Demonborn's Fjord

by Dante Sakurai

  “My guildie told me. He started with The Orc. He overheard some of the chiefs.”

  “He better be careful. Did you hear what the news anchor said?”

  “Yeah, he’s fine. The clan he spawned into is apparently ignoring that order.”

  “Oh, phew!”

  “No worries.” He laughed like a boisterous German. “By the way, I’m Hugo. He’s Gunther. We’re going fishing. You interested?”

  Exhaling, Tasha tried to not roll eyes, wolfed down the rest of the pie, and pushed her way out of the tavern with elbows prodding her about every other step. Pricks. NPCs and adventurers, mostly adventurers, crowed these nicely-paved streets and beautifully designed medieval style buildings. Fun for a while, but it had gotten old very quickly, especially for her.

  Why couldn’t she be with Gab right now? It wasn’t like her to just elope on ahead, but ever since Rowan had nicked her from the family… she’d grown distant. The last set of private messages had been left unanswered. Glancing at the lonely chatbox, Tasha sniffed petulantly. She added yet another to bottom of the pile.

  Tasha NaMuso (To Gabby LeMort): You and Rowan were on basically the equivalent of national television btw. The King’s royal guard wants you for deserting the their faction.

  No reply—not for over a minute. Just was happening up there?

  Negative thoughts sprouted, so Tasha simply gulped sweet spittle and headed off to train, walking with a peasant’s posture to avoid attention. This was a dangerous world, a game for adults. A bit wild for her tastes, but so far, she liked it.

  Above all else, Gab was loving this trip to fantasy land—without Tasha. But with a few dozen more silver coins in the pouch, Tasha was going be with her again. The way it should be, honestly. Two sisters adventuring, looking out of each other at every nook and cranny of the world. Like the good old days when they had traveled overseas.

  Tasha gave the chatbox one last mean glance, then stepped up her pace, rounded a neatly-trimmed hedged corner toward the western gate and mines. Oak tree leaves brushed her head, ruffling in the cold wind, so life-like. Beyond the oaks, a group of men and a few women respawned among tombstones within folds of golden-white mana. They had the faces of defeat.

  Flashbacks of pain-filled deaths at the claws of overgrown scorpions refused to go away. Tasha sucked on her lips in an effort to suppress those memories. If anything, the game’s pain reduction systems needed significant tweaks. Only masochists could enjoy this. She was no masochist; however, she was wasn’t going to spend even more credits on this game. That headset had come at a low, low price of a week of her salary. So off the mines it was. Mithril ore was easy silver, rising in demand despite the influx of players.

  “Hey,” said a lively voice. “Watcha up to?”

  Tasha flinched and glared at the redhead. Ayla Wintersbane again. They had met in the mines and partied up twice. “Are you still following me? I told you I’m planning to go off on my own soon.”

  Stunning green eyes narrowed so subtly. “Off on your own up the mountains? You found a world dungeon entrance?”

  “No…” Tasha was exactly sure what a world dungeon was. “Just the mines again.”

  “Oh. So am I. Party up? We make a good duo.”

  “Um, no? We don’t. You got me killed twice.”

  “Not my fault. Not yours either,” Ayla said as an alert appeared.

  Ayla Wintersbane has invited you to a party. Do you accept?

  Tasha held in a sigh as her agreeable nature coaxed her into accepting, but she stopped next to a cast iron statue. Her weight slanted onto her other foot. “Alright, what do you want?”

  There was a moment of calculation on Ayla’s features. “I want to know why you’re buying all those tomes. You know profession masters are ten times cheaper.”

  “They are.”

  Ayla stood closer. “It wouldn’t have something to do with your sister, Gabrielle, would it? Something about her being stuck in Trollheim? Hmmmmmmm?”

  Tasha chuckled too awkwardly. “You remember that?” She’d only mentioned in passing once… days ago.

  “Rowan and Gab as in Rowan and Gabby LeMort from the Daily Report?”

  Oh, no. Tasha waved her off. “Gabrielle’s a common name. You’re over-thinking it.” This, obviously, was an award-winning terrible excuse.

  “She started a dark magic Fate, didn’t she? They’re up there doing something wicked.”

