Chapter 1
Bert Smart
Bert trudged up the steep ridge, swaying briefly as the wind caught his oversized pack. He wasn't very strong, and he wasn't very fast, but that was sort of expected when you were a goblin. Not a full warg rider, or a spear thrower, or even a G Biter.
No, Bert was the lowest of the low. He was just a 1-hit-point goblin, so low that adventurers couldn't even see him, since he counted as a critter, like a rabbit or one of those cute, little owls.
But Bert had one advantage. An advantage that he would use to outsmart the village elders, and even his mom. An advantage he'd cultivated from the very weakness that caused the bigger goblins to laugh at him.
He smiled wickedly, and reveled in his own power. "Bert smart."
Bert finally crested the ridge, and hurried over to a ledge so he could peer down into the small, pine-covered ravine below. Thick trunks carpeted the steep slopes below him, all the way to the valley floor where a titanic combat was about to play out.
On one side stood an adult red dragon, its scarlet scales gleaming under the early morning sunlight. On the other stood the adventuring party that Bert had been following for the last three days. All four heroes were veterans of many battles. Bert should know. He'd been following them off and on for months.
In the lead stood a mighty dwarf paladin, his thick, rust-colored beard and bushy hair combining into something resembling a lion's mane. The dwarf's plate armor clanked as he cautiously advanced toward the dragon, all the while beating his sword on his shield to get the beast's attention. A bright red oval stone shone from the trope socket set into the dwarf's chest, and Bert knew if he crept close enough he'd be able to see the sigil emblazoned on the trope. He wanted to add it to his catalogue, but hadn't yet had an opportunity to get close enough to study it.
Behind the dwarf stood an elven ranger, his long, blond locks fluttering in the wind. Long, pale ears curved up behind a narrow face, and a sickly white light shone from his trope. That one Bert had already inspected, while the elf was passed out after drinking, which was pretty much always. The trope was emblazoned with a little stick man with a sad face holding a bow.
Emblazoned. Bert liked that word.
The elf cradled his bow loosely in one hand, and used the other to deftly pluck a trio of arrows from his quiver. The very instant those arrows left the quiver three more sprang into their place, added by the quiver's magic. He nocked all three arrows and took aim at the dragon.
"Why have you come here?" the dragon roared, its deep voice echoing up the steep slopes. "I bother no one. I hunt only animals, and only in the deep forests. I present no threat to--"
The elf loosed all three arrows, each winging off in a different direction like a bird, their magic allowing them to twist and dodge around tree branches. They arced around, then came at the dragon from three separate directions.
The dragon saw the projectiles coming, and vaulted into the air with a mighty flap of its leathery wings. The beast hovered there, but the arrows simply adjusted course. All three flew unerringly toward the same place on the dragon's body, and Bert winced sympathetically as the arrows thudded into the dragon's crotch in rapid succession.
The beast gave a high-pitched screech, and its fore-claws dropped to cover the affected region. Its slitted eyes narrowed, and it fixed its baleful gaze on the elf. "You honorless cur."
"Dude, it's a curse," the elf protested with an apologetic shrug. "It isn't my fault. I have no choice. The arrows always go right for the crotch. Sorry, man."
Confident he was far enough to be outside the splash zone of any area-of-effect attacks, Bert set down his pack and removed his blanket. He rolled it carefully out on the ground, and withdrew a small leather sack with his lunch. Bert pulled the wrapping from his sandwich, and began to chew as he watched the fight play out below.
The dragon was too high for the dwarf to reach, but the two casters in the rear of the party had no such issues. The first to act was the party's leader, as Bert understood it.
They called him Master White, which made sense since he wore white robes. Theoretically, at least. The robes were badly stained with blood, soot, and dirt, all caked in layers. But here and there you could still see patches of white.
Master White raised both hands and began chanting in a strange language Bert didn't understand. "Eplurbus Enum ad hoc carpe diem."
Dark, malevolent energies seeped from the necromancer into the trees around him, which began to wither and die. Those energies gathered around White in a swirling corona of power. He gathered the dark spell and flung it at the dragon.
The spell slammed into the poor creature's chest, and the magic exploded outwards, washing over every part of the creature. The beast screeched again, this time more weakly. Its rich scarlet scales faded to a pallid grey, and its wingbeats were too weak to keep it aloft. The dragon plummeted, clawing desperately at a tall pine that cracked under its weight.
The beast tumbled heavily to the valley floor, one wing giving a tremendous crack as it shattered under the dragon's body.
"Finally!" the dwarf roared, charging the stunned beast. He leapt onto its back, and rammed his sword into the dragon's eye. The beast weakly swatted the dwarf away, and he tumbled backward, but came to his feet laughing. "That's right! Yer half blind. Dropped yer AC by two, and you gain the flanked condition, even against a single opponent."
Bert knew that AC was short for 'armor class,' but he had no idea what a flanked condition was. The adventurers were always talking about rules, most of which Bert didn't understand.
The final caster, a slender elven sorceress with platinum hair and glittering sapphire eyes, stood just outside the swathe of dead trees killed by the white necromancer. She raised her staff and began to chant in the same strange language the necromancer had used. "Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet."
