Hero of Lichfrost Read online

  Fate Online

  Hero of Lichfrost

  M. E. Robinson

  Copyright

  All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher, without the prior permission of the publisher.

  Lighthouse Publishing

  Copyright © 2018 M.E. Robinson

  Edited by Alicia Sit

  Cover art by Alicia Sit, 595158825

  For permissions, please contact: [email protected]

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Dedication

  For my friends, who brought these characters to life.

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Epilogue

  Glossary

  Character Sheet

  Afterword

  Prologue

  Normally a place filled with birdsong and the sounds of the forest, the northern part of Stillwood Forest was silent, the wildlife hardly daring to breath as a dark shadow stalked past. Demonic Rabbits retreated into their burrows, Giant Spiders skittered up trees and hid in their webs, while the normally dominant Red-maned Wolves lay low, whimpering quietly as the beast passed by.

  “Halt.”

  With a grating sound, a harsh voice rang out, causing the beast to stop as it entered a small clearing. The clearing had clearly seen better days, as the traces of battle were still fresh, the scars of combat visible even to the untrained eye. Broken arrows were scattered across the forest floor, the moss and grass that normally covered the ground underfoot scattered and mangled from numerous footprints and gouges in the dirt. Scorch marks and bloodstains could be seen throughout the clearing, although the largest concentration of both were at the far end where a collapsed pyre could be seen next to a prone black figure.

  Dismounting from the enormous blood-red wolf that had borne him here, an enormous hobgoblin stalked over towards the collapsed figure. His grey skin bore the marks of many battles, and the enormous sabre at his side bespoke of his willingness to fight many more. Reaching the figure, the hobgoblin knelt down, observing the many wounds upon the corpse of an enormous black wolf. The burnt shafts of several arrows jutted from its chest and throat, and slash wounds could be seen everywhere on its paws and front, indicating that it had suffered dearly at the hands of its killers.

  “The slash patterns… Scouts. They don’t use fire magic though,” the hobgoblin muttered, his guttural voice piercing the quiet forest air. Rolling the enormous wolf over, he appeared to search for something within the remains. Finding something, he deposited it into a pouch at his belt. Finished with his task, he ran his fingers through the bristly fur of the wolf, closing its eyes with a gentleness that belied his appearance.

  “Ster Agnium,” he intoned. Done with his task, the hobgoblin stood up, making his way over towards the fallen pyre. It had not been long since the pyre had burned. Fresh soot covered the grass nearby, not having been washed away by the recent rain or the wind that had howled through the forest only two days before. Within the pyre, burnt sticks mingled with blackened sticklike objects, all mixed together where they’d fallen as the pyre had collapsed on the forest floor.

  Eyeing the remains of the pyre dismissively, the hobgoblin sneered, his foot stamping down upon a blackened object in the center of the pyre. With a cracking sound, the burnt skull shattered, its brittle form no match for the hobgoblin’s booted foot.

  Returning to the blood-red wolf, the hobgoblin jumped on its back, directing it back the way they’d came as he brought a pale gemstone from his pouch. Making a quick sign in the air, the hobgoblin spoke. “I’ve discovered Giram’s worg.”

  “Dead, I assume?” a harsh voice echoed back through the crystal.

  “Yes. Although she took out one of the rats with her. The other seems to have been aided by an outsider. She’d been subjected to fire magic.”

  “What of Giram’s equipment?”

  “I recovered most of it from his corpse. I doubt the scouts had time to loot his body before moving on, not with Giramskra on their tail,” the hobgoblin replied, referring to the dead wolf behind him.

  “And his spellbooks?”

  “His spellbooks burned with his mount.”

  “Good. The scouts may have escaped, but this was to be expected. Return to your post and double the patrols. Doubtless, the Novanalbans will send other rats to investigate. We’ll take this opportunity to kill as many as possible as we finish our preparations.”

  “I shall do as you command.”

  “Good,” the voice replied. “The situation is still salvageable. But Grimarok? Fail me again, and you’ll wish for the mercy of Giram’s fate. Understood?”

  “Yes, Commander Redclaw.”

  With that, the crystal went dark, as silence once again returned to the forest. Depositing the crystal back into his pouch, Grimarok’s eyes went dark. The Novanalbans had slaughtered one of his worgs and humiliated him in front of his commander. Soon, there would be a reckoning.

  Soon.

  Chapter 1

  Ripping off his headset, Eric rushed downstairs to help prepare for dinner - setting the table, grabbing drinks, and corralling his brothers. After a quick dinner with the family, he filled the cat’s food and water bowls before rushing back upstairs, intent on continuing his adventures. Only a day after its release and Eric was already convinced that Fate was the most exciting game he had ever played, fully living up to the hype it had generated. In just the past twenty-four hours in-game, Eric had learned magic, been stabbed by demonic bunnies, fought off a player killer, been accused of murder, nearly been murdered by an enormous wolf, and then escorted a scout back to the village while being chased by a band of bloodthirsty goblins.

