Demonborn's Fjord

by Dante Sakurai

  “Row!” Gabrielle poked his hand. “Stop! You’re hurting her!”

  “My bad.” Lucky for him, the helmet hid his sadistic sneer.

  “Hmph. I know that tone. You’re liking this.”

  She knew him too well. “Maybe I am.” He lessened the pressure, daring the Spider Queen to resist again.

  And she didn’t. Good girl.

  Gabrielle put on her smug face. “Thank you. Now apologize to Mossy.”

  “No.”

  “Meanie.” She approached and patted Mossy’s back. “There, there, Row won’t hurt ya anymore.” And unsurprisingly, Mossy warmed to the overly affectionate touch after only two strokes. Who wouldn’t?

  “Mossy?” Skylar blurted.

  “Yup. Mossy. Cus of the color, ya know?”

  Rowan held back a yawn. “At least you didn’t name her Moldy.” He waved off a bout of laughter from Tasha. “Anyway, she’s probably hungry.”

  At the mention of food, Mossy ate a piece of stone.

  Which made sense. All that metal had to come from somewhere. He doubted it had the magic to convert meat to adamantite.

  Gabrielle said something, her fingers clicking.

  He rubbed his blurry sore eye. “What was that?”

  “Gimme the leash!”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He transferred the slave thread with a simple thought that required no interface prompt.

  Then Ayla stepped forward, twice. She glided into his breathing room. “Well?” she said above a whisper.

  So the time was now, and she was asking for it. “Hmm?” He wanted her to say it out loud.

  “So are you going to brand me?” Her chin lifted. “After everything I’ve done for this settlement?”

  He donned his trademark smirk. “Yeah. You’re a slippery little orange snake. And I do like oranges. I wish Gab would make orange deserts more often. Maybe we’ll plant some orange trees in a greenhouse. How does that sound, Skylar?”

  And Skylar could only stare with vacant eyes. “Huh?”

  “Ah…” Ayla frowned. “Is your pod malfunc—”

  “Ignore him. He can crack weird jokes when sleepy,” Gabrielle said. She was sitting cross-legged on Mossy’s back.

  Perhaps he was asleep, dreaming. Because only in his dreams would his beautiful Gabrielle be riding a giant, acid-spitting spider made of green metal. He pinched his cheek, then yawned at the fuzzy moons. Bitter water dripped onto his tongue.

  “Rowan,” Ayla said. “I’m going to be straight. I think you want to make me a slave not because you’re worried of betrayal but because you two just want to feel dominant.”

  “Yeah.” He sneered. “We do like to feel dominant and powerful. We’re Demons.”

  “So you admit it’s not because of security.” Her eyes narrow fiercely

  “It is because of security.”

  Gabrielle whistled a high note. “Yup. Saeya and Jassin will be branded later in the morning.”

  “Jassin?” Tasha said with unusual concern. “Why him? He’s just a child.”

  “All the more reason to do it. To keep him safe! Hehehe.”

  Rowan grunted in agreement. “Exactly that.”

  Tasha’s lips pressed tight for a second. “Look. We don’t have to do this slave thing. We can start a faction and crank up the security magic.”

  “And how far are we away from starting one?”

  “We just need a keep.”

  Skylar looked at her with boyish playfulness. “And a guild hall, at least a hundred Bedrooms, a huge storehouse, and what else was on that list.”

  “So?” The seams in Tasha’s confident stance were only loosely sewn.

  Yeah, a keep wasn’t happening anytime soon. Rowan breathed a mute sigh. “We’ve already discussed this. The inner circle of my kingdom will all have slave brands. Feel privileged that you’re exempt.”

  “Gab?” Tasha said, presenting an empty palm. “Are you serious?”

  “Yup.” Gabrielle met her sister’s challenging gaze, unrelenting.

  “Why?” Ayla asked.

  Rowan answered, “You already know why. But to reiterate, those who want positions of power have to take the brand so they dun’ try a coup on us. Combined with the threat of Draesear looming over their heads, we’ll have a long and healthy rule. We don’t want to wake up with knives, or your new daggers, in our backs.”

  A thoughtful silence descended on the clearing. But not total silence. The howling breeze from the fjord and Mossy’s occasional creak of her limbs made for odd background music that fit the mood well.