  Even Tasha’s best poker face wasn’t going to help here. She nevertheless tried: “Look. You are completely wrong about everything.”

  “Everything? Hmmm.” Ayla’s hand wafted about, then dipped into a magic leather pouch at her waist. She pulled out a Swordsman tome! “So am I wrong in saying you were looking for this for Rowan?”

  Of course, Tasha was an atrocious at poker. Surprise was clear all over her face. “How did you get it? I thought class tomes were rare.” They were sold out on the markets. Swordsman was by far the most popular class, and the local master was coincidentally out of town.

  “I have my methods.”

  “How much do you want for it?”

  “Not for sale.” Ayla smirked a bitch smirk. “Unless you tell me what’s happening with Rowan and Gabby. They’re your friends, aren’t they? And they’re siblings.”

  Ugh. Looks like there was no other choice. Tasha sighed. “Firstly, they are married, and Gab is my younger sister, and—”

  “Married? They look like they could still be teenagers.”

  Tasha mentally face-palmed. “She’s twenty-two. He’s twenty-one.”

  “Married at twenty-one?”

  Groaning, Tasha bit her tongue and refrained from slapping Ayla, figuratively. “So what? And do you want to know what’s up or not? If you do then please, please stop interrupting.” She sniffed bakery air. “So… Yes, they started with a dark Fate, and they’re going to build a settlement up there—”

  “Inside Trollheim? Are they Trolls?”

  “Ah-ta-ta, no interrupting. They’re… humans, and they’re going to build a settlement. They’re working on a Town Hall right now. They just need to mine and smelt some gold for the idol, and I need twenty more silver to buy a portal. That’s all I know. They need tomes, and I’m their courier. Understand?”

  “What? They’re literally doing hardcore survival?”

  “Yes, and that’s all I know.”

  Ayla stared suspiciously for an uncomfortable duration, but she inevitably relented. “What’s their Fate?”

  “Sorry, I promised I wouldn’t tell.”

  “They got a legendary!” she shouted far too loudly. Her eyes were hilariously wide. “Oh, I’m definitely joining up with them. My subs will love this.”

  Whoah. Lots of enthusiasm there! “What if you don’t like them?”

  “Why wouldn’t I? They look like any regular couple. She’s cute, and he looks normal. I’m sure we’d hit it off. What’s the problem?”

  “Well… Rowan is…” Tasha squinted at a pigeon. “He can be very abrasive. He doesn’t get along with many people. Gab’s completely normal though.”

  A broad smile plumped up freckled cheeks. “That’s all? I can handle an asshole, trust me.”

  Tasha somehow wasn’t so sure. “Okay, if you say so. And did you say subs? You have a MyTube channel?”

  “I post videos and do livestreams sometimes. I’m recording right now. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “Oh… Cool. So does Gab. When will you put this up?”

  “This?”

  “Like what we’ve talked about.”

  Ayla laughed. “What do you take me for? Your secrets are safe with me.”

  A silent breath of relief cooled Tasha’s face. “Alright, but make sure to leave out what I said about Rowan. He might…”

  “Get abrasive?”

  “Yes, exactly that.” Tasha laughed a few breaths. “Anywho, I need more mithril ore. Are you coming to the mines?”

  “As if I’d let you out of sight now. You
better not run off again.”

  “Okay, okay. Just you though. We’re starting small for now. Do you have a guild or anything?”

  “Nah, none of my friends are into this stuff.”

  “Neither… apart from Gab and Rowan, obviously.” Tasha frowned. “And I need to log out for a break in like an hour before adventurer fatigue kicks in. Just so you know if I disappear”

  “You bought a headset?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Pfft.” Ayla’s hand waved dismissively. “They’re way overpriced. You should’ve rented one from a gaming cafe.”

  “Yeah… I don’t really feel right using one someone else has.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  “I will.” Tasha started walking again down the cobblestone street. The mines were a ten minute walk away.

  Ayla followed with a carefree stride. “Same here. Where are you from?”

  Just like that, a new friendship was in the making, and more friends were always a positive thing for Tasha. She didn’t mind an extra party member to share painful fun with. Hopefully, Rowan and Gab wasn’t going to mind either. After all, this was a multiplayer game.

  18

  Dawn broke with no drama or pain for Rowan.

