Demonborn's Fjord

by Dante Sakurai

  “Really?” Tasha’s gait morphed to copy Gabrielle’s skips. “You’re acting like a manic teenager.”

  “I trained her well,” Rowan said.

  “Hehehehe.” Gabrielle nudged his rib. “Oh yes ya did, master.”

  A quiet gasp had inflated Tasha’s chest. She finally said, “You trained her?” She nudged Gabrielle. “And you. Did you just call him master?”

  “Master likes it when I call him master. Don’t tell master, but master does things for me when I call him master. Master, craft me a necklace of white gold and diamonds.” She was a giggling mess at the end of the sentence.

  “Bite me.” Rowan huffed amusement. “But we’ll see about that necklace.”

  “Yaaaay.” Gabrielle’s hands waved in the air. “See, Tasha. Calling him master does work. Why dun’ you try it?”

  She scoffed. “He wishes. Brand me with that slave symbol and I’m out.”

  “Awwww. Dun’ be a downer. Be happy.”

  “You’ll live longer,” Rowan added.

  Gabrielle perked straight. “Do our characters even age with us?”

  Squinting, he flipped through his mental archives of forums threads. The pages were almost all faded. “I don’t think so. We don’t need to pass waste, so…” He shrugged.

  “Heh. Ya just dun’ want an old wife. Admit it.”

  “Why wouldn’t I want an old wife?”

  “I can think of at least ten reasons,” she sang.

  “Like what? Because I’d love to snuggle with a wrinkly version of—”

  Tasha exhaled loudly. “Fine! You two can be weird by yourselves! I’m going to walk with Luthias. He’s the only sane person here.” She shuffled away on the mossy ground.

  The front of the formation was only half a dozen yards from the middle, so there was no reason to stop this adjustment. Mage spells were arguably more potent at closer ranges. Range was a big strategic element in this game, perhaps game-wining during sieges.

  “Watcha thinking now, Row?”

  “I’m starting to worry those raiders will sail down the fjord.”

  Her merry skips turned into a merry march. “Same.” Her tone was serious. “I think we should plant bombs in the water. Do you know how to make any? Like with your Enchan—”

  “I’ll need level twenty for five-rune enchants. I’ll need to train some more.”

  “Lame.” She sighed. Her face saddened. She was looking sadder more often these past days.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Wish I could’ve went too. In your dungeon run. Ya know? Row and Gabby, dummy and wife, two lone adventurers, delving the depths. Would’ve been a great video.”

  “So do I.” He touched her arm. “We’ll go on some duo dungeon soon. And you’ve been mentioning your channel more often.”

  “We’ve been in our pods for over a week now.”

  “Yes… We have.” He swallowed pine-scented saliva.

  Three more Earth weeks to make it or break it. Thee weeks to get famous. Sortis Yummies was plateauing at around forty thousand viewers—not nearly enough to make a high-class living.

  Rowan shook off an encroachment of anxiety. “Damn. Sorry. I wasn’t thinking. We’ve got the duel footage, don’t we? We should post it.”

  “Editing right now.”

  “How’s it going? Ideas? I really think we should make it propaganda.”

  “Like what?”

  “All those who wish to invade our lands are forewarned. Do a voice-over or something. Turn the cutesy up to an eleven again, but make it ominous at the same time.”

  She whistled a worried note. “Our empire isn’t very impressive right now.”

  “Hey, we’ve got Mossy. Just wait till she starts laying eggs.”

  “Hmmm.” She tapped her chin, thrice. “That could actually work. Good idea, master.”

  “Anytime.” He patted her head. “I’ll get you that tiara, I promise.”

  “Hehehe. Really, I’d prefer a helmet like yours.” She plonked his face plate with a knuckle.

  “Why isn’t Luthias making you one?”

  “He’s apparently not very good at making em. And he doesn’t remember why. Maybe that’s why.”

  Too unfortunate. All those memories could’ve been useful. All the knowledge. All the military tactics. All the experience in Sun Elf society. Gone in an instant. This sure felt like a stealth nerf. Perhaps Synaptic had intervened in some way. How much direct control over the game did they have? More conspiracy threads were popping up every day.

  Gabrielle’s hands clapped together. “Oh! I know. I’ll get Saeya to make us black hood-robes just like the one in the duel.”

