57
For Viola, being dragged by the ankles was not an enjoyable experience by any euphemism of the word. But she endured. She bit down on her bottom lip as prickly bits and pieces dragged up her back, up her neck and scalp, ruining her already disastrous hair.
Thankfully, the game’s pain reduction made this experience bearable.
And she was bearing this for her lord, Rowan LeMort. He would not be pleased is she did not bring home ample valuable intel on why this Troll town was, all of a sudden, ghostly. There were no meandering crowds on these dirt streets, no children playing ball, like before. Every shack was locked with windows closed—like were expecting a typhoon.
A typhoon would be a euphemism for what her master wanted for these dirty savages, these unsophisticated lanky brutes. Hating them was easy by their appearances alone. They looked as if an artist at Synaptic had been drunk at work. That, or these unsightly body shapes and faces were designed this way, destined for culling.
This was why Rowan and Gabby had been placed here, their destiny, their fate. Synaptic had not promised they wouldn’t play favorites with the fate system; they were part of a billion-dollar corporation peddling a revolutionary new technology. The two LeMorts were perfect for the role as Demonic overlords.
Too perfect.
Them saving Viola a few days after launch had also been very convenient—as if scripted. And, truth be told, as submissive as she was, she did have a bit of a slave kind as Rowan had teased. He was a great master. She would never say that out loud, but the hints she couldn’t help but drop were more than obvious.
How far would he take it all? This master-slave role-playing. This game.
Anticipation knotted Viola’s core, only for a second and two, before she was yanked leftward by her chains, then kicked into a tiny but kind of clean jail cell, her ankle and wrist cuffs digging painfully into her skin. Static, grainy magic radiated from the cuffs and mixed her own, freezing the liquid energy in her blood. She could not activate a single skill.
With a parting sneer, the taller guard marched off, but the second guard, whose face was actually decent looking—no boils or zits—did not sneer. He glanced left and right, then let go of a dramatic breath. Then hurried inside, crouched by Viola’s face. He smelled of fish.
“Hey,” he said. “Are you really a player?” His accent was not Trollish.
And did he say player?
Viola tentatively nodded. “I am. I’m from Europe.”
His pointy jaw hung loose, revealing blocky chipped teeth. He shuffled closer. “Holy hell. Why’d you start as a slave?”
“The Fate gave me a starting class and professions. Thought it was a fair trade-off.” She tried to shrug. “What about you? Troll guard? And what’s your name? I’m Viola.” She smiled. “Nice to meet you.” Maybe she could cajole her way out of here.
The Troll player gathered his composure with shallow breaths. He also smiled, but the smile looked goofy and forced. “I’m Zinjo. Always wanted to play something non-Human.”
“But a Troll?”
“Either a Troll or an Orc, and…” He nose wrinkled. “I read of their diets. Sick stuff.”
“I’d say.” Viola pretended to shiver. “So what’s going to happen to me?”
“Ye, about that…” Zinjo looked over his shoulder, finding no eavesdroppers. “Who is your master? Does it have something to do with what happened to Jin’tal?”
“No,” Viola answered carefully. He couldn’t be trusted. He was one of them, a Troll. This was all too reminiscent of good-cop bad-cop interrogation. “What happened to Jin’tal?”
His caveman brow ridge furrowed. “You didn’t feel it?”
“Feel what?”
“The Demonic magic. It was like…”
“Oh. That’s what it was? The happy magic a week back?”
His head shook, not disagreeing. “Ye, that. A new settlement was burned. Sulfur everywhere. Jin’tal was found beaten to death. Everyone thinks it was the LeMorts.”
Everyone was right. And beaten to death was stating it lightly, because Rowan had gone berserk over his poisoned wife. He really did care about her—a lot. More than he cared about Viola, sadly. She sighed, saying, “Sorry that happened.” Her acting was superb. The classes from high-school were coming in handy.
He blew hot air, crooked fingers waving. “You don’t need to pretend you care. Well, not around me. This is just a game. I won’t let them torture you.”