  Ayla said, “I have to say that does make sense from a tyrant’s perspective.”

  Gabrielle pouted. “We’re not tyrants. We’re just careful.”

  Rowan asked, “Will you feel oppressed, Ayla? No, you won’t. I am a fair ruler. The Elves would still be walking statues for the Trolls. Saeya would be in a grave, and Jassin homeless. If it helps, just think of it something other than a slave brand. You can cover it up with facial cream. It’s time to bend the knee.”

  “Bendy bendy,” Gabrielle chirped.

  Another silence deafened every pair of ears, but Ayla was quick to sever the tension with a sarcastic smile: “Then so be it.” She knelt. Her eyes born of forests were mischievous.

  Rowan grabbed another Slave Enchantment Runestone from his pouch. And this time, the outpour of dark magic was far more exaggerated. The Stone rapidly disintegrated with racing palpitations. Black goop encircled Ayla. Circles within circles of darkness spun in a vortex of mystic patterns. An invisible hand etched the slave brand onto her forehead, the bond forming with an intricate weave.

  Rowan offered her a hand up. “Welcome to the fold.”

  She accepted. “I’m expecting a lot from you, Lord LeMort.” She stole his smirk. “And may I say something?”

  “Yeah?”

  “You look so silly right now.”

  “He does!” Gabrielle quipped.

  Hearty laughter washed out the wind, and Rowan swore Mossy was also tittering away, bobbing up and down. He let them have their fun. His kingdom was all about fun. What else was a game for?

  * * *

  With a giant metal spider on permanent night watch, Rowan found himself begging his defiant brain to fall asleep. Inevitably, exhaustion won the contest of wills, and his brain started up the bad dreams again. Spider rebellions. Meteors landing on his head. A sea of giant mutant oranges.

  He floated to the surface, waking. Giant mutant oranges?

  That was a sign to not plant any orange trees. A sign to not fully trust Ayla!

  A light brush through every slave thread revealed her to be still logged-out. Her thread pointed toward an empty spot by the town hall. The thread itself was lifeless unlike the others that were gently thrumming—asleep. All the Elves were asleep… apart from Viola who was also logged-out.

  Rowan yawned, cranked open his crusty eyes, and found Gabrielle absent from their bedroom. He heaved out of bed and donned his trusty blacksteel helmet. So what if this look was silly? It was practical.

  He spotted her outside the front gate tending to Mossy, feeding her lumps of marble. And Mossy ate it up as though it were gourmet marble. Not an everyday sight. How uncanny—a spider the size of a teenage elephant eating out of the hands of a slim girl with two-thirds of her stat points in Luck.

  That went against the grain far too much.

  Shivering, Rowan left her be and sauntered toward to the Workshop. The scent of boiling stew, savory and aromatic with a myriad of warm herbs, did well to fight off the morning chill. Corrupted tall grass was frozen solid, but not dead. The greenery was still very green, not wilted in the slightest despite today’s temperature drop. Perhaps the dark magic helped.

  Inside, Tasha was stirring the pot. She wore a rustic coat over her slightly suggestive Mage dress. Her eyes were less baggy, her hair damp and brushed. She noticed him with an upward flick of her eyes. “Hey, mister king of child slaves.”

  Still going on
about that. “Hey, miss overly protective.”

  “I’m not overly protective. I promised Saeya to keep Jassin safe. I have to remind you again he is just a child.”

  “They’re NPCs.” He knew was lying to himself.

  Her expression at that was a tad on the playful but unimpressed side. “I heard you thought Skylar was an NPC until recently. And what about Faenin? Gab told me you gave some nice comments at his funeral.”

  He ignored that first point. “Also just an NPC. And he’s coming back.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  He took a seat at the dining bench next to the Forging Station. “There was an interviews with the game designers from last month—”

  “I heard, and again, you don’t know he’s coming back.”

  He showed open palms. “Either way, the show has to go on even if we have more permanent deaths. A king can’t get too attached to his mortal subjects.”

  She could only shake her head. “You should show more care. Or at least pretend.”

  “I do pretend.”

  “No, you don’t. You barely try.”

  He gave her a long look. “What’s really the matter?”