  “Thats…” Rowan sneezed on a sudden strong pungent acidic scent; they were nearing Mossy’s old home. “That’s a great idea. We can dye the frigid fibers black.”

  “Wow, you’re on a roll today, master. Are ya sure you’re not sick? Did Tasha’s cooking poison ya? I’ll chop her fingers off if she did.”

  He laughed for real. Just a few breaths. “No, and please don’t chop anyone’s fingers off.”

  “Aww. Aren’t ya supposed to be Dark Lord Row?”

  He mulled it over, then said in a mellow voice, “There are different types of dark, really. Gross, disturbing, perverted, scary, offensive… I think we should keep it slight. You know? For the channel.”

  “Hah. Ya really are on a roll.”

  “How does lawful evil sound?”

  “For our empire name? I dunno…”

  “Not the name. Just the theme. We’ll have a code, like commandments. But for the name…” He lifted his chin at her. “How’s Daemonheim?”

  Her reaction was expected: “Row, that’s so cliche. I’ve seen that in like six other games.”

  “You come up with something.”

  She hummed a continuous note until she ran out of breath, then hummed another whole breath. “LeMort’s Hollow. We’ll also claim this valley. We’ll have to—for Mossy.” She smiled at Mossy, who was leading the way ten yards ahead.

  The name echoed. It stuck with a pleasant taste.

  “LeMort’s Hollow it is.” The name carried a powerful ring.

  Their power was rising. Everything was now falling into place without too much pain or tribulation from Faenin’s tomb to the MyTube channel to Mossy’s smooth inclusion into the fold. Was this all this the doing of Gabrielle’s Luck build? He wanted to believe so. He wanted an easy journey to level sixty, then fun could begin.

  * * *

  This spider nest was much grander than Tasha had described.

  Rowan smelled the acidic bite of Mossy’s home before he saw the waxy gray curtains draped over branches and the odd rock formation. Wax, each sheet as thick as his torso, blended into each other as a contiguous mass, a structure extending toward the ancient manawood—one giant spider hive. The wax was slick and flaky, not too different from hardened coconut paste or mottled rice cakes, except tougher, but less dense and full of air pockets. Like spongy bone. A wax comb held together by an inner web lattice.

  A yawning entrance swallowed the party formation with yards to spare, guided Rowan and his slaves down a winding, narrowing hallway, which looked to be the main hallway, a main arterial path that branched off into side rooms and circular chambers, all empty, all vacant of spiders, save for the eye-watering odor thickening by the step. The fumes were dizzying. Sour mucus leaked from his nostrils.

  This was not a habitat fit for any Human-like creature.

  But the only ones effected appeared to be himself. And Gabrielle, who was sneezing and wiping away tears. She whined in a nasal voice, “Row… I dun’ like it here. Mossy… Your home is melting my face. Ah-choo!”

  Mossy’s head bobbed up and down a few times, as though laughing sadistically. That thread had not lied. Mossy was already practically tamed.

  Rowan asked, “Will the acid eat into her metal hide?”

  Gabrielle rapped Mossy’s carapace with hard knuckles. “I know ya understand
us.”

  Those front legs did a slow up and down movement. A shrug? Well, she was just a spider. A lonely queen spider with no subjects. Rowan wiped his nose with his sleeve, mumbling, “Why’d she send her drones in the battle?”

  “Cus…” Gabrielle hummed a breath. “She actually left a dozen behind. They should be around somewhere.”

  “Should be?”

  “She doesn’t have control. I think it’s cus she evolved. She’s not one of them now.”

  “Makes sense, I guess.” Rowan’s head inclined left then right, the sensitive skin on his neck slick with acidic heat. His Demonic skin was not reacting well. The skin around his eyes were sore, puffy, inflamed and aching with every blink. And now his lungs were also unhappy, burning. His vision was splotchy.

  He had enough. “Alright, everyone! Take five.” He asked Gabrielle, “Can we just leave her here and let her do her thing?”

  “Thought ya—” Gabrielle sneezed. “Thought ya’d never ask.” She wandered ahead to Mossy’s head, touching that dome cranium. “Heeeey. We’re gonna leave ya here to repopulate, kay? Give me a tug if ya need something.” Gabrielle’s fingers straightened. “What’s that? Oh, righty, I forgot.” She skipped back, saying, “She needs a stony diet now. There’s no stone around.”