“Ah… Okay?”
“I’m serious. Some of the Troll leaders are real sickos. I don’t like them. A lot of others don’t like them, and—”
“Other players?”
“Both players and NPCs. We’re—”
“How many.”
He scratched the skin by his tusk. “A couple dozen players here. Maybe more, but there are a few thousand in Trollheim total. Look on the forums.”
She took his word for it, nodding after a moment. “Gotcha.” She was not a fan of the forums. It broke immersion.
“So.” He glanced over his shoulder again. “Who’s your master? They really want to know. They want to torture it out of you.”
She withdrew, flinching. “You’re the torturer?”
“No. No.” He held out scarred palms. “I’m just warning you. Tenji is stalling the Troll King right now. He’s—”
“Troll King’s here?”
“No,” he said firmly. “Tenji is at Trollheim Fortress. The Troll King might come, but winter is soon. He doesn’t like the cold too much.”
“Is that why everyone’s so spooked? Because their king might be coming?”
“Ye, him and his royal guard. As I was saying, we really don’t like that. We don’t think all this slavery and war is right. We’re planning a coup. Not lying. Look on the forums for our thread.”
“But why’s he coming?”
“Not sure, but he might personally oversee the next sacrifice.” He glanced behind again. “So… who is your master? Can he or she help? How did you get here?”
Now this was good intel for Rowan. He was going to be very pleased. Viola sent a message.
Viola Everbright (To Rowan and Gabby LeMort): There are Troll players planning a rebellion next full moon. They want some help.
Not reply came for three seconds. Viola looked back at Zinjo, smiling. “Nice. When’s the coup happening?”
“Just before the sacrifice. Why do you ask? Is something being planned on your end? Did you just talk to your friends?” His eyes widened. “You’re with the Sun Elves, right?”
She gave him a long look. “Yes, I am a Sun Elf. Well done for noticing.”
He made an irritated sound. “I mean did their leaders send you as a spy.”
Oh. Why didn’t he say directly? She shrugged. “Maybe. What if I am?”
“Okay.” He inhaled stiffly. “Okay. If we overthrow the Troll King together, can we negotiate a peace deal? I think we can. Soul Crystals are raining like candy now. Well, not candy. You know what I mean. There’s not really much of a point to the war anymore.”
She pretended to consider the request as if chatting with other players at Illanor. She nodded. “I think we can, if we overthrow him.”
“What can you send? Do you guys have a Town Hall near?”
“Maybe.”
“Great. Light’s Justice has a raid party at Jin’tals settlement. They’re looking for the LeMorts.”
Viola did everything she could to keep her surprise from showing. “Our base isn’t near them. Not even close.”
“Oof. That’s unlucky.”
“You’re in contact with them?”
“Ye, I’m chatting with my buddy Aiden right now.”
“Is he also a Troll?”
“Nah, a Human. He likes buildings things. But tell your friends to attack two nights before the full moon, okay?”
“That’s… weeks away.”
“Ye, so we can prepare. We’re organizing people for at least a ten-stack. “Look
on the forums.”
Ten full raiding parties. That was either stupid or mad genius. Viola asked slowly, “How do I know this isn’t a Trolly trap?”
“Just look on the forums,” he said with exasperation. “The plan is public knowledge.”
That was bizarre. So, for once, she brought up the in-game web browser and navigated to the forums. Hand-painted art loaded in under a second, and inside the section for Trolls, a thread near the top outlined their discussions for a coup and bringing an end to the war. It was all there. Out in the public for everyone to see.
They were asking for help, begging, but representatives from major guilds across the world either downright refused or could not offer help because of this or that. Mostly because this location was extremely remote.
But this could be a trap—all of it.
Suspicion guarded with a contemplative expression, Viola said, “We’ll talk it over. No promises.” She flicked him a friend invitation.
Zinjo gripped the bars. “No promises? Come on. We’re trying to make peace.”
