dented Buckler requires 12 Strength.]
He pulled up the weapon and examined it in closer detail:
╠═╦╬╧╪
&n
bsp; Dented Buckler
Defense: 29
Durability: 19 of 29
Level Requirement: 1
Strength Requirement: 12
╠═╦╬╧╪
Interesting. Next, he selected the rog’s Dagger.
[You have insufficient Dexterity to wield Kaiken Dagger.]
[Kaiken Dagger requires 13 Dexterity.]
Strength and Dexterity and numbers. More puzzle pieces clicked into place. He returned to his Character page. So this was the numeric quantification of his abilities.
A new notice appeared.
[You leveled up! You have 10 undistributed Stat Points!]
Roark glanced from the Stats on the right—all at a base of ten points—to the Attributes on the left. There was no way of telling how they affected one another without distributing his points, and he hated the idea of wasting them for the sake of experimentation. Luckily, at the bottom was a query: Accept changes? Yes/No
For the next several minutes, Roark tried out different combinations of Stats. First, he tried dumping them all into Intelligence. None of his Attributes changed, but the Infernali Magick and Magick Regen shot up. He shifted them all to Strength and watched as his Weapon Damage, Attack Damage, and Critical Hit Damage rose. Dexterity came next, and with it, an increased chance of Critical Hit and a faster Movement Rate. Constitution changed his Base Armor and Armor Rating and raised his Health and H-Regen.
It couldn’t be an all-or-nothing response, then. He set to fiddling about with them, tweaking and refining until he’d reached an optimal distribution. Because it was critical that he survive long enough to level up again, he invested three points apiece in Constitution, Strength, and Dexterity, and finally one to Intelligence. He also noticed that his World Stone Authority had increased to 1 / 2. His Player Class had changed as well, he realized. Where before it had said None, it now read .error (): WϪRL0CҞ.
He inspected his Character page one final time, then selected Yes to Accept Changes.
When Roark closed out of the grimoire this time, Kaz looked as if he’d been waiting for him.
Rogue Dungeon Page 6