  He exhaled a mouthful of acid air. “Zaine, are there any stone deposits underground—” His eyes rolled; Zaine wasn’t here.

  “Hehehe. Dummy.”

  “The acid’s getting to my brain.”

  “If ya say so.” She poked his elbow, missing his funny bone.

  Tasha approached, a half-eaten apple in hand. She said between rolling chews, “Yo. Why are we stopping?”

  “Can’t you feel it?” Rowan said, his voice hoarse. “The acid in the air is cooking us.”

  “It’s not that bad.”

  “Not that bad?” Gabrielle said through a blocked nose. “I’m dying! Help me, master.” She pulled on his sleeve.

  Her health bar was full. He could only offer her a sympathetic look, which was hidden behind his face plate.

  And annoyance had briefly flashed across Tasha’s face. She took another bite. “Maybe it’s because you’re Demons. Your skin almost looks like white marble.” She took hold of Gabrielle’s hand, massaging with a groping thumb. “Oh, wow! You feel like…” She was unable to string together a description, head shaking.

  “Come on. Let’s—”Sneezing violently, Gabrielle fought off a shiver that chattered her teeth. “Let’s go. I hate it here. Worst hike ever. Seeya Mossy. Just eat rocks and pebbles for now. I’ll get ya something later.” She walked.

  Rowan had to agree. “Should’ve sent a scout… though that wouldn’t have mattered in our case.” He sighed, put an arm around her shoulder, and guided her back down the arterial hallway. He glanced back at Tasha. “You’re not coming?”

  A quick head shake. “I want a few twigs from the tree. You know? For a staff.”

  Surprising. He hadn’t thought she was at all invested in the game, let alone enjoying it. “Gotcha.” He looked at Skylar, who was quietly but tensely chatting with Ayla off the side, blocking the entrance to one of the empty chambers. He whistled. “You two! Gab and I are heading back. The acid isn’t good for us. Skylar, grab some wood from it and any acorn pieces you can find. Ayla, go with him in case. There’s some wild spider drones wandering around.”

  “Yes, sir.” His voice was higher-pitched than usual, unbalanced. His cheeks were red.

  Ayla shoved back Skylar by the shoulder, harshly, playfully. Her eyes skipped to Rowan. “I hear you. I need to find my amulet anyway.”

  Tasha’s neck twisted back. She called, “You lost it?”

  “What amulet?” Gabrielle asked.

  “It was an insane necklace of Greater Luck.”

  Gabrielle said, “Whaaat? Why didn’t ya tell me?”

  Ayla smiled, her nose wrinkling. “Because I knew you would try to take it. We’re both stacking Luck.”

  Rowan, for once, was ready with a knowledgeable comment: “That’s not very smart. Shared Luck doesn’t stack in the same party. One of you will have to respec.”

  “Not me.” Ayla’s arms crossed under her chest.

  “Kay,” Gabrielle said. “I’ll respec.”

  “Kay? I thought you were going to difficult.”

  “Nope. Changed plans a while back, in fact. I’m gonna be a Myrmidon! Hehehe.”

  “For real?”

  “Why not?” Gabrielle sneezed.

  Ayla answered carefully, “Because your character’s body type doesn’t seem right for it. There’s a thread on the optimal height, shape, and physique. You’re a bit short. You’ll have a harder time with that sword than most.”

  Gabrielle did well to hide her offense. “Kay, but you’ll see. You’ll all see how great I’ll be. Look on my channel soon.”

  “What’ll be on your channel?” Skylar asked.

  “You’ll see.” Her tongue clicked. “Row. Let’s go.” She resumed walking, pulling him along by the fingers.

  He wiped away snot from his upper lip. His head swam in a sudden dizzy spell. The acid in the air really was getting to his brain, corroding his thoughts. He lost track of a stray mental comment as she yanked him rightward. He flinched, noticed something awry.

  Where the hell was Luthias?

  He checked the slave threads. Woven like a braid, Luthias’ was the thickest apart from Mossy’s. His was leading toward one of the spider chambers, stationary.

  Rowan’s jaw clenched as he pulled Gabrielle back left. “Let’s see what’s wrong with Luthias.”

  She groaned, “Kaaay.”