A wave of golden energy washed out from her staff, and settled over her and her companions. The effect was immediate. All four began to vibrate, and every step they took came far more swiftly, though to Bert's mind the haste spell seemed like overkill.
The ranger loosed another volley of arrows, which unerringly slammed into the doomed dragon's crotch. It screeched again, and desperately sought to cover its nads, to no avail.
The dwarf seized the dragon's head, and rammed his sword into its remaining eye. "Ha! Yer fully blind. Now you've got a 50% miss chance and you have to guess our square."
Bert expected the necromancer to cast another hideous spell, but instead White bravely ran into the dragon's lair, a wide cave mouth just behind where the dragon was making its last stand.
Bert carefully folded the sandwich wrapper and placed it back in his sack. It would take the adventurers a while to go through the treasure, but when they were done he could have his fill of whatever they left behind.
There would be copper. So much glorious copper.
Chapter 2
The Game
Kit peered up the ridge, through the sun-dappled pines, but saw no movement. There were a few critters, but no adventurers or monsters. Nothing that could threaten their party, at least. So why did she feel compelled to keep glancing up the wooded slope?
"What is it?" Master White called. The necromancer moved to stand near her, and she gagged reflexively at the odor that emanated from his robes, which hadn't been laundered since the river they'd passed early last week. White stared up at the ridge, shading his eyes with one delicately manicured hand. "Anything worth XP? I still have plenty of spells left for the day."
"No, just a feeling," Kit admitted. She gave up and turned back to the dragon's lair, unsurprised that both Brakestuff and Crotchshot had already disappeared inside. The best loot was likely already spoken for, but then that was always the case. "I just can't shake the feeling we're being watched, but if we are they're either a high-level rogue, or maybe they're using an invisibility spell."
"Why don't you cast a see invisibility then?" Master White demanded in a tone that made it clear she should have thought of that. He stroked at his goatee, judge-ily. Was that a word? It was now. "If they're powerful enough to cast it, then they're high enough level to give us XP."
"Uh, because you won't let me memorize it?" Kit eyed him sidelong. "See invisibility is second level. You wanted me to memorize bull's strength and politician's rhetoric, so that I could buff you and Brakestuff. Besides, aren't you a caster too? Why don't you cast it?"
"I am no common wizard or sorcerer." White seized the lapels of his necromancer's robes and displayed them proudly. They bore a stylized hand with only its middle finger raised, the mark of the OLP, the magical organization he belonged to. They were so secretive no one knew what the letters stood for. "I've been recognized as a white necromancer. My time is spent mastering the whispered arts, so that I can call upon my ancestors for aid. It is a noble calling, one only the most lawful and righteous are allowed to practice."
Kit gave a disgusted sigh, and started toward the cave. She'd had this argument too many times, and wasn't interested in another helping of White's arrogance.
She dimly sensed that this, all of this, wasn't real. They were playing some sort of game, and White was someone she knew back in the real world. But the magic of the game obscured everything that wasn't part of it, so as not to ruin the immersion.
Crotchshot and Brakestuff were also people she knew in the real world, though how or why wasn't clear, thanks to the game.
Both companions were scooping gold into Brake's backpack as fast as they could shovel it. The tan-colored haversack was magical in nature, and could hold much more than it appeared. So much so that even they struggled to fill it.
"I take it neither of you counted the money before you shoved it inside?" she asked, though Kit already knew the answer.
"Nah. Master White will deal with that when we get to camp." Brakestuff waved dismissively at her. "I'm more interested in the magic stuff. There's a shield and a ring."
"Any tropes?" Kit moved to the small pile of gear they'd accumulated, and then muttered a detect magic spell. Several objects began to glow, which included the shield and the ring.
"Nah," Crotchshot looked a little crestfallen. "That was the first thing I looked for."
"I thought you liked your trope." Kit bent to inspect the ring, a simple, gold band with a single emerald.
"I do like it, mostly. I mean, I even chose my name around the flaw. It isn't so bad," the ranger replied as he scooped the rest of the gold into the haversack. "Shooting people in the crotch isn't really a disadvantage, unless we run into something with no discernible anatomy. Then there's nothing for the curse to latch onto and my bow doesn't work. If we run into a gelatinous cube, you're on your own."
Master White's faint musk preceded the necromancer, and she turned to face the tall, dark-haired man as he entered the cave. White was handsome, and one of the most charismatic people she'd ever met. The robes were so out of keeping, but they didn't give a penalty to social checks, and all White cared about was numbers.
He stared down at the loot for a moment, then looked up at her. "What does the ring do?"
Kit turned and held it up for his inspection. "It's a lesser ring of wizardry, I think. It should allow any wizard or sorcerer to cast more first and second level spells."
"Obviously, I should take that." Master White held out his soft palm expectantly. "Since you don't use combat spells."
"If I keep it," she pointed out, "then I'd be able to cast utility spells like see invisibility. It would give me a lot more flexibility, and I'd still be able to buff the party."