  Through gaps in the charred wall, the sun shone warmth onto his straw bedding, which was protecting his precious mate. Her leg and arm were still broken, her skin burned at places, but she was healing at an infuriatingly slow rate.

  Fortunately, her burns were nothing compared to his. But there was little pain now—far less pain compared to the aches that plagued his sleep last night. He could barely feel the injuries. In fact, he felt great after only six hours of sleep.

  Slowly flashing, a peculiar green exclamation icon by his health bar caught his eye. It expanded into a medium-sized window.

  Smart Patch Notes (tailored for your eyes by the gods):

  1. Pain reduction has been amplified at all thresholds for all races, exclusive for adventurers. NPCs retain their previous values.

  2. Magical Insectoid Infestations are now more likely to spawn in underground, indoor, and dirty areas, but are weaker on average to compensate. Insectoid meat is now twice as bitter and half as nutritious.

  3. Mutant Wheat Seeds (legendary rarity) have been added to the game (by the gods) as a new loot drop, which are much easier to cultivate and produce far greater yields with higher sustenance values, but a hidden danger awaits for those who over-plant these.

  More mutant plants. Just what the game needed.

  Silently chuckling, and with utmost care, Rowan sat up against the wall. His shoulder blade ached at the touch, and a wince escaped from the back of his mouth, loud enough to disturb Gabrielle’s slumber. She rolled onto her back, grumbling. Her makeshift bandages chaffed against his burns—more pain. He swore these burns hadn’t been so painful last night. The patch notes, for sure, was pulling a sly one.

  She yawned. “Get me a mug of coffee, kay?”

  “I don’t think this is the right climate for coffee plants.”

  “Huh? What do you—” She giggled. “My leg is broken. Arm too. It’s not that painful anymore.”

  That made for one. He breathed deeply through the nose. In, then out, locking away the constant sting in a far mental cabinet. “Check the patch notes. Green exclamation.”

  Her cat eyes dipped leftward. She stared at the wall for several blinks of the system clock. “Lame. Nothing good.”

  “You’re not excited about the mutant wheat?”

  “Not really.” Another yawn. “Let’s stick to non-mutant crops, kay?”

  “Kay, and how’s your food poisoning?” he remembered to ask.

  “Moderate.”

  He blew chilly morning air. The sting of his burns seemingly alleviated at that. “Good. You think you can travel today? With me carrying you, of course.”

  “Yup. No more vomiting, but I’m really hungry. Minor Malnutrition.”

  “Same here, but I think we can make it back to our camp without collapsing of hunger.” He smoothly stood and scooped her up once more. “Let’s go.” A light tug to the slaves’ mental threads was enough to wake them, but Rowan couldn’t be sure from afar. He heard someone yawn. Zaine?

  In seconds, Faenin was outside the door, wide awake. He’d been assigned night watch duty when he had wanted to spend quality time cuddling with her in bed, poor guy. Hopefully, only a few hours of sleep was enough for Sun Elves. It seemed plenty, those deep eyes focused and free of baggage.

  “Anything to report?” Rowan asked, loosening everyone’s slave bindings once more to autonomy mode.

  Under this regime, during the day they were allowed limited freedoms to keep them happy and sane; they were to take care of their own basic needs and do work where they saw fit. They could speak at will and express emotions. Any actions of rebellion against his rule, however, was restricted, and they were to stay within two hundred yards of Rowan. The only flaw? The definition of rebellious actions was quite possibly open to interpretation. The orders were flimsy at best, suicidal at worst. But Gabrielle was insisting on treating them well, demanding it. He wasn’t going to disappoint her.

  Faenin’s blank face immediately drooped by a fraction. A tired head shake proceeded a yawn. “One deer only.”

  “Was it magical?” Gabrielle quipped. “By the way, how far are we from the Elf cities? How long have you been enslaved for?”

  “Just a regular deer, and the nearest Sun Elf settlement is five hundred leagues south-west of Trollheim capital. Liluth, Luthias, and I have been slaves for two seasons. Our camp was raided. The cousins joined us only recently.”

  “A shame that happened.” Rowan put on his best sympathetic face. “But you lot are staying with us regardless. Has the area been fully swept? Anything good? Anything buried or stashed in the lake?”