  It didn’t take long to find him—fifty-two seconds on the system clock. He was standing in front of a cocoon hanging from a branch, his hands behind his back. He wasn’t moving, not a twitch. He was looking down as if lost in thought or in mourning—because the cocoon was holding a decayed Sun Elf corpse, a young male, perhaps a teenager… or a malnourished adult. And, strangely, there was no stench seeping from the body.

  A practiced kinder voice, Rowan asked, “Who’s that?”

  “I do not know.” His tone was sombre.

  “Do you want to take the body back to the tomb, or…? How do Sun Elves treat their dead?”

  Gabrielle sneezed, but didn’t say anything.

  “I remember the traditions,” Luthias said, turning. His face was ashen. “From times of old we bury under a Vulen sapling, but in these times of war and torment, we begrudgingly bestow the fallen with wreaths of silver and enchant decomposition.” His voice quieted, pained. “The passing of the dead and fallen are sacred rites. It is said that your god, Draesear, is tasked to punish all those who do not respect the dead of any blessed race.”

  “Hmmmm,” Gabrielle hummed. “I see. I see. Why the wreaths of silver?”

  “It’s a metal of light affinity, and it’s rare,” Rowan answered, guessing.

  Luthias nodded. His jaw hardened. “Apologies for wandering, Lord LeMort. I will return to my position.”

  “It’s kay.” Gabrielle patted his arm. “Doesn’t seem like the formation is needed in here.” Sneezed again as she was about to say more, her body shaking.

  “Let’s go.” He grabbed her smaller hand. This was his time to tug her along, and he did enjoy doing so while she gave no complaint. And, this right here, was amazing RPG gameplay in his books, honestly. He hadn’t played a game before where the differences between the playable races were more than cosmetic, more than skin-deep, or limited to a few minor perks. This was freshing, this new experience.

  No, I hate this.

  He had to question the balance of things. If it were not for his hellfire power, he would say Demons were grossly underpowered. For that reason alone, he place Demons at the top of his tier list.

  Most players, in his opinion, were most drawn to the combat aspects of this game. The raiding. The dungeoning. The dueling and open-world PvP. Most would chose to be Demons simply because they were the fig
hting race. And if not Demons… Orcs were second-best with their hardier bodies. Third in the tier-list? Maybe Lunar Elves for their magical bonuses.

  Humans were worst in terms of combat; however, many had stayed with Humanity even though non-Human fates were common.

  But why?

  Rowan couldn’t guess. Perhaps the numbers of crafting-lovers and farmers were much, much greater than he assumed. Perhaps they didn’t like to diverge from the norm, from what they knew in the real world. Sun Elves were the most Human-like of all the races, but even they were obviously different at a distance glance. Those long pointed ears were like antennae, those eyes like stuff out of Anime.

  If anything was out of Anime, Mossy was. More than anything else he had seen in Sortis Online so far.

  As they walked out of the yawning maw into the webbed-up forest, Gabrielle poked his cheek. “Watcha smiling about?”

  “How’s Mossy doing? Is her thread stable?”

  “Yup.”

  “Good. We can trust her enough to split up then. For some special tactics.”

  “Special tactics,” she mimicked coyly. “Row’s special tactics. Sounds kinda lewd.” She rapped knuckles his helmet, laughing.

  He ruffled her hair, about to return the banter as the chat box vibrated and beep loudly.

  Viola Everbright (To Rowan LeMort and Gabby LeMort): Hey, you two. Good news is I’m back.

  Sweet.

  Rowan LeMort (To Viola Everbright): Cool. How far off are you?

  Gabby LeMort: Is there any bad news? ^_^

  A few second passed as black and red birds flew by overhead.

  Viola Everbright: Mmmmhm. Logged-in standing on a big snake. I died. Back at the Troll town. My cover’s blown. They’re hauling me off.

  Not as sweet.

  Gabby LeMort: We’re still way, way, way off from being ready for this bump in the road, so…

  Viola Everbright: I know. Just letting you know about my a backup character, Viola Neverbright, but I’ll stay put for a few hours, maybe. Something seems up.

  Rowan LeMort: Up?

  Viola Everbright: Yeah, up. The Trolls are spooked.

  Spooked Trolls was always a good thing for the future of LeMort’s Hollow, but one of her residents being taken as prisoner was not. This was only more reason to wipe out those Woodland Trolls, and If this was today’s scheduled disaster, then Rowan was able to breathe unhindered.