  She looked down at the pot. “It’s cold here. You have no hot showers.”

  “Aren’t you a Mage? Light yourself a fire. And didn’t you stay logged out most of the night?”

  “I did, but still… this place is worse than I imagined.”

  “Every fortress starts from barren beginnings. Soon you’ll be begging Gab and I for a plot of land to build a house on.”

  She sighed. “I’ll have to beg you and my own sister.”

  “It’s just an expression.”

  “Hm. Sure.”

  Boy, she was moody today. Rowan scribbled a mental note: tread carefully around Tasha before she snaps. He put on a gentler face. “We’re trying our best—on multiple fronts. The slave thing isn’t just for security and dominance; we have to keep up kind of evil Demonic personalities. We’re role playing playing as the bad guys of the game. It is an MMORPG.”

  “Why do you have to play as the bad guys. It’s not like Demons are inherently—” Tasha swallowed the sentence. “Nevermind. I was getting used to all this dark mana in the air.”

  “It is nice to have.”

  “I can’t even use it for my skills.”

  “Because it’s a Purification aura. We’re still trying to get taint out of the soil.”

  “What taint?”

  “Crow attack. Nothing big.”

  “Nothing big or nothing big.”

  “Nothing big.”

  “Then what’s next, Lord LeMort?” She was an expert at emphasizing her words with suggestion and sarcasm.

  “We’ll scout out the manawood tree after breakfast as a player party. Only Luthias is coming with us.”

  “Why only him?”

  “He’s a level twenty Knight. His Taunt can turn a fight.”

  “Why not Liluth?”

  “We gave her the Builder tome. Can’t risk her, and we have plenty of pots.”

  “Oh.” She frowned. “But I meant what’s next in the greater scheme of things?”

  “Expanding the settlement. Gaining experience wherever we can. The palisade’s going to be salvaged, then we’ll get another Bedroom block up along with lavatories. I want to turn it all into a continuous structure that can be sealed off during winter—and easily expanded. We’ll have a kind of stone outer shell and inner frame, and inside we can have mostly wooden rooms—to save on resources.” He did not have a plan for those fifty Sun Elves at this moment, so he hoped she wasn’t going to chew him out on that.

  And she was only somewhat impressed. Not that impressed at all, actually. “Good. Good. I like the sound of that. What kind of architecture are you going for? I can help with that if you don’t have an idea.”

  Right. She was an accountant at an architect firm. “Right now, I’m thinking maybe something on the Gothic side. Spires, arches, maybe even warped in style to go with all the corrupted foliage.”

  She nodded a few times. “Well, I’m feeling better. You’ve given it at least some thought.”

  “Gab and I discuss minor details often.”

  She was suddenly annoyed—jealous.

  He held off from chuckling. “So. Back to the town’s aura. Do you want to help manage? You can be a caretaker like Zaine.”

  She made a choking noise, throwing a few cubes of pink salt into the stew. “I hope you’re making a bad joke.”

  “How’s that a bad joke?”

  “Zaine is an NPC. And you’re putting me on the same level as him.”

  “I thought you were the one who wanted to value NPC as people.”

  Her eyes rolled. “Sure, fine. Make me a caretaker.”

  “Then I will. Anything else you’d like to discuss?”

  She tisked, head shaking slowly. “So Gab says you’ll be a Myrmidon, eh? You think you can handle that?

  “Why can’t I?”

  “Hardest class in the game. And you can be clumsy sometimes.”

  “How am I clumsy?”

  “You let my sister fall forty feet.”

  Rowan tried to not make a grumbling noise. “Not my fault. She ate mushrooms that I specifically ordered her not to eat.”

  “Oh, so she’s also your slave now, is she?”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “What do you mean?”

  And he had enough. He threw his hands up and stood. “I appreciate that you’re helping to prepare breakfast. Let me know if you need anything.”

  “Oh, I will.”

  Exhaling, he strolled on out and went for a morning nature walk among twisted pine trees. Their eyes were more menacing than he remembered, and bright red mushrooms spotted with blue fuzz made his skin crawl. The pervasive scent in the air was on the spicy side. Dark things were now spawning. He prayed to Draesear for no more Enraged beasts.