  All that, and it’s only been a day, Eric thought with a happy grin as he entered his room. Eyeing his watch, he figured that he probably had just enough time to hand in his quest and explore Tonbura village. Getting back into bed, Eric was just about to log back in when a shadow appeared in his doorway. Looking up, he saw his father filling the doorframe.

  “Yes?”

  “Just wanted to make sure you’re sticking to our deal. Room clean?”

  “Yup.”

  “House vacuumed?”

  “Yup, I’ve got the va
cuum in my closet.”

  “Vicious cat fed?”

  “It was dangerous, but I managed. That cat is vicious.”

  This got a laugh from his father. “Alright, don’t stay up too long. I know it’s summer, but you still have stuff to do. Your mother and I don’t want you staying up all night.”

  Eric rolled his eyes. “I know. I’ll go to bed soon.”

  “Alright. Night.”

  “Night.”

  As his father left, Eric didn’t hesitate to log back into Fate, the now familiar roads of Tonbura village materializing in front of his eyes. As he reoriented himself, he realized that he was still standing in front of Lucy Morningstar’s house. Now that there was no crazy mage threatening him, Eric got a good look at the house, idly wondering as he did why it seemed that so many of the women he’d encountered in Fate so far wanted him dead.

  Morningstar’s house was extremely sturdy, one of the few houses in Tonbura that was constructed with stone and mortar rather than wood and straw. It was also slightly taller than the nearby houses, with what appeared to be a small tower spiraling out of the corner of the house. The stones showed an advanced age, with an unwashed appearance that indicated years of abandonment. The house was not at all what one would expect when they pictured a mage’s house, especially given the status mages usually held in fantasy worlds. Eric wondered if the house was nearly derelict due to Morningstar’s disinterest in basic household maintenance, or for other reasons.

  Squinting up, Eric could just make out runes glowing dimly in the window alcoves, presumably to prevent them from shattering when the mage caused explosions like the one earlier. Doubtlessly, there were also runes to prevent unwanted intruders from entering - though who would be crazy enough to attempt to break in to a mage’s sanctum was beyond him.

  Remembering her words, Eric checked his coin pouch. It was sadly empty, with not even a single copper Cirt to stave off his poverty. Right, he thought with a pang of sadness; he’d given every coin he owned to Craig for those arrows he lost in the forest, conveniently forgetting that most of the cost had been incurred paying for the bow still slung over his back.

  Looking at the time, Eric decided that Owin must surely be done talking with Alistair by now. Reversing directions, he headed towards the militia barracks. It was time to see what reward Alistair had in store for him. Perhaps a new skill, or maybe a sack of gold, he thought, happily daydreaming about the many possible rewards that Alistair could offer him as he made his way towards the northern gateway.

  Arriving at the barracks, Eric let himself in, knocking on the door to Alistair’s office.

  “What is it?” a gruff voice echoed out.

  “It’s Erick Kystfyr - I came to report.”

  “You may enter.”

  Opening the door, Eric was greeted by the sight of Alistair sitting hunched over his map, eyes flitting between various markers. The militia captain’s weatherworn face looked strangely older than it had when Eric had last seen him only the day before. A worried expression rested upon his craggy face, now decorated with a hint of white whiskers, giving a hint to the amount of time he’d spent locked in here. However, his eyes were as strong as ever, staring down at the map in front of him with a firm resolve.

  Glancing up, that resolute gaze met Eric’s own as he greeted the adventurer.

  “Ah, the half-elf escort. Owin told me what you did. Fighting goblin scouts as a fresh militia trainee can’t have been easy. The goblins aren’t strong individually, but together they can wreak havoc on untrained fighters, and their worg mounts give even knights and professional soldiers trouble, to say nothing of fresh militia recruits. Defeating a scout pack with only a few militia for support is an accomplishment you can be proud of. Thanks to you, Owin was able to deliver information that is crucial to our kingdom’s survival. You did some fine work, boy.”

  “Just doing my duty as a member of the militia. That’s what you pay me for, right?”

  “Aye. Though, not many adventurers actually stick to their duties when death comes knocking. Anyways, I expect yer here to claim your reward?”

  Eric nodded sheepishly at this. “Mostly. I was also hoping to turn in some more pelts and possibly the equipment of the goblin riders we encountered.”

  “Well yer reward fer saving Owin and escorting him to Tonbura is ten Sricks and a promotion to Corporal. There’s also a medal fer outstanding bravery in the face of overwhelming danger, but as an otherworlder, I doubt you care about that.”

  “Ah no, sir. It’s a great honour to be recognized for my achievements,” Eric said, saluting the militia Captain.

  "Alright, enough of that. We're the militia, not the army or the knight's corp," Alistair said, waving away Eric's salute. "Catch."