"Give me the ring, Kit." Master White folded his arms, and eyed her like she were a misbehaving child. "Or do you think it's worth a party vote?"
"Fine." Her shoulders slumped. She was so tired of fighting over everything, and even if she won the vote she'd never hear the end of it. "Here. Take it." She handed it across, and Master White slid the ring on his finger with a contented sigh. Right next to the other ring, and the bracelets, and the amulet, and the robes that the party had let him loot.
"Can I have the shield?" Brakestuff asked, presenting the shining silver buckler. "It's the same AC, but I'd have less armor check penalty so I wouldn't suck so badly at sneaking."
"Very well," Master White waved magnanimously. "You can buy it from the party, and we'll even give you a 20% discount."
"Awesome." Brakestuff removed his old shield, a heavy, steel kite shield, and dumped it on the ground next to him. He clipped on the buckler, then used it to reflect sunlight into Crotchshot's eyes. "This thing is going to make hiking so much less boring."
"Oww! If you do that again you'd better make sure you're wearing a cup," the elf snapped as he reached threateningly for his quiver.
Kit lost interest in their antics, and took a quick look at the cave. Piles of coins still dotted the cave, but it was all copper, which no self-respecting adventurer would stoop to gathering. It was too heavy, and a single gold was worth a hundred copper. Silver was heavy, but still worth enough that they usually took it too.
She made one final inspection of the cave, just in case, but there were no secret entrances, or if there were she'd missed her perception check. She gave a weary sigh and exited the cave. Once again she'd come away with nothing, while Master White got the best loot.
A wall of particularly foul stench greeted her as she exited the cave. It was coming from the dragon's corpse, which had continued to decay at a supernatural rate while they'd been pillaging its lair. Its scales had gone a dusty grey, and its eyes were now cloudy and unfocused.
Then the dragon began climbing to its feet.
"Guys!" Kit shouted, as she stumbled back a pace. "I don't think the dragon is dead."
"Oh, it's dead," Master White crowed as he walked by her. "Or undead rather. I animated it."
"What possible use could you have for an undead dragon?" she demanded, glaring at the necromancer in horror. "I thought your alignment was lawful good."
"It is." He blinked at her in confusion. "And I resent you implying otherwise. This isn't an evil act. It's expediency."
"What do you mean?"
"We're going to use the dragon to fly out of here. It will shave hours off the trip."
"Uh, I don't know about that," Crotchshot protested. The elf led his horse past the undead dragon, and the creature whinnied in terror, the whites of its eyes flashing. "Crap, horse. Calm down. It ain't gonna hurt you." He looked up at White. "I ain't gonna leave my horse behind. That's crazy talk. This thing is worth fifty gold, and I'm broke. I could get like five whores for a whole night if we sell it."
"We just looted nearly six thousand gold, by my count." White smiled magnanimously. "The time is more valuable. If we get back we'll have time to resupply, level up, and then hit the Tomb of Deadly Death before the dark lord even knows we're in his city." The necromancer turned to Brakestuff, who was using his new shield to blind the horses. "What do you think, my short, stupid friend?"
"Hmm?" The dwarf looked up, and pushed a mop of hair from his face so he could see the necromancer. "Oh, about the dragon thing? My god is pretty clear. Knowsbest has decreed that the righteous shall prevail. Righteous means good, right? What's your alignment, Master White?"
"Lawful good, of course." Master White smiled triumphantly at Kit. "Crotchshot, did I mention that this dragon has a base fly speed of ninety?"
"Ninety?" Crotchshot blinked at the undead wyrm. "Shit, why are we still using horses?" He slid off his mount, and withdrew his saddlebags.
"You're just going to leave your mount here, in the heart of a deadly forest?" Kit gawked at Crotchshot. "Every time I think you can't do something lower, you prove me wrong. You're supposed to be a ranger. You can't just abandon your horse."
"I'm not abandoning it." The elf slung his pack over his shoulder and moved to stand next to the animated dragon. "I'm setting it free. It's, uh, magnanimous. Nature and stuff. I mean, if you think it would make sense, I guess I could put it out of its misery." He reached for an arrow.
Kit recoiled. "By shooting it in the dick?"
"It's a gelding, but that general area, yeah."
"That doesn't mean what you think it means. Geldings still have a--you know what? Never mind. I'm sure the horse would rather take its chances." Kit shuddered, and took a few steps away from the corpse the others were clambering on top of. She tried not to focus on the wide stand of now-dead trees that had been killed by the necromancer. Everywhere they went they seemed to leave the world a worse place, which hardly fit the necromancer's stated alignment.
"Well then," Master White said as he climbed atop the dragon. "I guess we'll see you back in town, Kit. I'll hold onto your share of the treasure for you until then."
The dragon kicked off the ground, and began soaring into the air. Rancid blood dripped from the hideous wounds they'd inflicted, and the stench was a living thing as the beast lifted off and winged its way above the trees.
Kit reached for her magic and shifted into her natural form, a small, red fox. She sprinted into the trees, working her way through the valley as the dragon sped by overhead. It was worth a couple extra days not to have to smell that thing the entire trip back.
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