  And at that thought, a meteor collided into a mountain face perhaps ten miles away.

  55

  Jonathan had seen enough pine trees for a lifetime in this adventure of a lifetime. The scent here was maddening. On foot, they were hacking through an impossibly thick forest under a sun that was struggling to rise. This was an Arctic Autumn through and through.

  The good news was they were long past the salty freezing winds.

  A plant with bluish-green leaves passed by Jonathan’s boot. He crouched, but did not touch. It was giving off a grating feeling with a modicum of hatred.

  Strange Arctic Plant

  “Whoah,” Lance said, approaching with fast steps. “What do we have here?” He knelt, his single-piece leg armor bending at the knees with metallic clicks. He whistled. “We’re getting close!”

  “Aye,” Doggo breathed. “I feel their dark taint in my bones.

  Jonathan blurted, “You do?”

  “Nah, I’m an Archer, mate.” Doggo laughed, then looked over his shoulder. “Yo! Sense anything?”

  In a burst of moderate heat and few tufts of blue and yellow fire, Dorian Ambersworn appeared before them. Level twenty-nine Mage. Deathless. And although he was one of the guild’s officers, he was not the most sociable person. “No.” His voice was quiet but confident. “Lance.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Why didn’t you tell us you found their MyTube channel?”

  Lance’s back straightened in surprise. “I didn’t?”

  “You didn’t.”

  “Ah… My mistake. Sorry, I’ve been busy.”

  “It’s fine.” Dorian exhaled through his nose.

  Misty asked, “Channel name?”

  “LeMort’s Fun House,” Dorian answered before he blinked away. Flames consumed his body, but it did not look painful or gory to Jonathan at least.

  They jogged to catch up to the rest of the party, and Jonathan was not going to touch the web browser, for that was far too immersion-breaking for his gaming tastes. To him, this was a new world, a real world of r
eal people and intelligent beasts that lived real lives. He would be one to know, being bonded to a dragon.

  “Wow, a cooking show!” Misty exclaimed. “That’s new.” Her laughing face was reminiscent to a happy puppy. “She is really playing up a cutesy vibe. I like it. Definitely looking forward to episode two.”

  “It seems to work for them,” Lance said. “They got okayish views.”

  “Nothing compared to you though. Your last video got three million.”

  “Well, I’ve been doing this since I was a teenager. When I started, for the first month I only had fifty subscribers. It was tough, I have to say.”

  “How old are you now?”

  “Thirty-one.”

  Jonathan said, stepping over a wolf’s skeleton, “I could’ve sworn you were around my age.”

  “Ehh… I might’ve checked the youthfulness option in the character setup. Fixed my hairline, smoothed out some wrinkles. What about you two?”

  “Not me,” Misty said. “I look like this IRL. I’m twenty-four.”

  “Same here,” Jonathan grunted. “Twenty-one.”

  “Aww, shucks.” Lance’s face was sheepish. “Looks like I’m an old man!”

  “Quiet,” Dorian’s voice cut in from uphill as the chatbox trilled. “There’s a high-level Mutated Arctic Eagle circling near.”

  Lance nodded. “Aiden, you there?”

  “My bad.” Lingering twenty yards behind, a guy in blue scaly leather wolfed down the rest of his pie, unsheathed daggers, and whispered an incantation. Smoke veils descended on each party member. A buff indicator appeared above Jonathan’s health bar.

  Smoke Stealth (4 minutes and 58 seconds remaining)

  All those not in your party only sees a shimmer.

  Broken upon taking damage or your skill activation.

  Immune to detection-type wards.

  Catastrophe adverted.

  They continued with mouths sewn shut, taking a detour along a shallow river that thinned into a trickling creek after four hundred yards. But was this a detour? They were raiding without a Demonic compass. They were working off a tip from Troll adventurers about a burned settlement at the bottom of a valley by a small lake and not far from a manawood tree. Said tree was nowhere to be seen.

  If only Jonathan’s dragon, Idra, could fly over the canopy. Alas, her wings were not strong enough for such a feat. She was gliding from branch to branch, having difficulty with just that much. Still a baby whelp, some would say Idra should not have joined this raid, but Jonathan understood she needed this first-hand experience of battle.