  Stretching, Eric caught a medal and sack tossed his way, the latter of which jingled pleasantly as he did so. Loosening the drawstrings slightly on the sack, he could make out the brilliant gleam of silver Sricks sitting inside. Smiling happily, Eric transferred the rewards to his storage where they disappeared.

  “Was there anything else, Corporal?”

  Recalling the badge in his inventory, Eric paused for a moment, fishing inside his storage for the militia medal that he’d discovered inside the corpse of a red-maned wolf. “I found this. It seems to be a militia pin,” he said, handing the damaged badge to Alistair, taking care not to cut himself on the edge where a suspiciously bite-shaped piece was missing.

  Taking the badge, Alistair’s face stiffened. Flipping it over, he let out a sigh. “Rickard Karfon was the original owner of this medal. We lost contact with him a few days ago. I was hoping he’d just been injured and had made it to another village... unfortunately, it seems he was killed. Thank you for retrieving this. I’ll inform his family tonight.” With another heavy sigh, Alistair placed the medal on the table, a few small flakes of blood floating off it and falling to the table below where they mingled with the dust and dirt.

  Seeing Alistair deep in contemplation as he stared at the medal, Eric shuffled uncomfortably. The NPCs in this game were a little too realistic sometimes, he thought.

  Seeing the half-elf’s discomfort, Alistair turned his gaze back to him, “Is that all, Corporal?”

  “Should be. No wait. Actually, I ran into a mage earlier. Lucy M-”

  “Morningstar. The star mage of Seacove. I bet she didn’t take to seeing you all that well, eh?” Alistair asked, chuckling quietly.

  “Not really, there was an explosion so I drew my sword thinking the village was under attack. Then she attacked me with magic and started insulting me.”

  “Aye. That sounds like her. Not everyone agreed with the Gods’ decision to summon you otherworlders. Some thought that the original residents of the world should be able to repel the dangers on our own. Morningstar is in that camp. It’s part of the reason why she’s stuck in exile here in Tonbura instead of remaining in the capital with her mentor.”

  “She’s in exile?” Eric asked, raising an eyebrow slightly.

  Alistair nodded. “She’s difficult to work with as I’m sure you can appreciate having met her just once. Very talented mage, one of the youngest Advanced Mages to emerge from Novanalba in the last century. But very prickly. Her experiments also often result in collateral damage. That explosion you heard was likely the result of one of her attempts to create a new spell.”

  “Did it backfire?”

  “Hard to say really - she specializes in fire magic. The only real difference between a failed spell and a successful one is the size of the explosion these days. Fortunately for us, she stays cooped up inside her lab most of the days.”

  “And the residents of Tonbura are okay with this?”

  “They’re proud of her. She’s from Tonbura village originally. Plus she’s always nice to the villagers. She helps with the crops, defends the village from brigands or monster attacks, and she hasn’t burned down half the village yet. It’s mostly outsiders like myself and otherworlders such as yourself th
at she’s distrustful of.”

  “How is she as a magic teacher?” Eric asked, not too keen to give his hard-earned money to someone who hated him.

  “She offered to teach you magic?” Alistair asked with a surprised look, raising his eyebrow slightly as he considered for a moment. “Well you don’t need to worry. She’s a professional. She might be verbally, mentally, and emotionally abusive otherwise, but when it comes to magic, she’s a consummate professional. You won’t have many opportunities to learn from an Advanced Mage. If she’s agreed to teach you magic, then you should take advantage.”

  “Even for five Sricks per lesson?”

  Alistair laughed. “Five Sricks? She only charges the villagers a few Cirts or asks them to do chores. I guess it was too much to ask for her to treat you equally. But aye. Five Sricks is still cheap for lessons from an Advanced Mage. Was there anything else you wanted to ask?

  Taking the wolf pelts and other loot he’d gained from the past few days of hunting, Eric handed them to Alistair for six more Sricks and a couple copper Cirts. Thanking the grizzled militia captain, he took his leave of the barracks, his storage noticeably emptier, but his coin purse now satisfyingly jingly.

  With his purse now sufficiently full, Eric set off on a shopping spree. He started with Tom’s smithy where he paid to get the iron sword repaired. Tom had not been happy about the state the sword was in, but Eric’s assurances that he was not at fault and that he would take proper care of the sword soothed the annoyed blacksmith. Leaving the smithy, he headed next to Craig’s archery shop where he replenished his supply of arrows, purchasing a quiver of iron arrows and a backup quiver of stone arrows this time. After obtaining directions towards the tanner from Craig, he made his way towards the leatherworker’s shop.

  Finding himself below a sign which read, “Doreen’s Leather Supplies”, Eric sniffed, the earthy smell of leather filling his nostrils. Wrinkling his nose slightly, he opened the door, wiping away the tears forming in his eyes from the smell of tanning leather.