“I hear ya,” she quipped like Gabby would, giggling. “But no promises, and it is weeks away. Anything could happen by then. So… carry on with your coup plans. Maybe something will happen in your favor. Maybe not.”
“What do you mean by something will happen?”
“I dunno. I’m not a Sun Elf general.” She giggled some more.
He snarled frustration, looking a lot like any other Troll. “How many are they sending? Is this going to be—” He jolted. “Shit. Log out. Log out. They’re coming. They’re going to torture—”
His white tusks faded to black as Viola mentally head-butted the logout button. No, thank you. She was not in the mood for torture even if she did have a bit of a slave kink. That was not part of the deal, not part of what she had imagined playing as a slave would involve. What kind of depraved master would torture a well-behaved slave? Rowan, she dearly believed, was not that kind of master.
Time for a well deserved break. This was getting a bit intense for her tastes.
A thought punched her forehead: I forgot to tell Rowan about their raid party! She jumped back into her pod, and the lid closed on her with infuriating slack. An old-fashion LED screen displayed, Connection lost. Reconnecting, please wait…
“Shit,” she said flatly.
58
The great boon of this location were the trickling streams cutting into the rocky soil every second step, a waterfall behind every elder yew tree.
Rowan scooped half-frozen water and washed the acid fumes off his face, which was inflamed and puffy around the eyes and lips. Bloody dots sprayed his neck in a tender rash that was now stinging with every beat of his pulse. Skin was peeling, and the rest of his body wasn’t faring much better; the backs of his elbows were also bloodied with rashes.
Shit gameplay.
Rinsing off his arm and dabbing touches of strawberry syrup, Rowan watched the rash disappear along with the sting. The tiny missing slice of his health bar filled. If only these potions existed in the real world. If only he could invent something like this; he’d be a billionaire.
“Row,” Gabrielle said softly. She was rinsing her hair under the waterfall. “So waddaya think?”
“You should assign someone else to look after Mossy when she’s not near.” Someone within the Farmer profession.
“Hmmm. I should, but I’m talking about… What was his name? Jinto?”
“Zinjo.”
“Huh. I swear it was Jinto.”
He glanced downward to the left, at the mossy rock in the stream. “Look at your chat log.”
“Oh, you’re right. Got mixed up with Jin’tal. Hehehe.” She wringed her hair until it was dryish, then toweled herself off. Her Demonic body was hotter, leaner, smoother—screenshot worthy. Click. So what if he was being perverted like Skylar. He was a Demon Lord!
She whistled as she caught him staring. “Eyes up here.”
“I’ll stare all I want,” he said in a tone of desire, smirking. He stole another photo of her nakedness.
Her mouth twisted. She bit her tongue, put on fresh linen, and in seconds, she was wrapped in her bear fur coat again. The look wasn’t bad, especially with her hair damp. She said in a coy tone, “Weeell. At least you’re not peeping on Viola again.”
“When did I peep on her?”
“Um, have ya forgotten? When we were hiking from Jin’tal’s settlement and she bent over in front of—”
“I barely remember that. It was mostly an accident. You’re getting up over nothing. It definitely won’t happen again once she gets some equipment.”
“Kay. If ya say so.”
He wasn’t in the mood to argue. He simply put on a stoic expression and put the discussion back on track: “So about Zinjo. Yes or no?”
“Hmmmm. Maybe. It’s weeks away.”
“That’s true. We can always wait it out. Maybe we can send Tasha and Ayla to spy on them, assuming they also don’t arrest her, which they probably will… So pretend I didn’t say that.”
Gabrielle’s head tilted. “Why Tasha?”
“Oh, I read the Humans are trying to get into an alliance with them.”
“Is that all?”
He was not catching on. “What?”
“Can’t ya see? She thinks you’re trying to pry us apart. She misses the days when it was just her and I, big sis and little sis, hand in hand. We used to go to music concerts together.”