  “Nothing. Everything burned or melted in the fires. Seven units of iron were salvaged. Almost all the wood is unusable for anything other than charcoal stacks, but most of the stone blocks are intact. Nothing remains of the food stores—”

  “We’ll take the stone blocks, though I think we can pass on their food, yeah?”

  “We didn’t suffer Food Poisoning once. Their Cook was skilled.”

  “Interesting, and I assume none of you are one. What are your professions and classes?”

  Faenin stole a moment to collect his thoughts. “Except for Luthias, we are all also novice Foresters, around level ten on average. Skylar and Viola are also level one Farmers while Liluth is also a Woodworker, level four. Luthias is a level fifty-two Knight. Skylar is a level fifteen Archer.”

  Fifty-two! Rowan wisely kept his face mildly content. “So Luthias is useless in terms of professions?”

  “My apologies.” Those Elven eyes briefly dipped. “He is a skilled Metalworker, level fourteen.”

  Nice. Rowan couldn’t suppress a grin. “That’s amazing. I need a sword forged.”

  “I have to tell you he has an old unhealable scar from a grievous injury wrought by dark magic. It hinders his work and battle prowess. I doubt he is currently the equivalent of a novice Metalworker and a low-level Knight.”

  Not so nice. “What does he need for that?”

  Skylar waltzed into view with an upbeat gait and answered that one, “It’s unhealable for a reason, Lord LeMort. Also, I am hungry. So is everyone else.”

  Rowan regarded the kid with hidden annoyance, mumbling, “Aren’t we all. There’s apples back at our base.”

  That didn’t placate their concern, stress carving into their faces. Understandable. Now eight mouths were waiting for food, and the tree back at home was only producing fruit once per year under natural circumstances. Not good. And not a good look of leadership either.

  Rowan changed the subject. “Faenin. Where exactly are those gold deposits?”

  He blinked, then pointed roughly in the direction of the mountain pass. “One and half leagues, roughly. It should yield over five thousand units of gold ore.” Hi
s finger adjusted rightward ten degrees. “The other is six leagues on the other side of the mountains, but deeper in the ground.”

  “At the fjord?”

  “I believe so.”

  “Under water?”

  “I am not sure.”

  “Then we’ll look for that first. I hope the other isn’t close to the spider nest.”

  Faenin hesitated, his fingers twitching. “I believe it is dangerously close.”

  “Fantastic.”

  Gabrielle whistled innocent notes, then asked, “So what’s the difference between Forester and Farmer?”

  Skylar answered, “They sound similar, but Farmer grants skills for easy crop and animal field work such as plowing, planting, and harvesting; basically for food. Forester helps us—” He shrugged. “It helps us gather building materials or other useful ingredients out of forests… but not underground.”

  “Other ingredients?”

  “Anything that grows in a forest, Lady LeMort,” he said dryly. “Many professions like apothecary need Foresters.”

  “Like manadust and glittershrooms?”

  “Exactly.”

  Rowan asked, “”That’s an… advanced profession, right?”

  Skylar nodded. “For potions—medicines and such.” And characters only came with one advanced profession slot.

  “You got it. Requires a minimum of level forty in Cook.”

  Damn. None one had mentioned that tidbit on the forums.

  “Maybe I’ll be an apothecary.” Gabrielle smiled far too cutely. “So, while we walk, can ya find stuff that’ll help my tummy?”

  “Like Faenin said, there’s a few rare herbs that might help. He wasn’t lying, I’m pretty sure.”

  Gabrielle’s hands clapped together. “Yippie! That’s a good boy!”

  An eyebrow wagged. “Good boy?”

  “Ah… Good slave boy!”

  Grinning like a teenage Human male, Skylar couldn’t take his eyes off Gabrielle despite her deathly pale skin. Perhaps he found her exotic. Her disintegrated linen garb wasn’t helping, not covering much above the waist, only chucking wood onto his hormonal fire.

  Rowan let it slide. Just for now… if it wasn’t going to escalate. A young adult’s lust was an easy line of manipulation. Out here in the wild, loyalty for one another was most valuable; a continuation of yesterday’s irritable display wasn’t going to help. Gabrielle’s cute nagging about his grouchiness before bed last night was echoing in his ears this moment.