He honestly hadn’t considered that. This was why she had been so bitchy. “You can assure her that I’m trying to do no such thing, unless she’s trying to get under your bear fur coat, then I definitely have something to say about that.”
She giggled. “Kay. But I doubt that’ll help.”
This leadership thing entailed far more than he had thought. All his subjects had their own wants and needs, goals and relational dramas that could get in the way of the grand vision. The stress of it all was starting to weigh too much. Again. He needed another solo dungeon run—a duo dungeon run with his wife.
A lightbulb turned on in his head. “You two should do a dungeon run together sometime.
Her eyes drifted this way and that. “That sounds like a great idea. You can come as—”
“There are no trio dungeons. Only solo, duo, fours, and eights.” He put his hand on her shoulder. “You should go on a few runs with her. Just you and her. I won’t feel left out.”
“Mmmm. Kay.” Her tongue clicked. “But are ya sure ya won’t feel left out?”
“Yes, I am one hundred percent positively—” His words hitched on a shadow sweeping the ground left to the right, blanketing the entire valley in tones of gray. Moonfyre was drawn, but he saw no enemy in the woods. No bear or crow or spider or Troll or Giant Mole. A black disc was passing in front off the sun’s bottom half.
A partial solar eclipse.
Exhaling, he softened his stance, lowering Moonfyre.
“Dummy. Don’t look at it. That’s how ya go blind.”
“My bad. Never seen an eclipse before in person.” He took a screenshot of the valley. Click. And another of the sun. Click.
“Neither.” She perked taller, standing on her toes. “I bet this is an omen!”
His laugher rang among rustling leaves, and the bite of freezing air ached his lungs. The ambient temperature was dropping sharply. “I think that’s a load of crap, really. Nothing happened after that crow attack a while back.”
“What do ya mean nothing? We lost Faenin. Have ya already forgotten?”
“That was like a week apart.”
“So? Omens don’t have time limits.”
His eyes rolled. “Okay. Back on topic. You and Tasha should go on a duo dungeon—”
One of the slaves stepped through the trees. Ayla. Her straight ruby-orange hair fluttered in the wind like a cape. She called, “What are you two plotting?”
Rowan donned his helmet. “We were taking bets on which one of you will go blind.”
“On Sky?” Gabrielle quipped. “Not Skylar?”
“He insists on me calling him that. It suits him well enough. His head is kind of empty—like the sky.”
“Awww. Take that back. He’s a smart good boy.”
Ayla scoffed. “A good boy doesn’t ask for an enslaved mate.”
“Of course a good boy would, silly. Otherwise he wouldn’t be good in the first place. Hehehe.”
“Right.” Ayla laughed.
It was good to see she was now taking the arranged formation better than before. More than well. No drama. Just some playful shoving.
Rowan said, “I have to thank you for being a good sport and cheering him up. You can be assured that I won’t make you do anything more than be his buddy. Anyway, did you find your amulet?”
She looked at him curiously, then pulled out a necklace from under her tight leather top. “I did. Take a look.” The onyx was the size of a biscuit, roughly square.
Enchanted Onyx Gold Amulet of Greater Luck and Greed
Item Type: Accessory
Quality: 821
+16 Luck (Quality: 813)
+14 Luck (Quality: 722)
Greed: +20% effective Luck stat points. -10% effective Health and Flow stat points. Loot Gems are twice as more likely to hold something worthwhile to you and your party.
“Wow,” he breathed. “Where’d you get that?” The amulet was better than the most expensive pieces on the trading section of the forums.
“I’m so jealous,” Gabrielle said.
Ayla’s emerald eyes glimmered playfully. “I have my ways.”
“Like what?” Gabrielle pressed.
“You stole it,” Rowan guessed.
“Trade secret of being a thief.” Her weight shifted to her right leg in an alluring way. “But I can leave this with you whenever I log out. But I want it back when I log in. Is that fair?”
“Yup,” Gabrielle answered quickly.
Demonborn's Fjord Page 48
