Going Rogue (Spells, Swords, & Stealth Book 3) Page 3

  “Forests are fine, as long as there’s a magical thread for us to follow,” Cheri said. She was leaning back in her chair, checking over Chalara the mage one last time before the game began in earnest. Truthfully, Cheri hadn’t expected to keep playing with this group past summer, now that college had restarted and her friends were back in town. But damned if it hadn’t turned out to be a pretty interesting game, and she found herself liking Russell’s group more than expected. It had been a long while since she played Spells, Swords, and Stealth with sober people who genuinely cared, and she’d forgotten how much it drew her in. So she missed a couple of keggers every week; there were always more around the bend.

  “You’re all getting quite ahead of yourselves.” Russell lifted his GM screen, separating the players from him and concealing the book serving as source material. Often GMs rolled behind their screens as well, but after what happened with Tim’s first campaign, Russell rolled in the open. If things went screwy, he wanted witnesses. “First, you’ll need to make it to Camnarael, and there’s plenty of room for random encounters along the way.”

  A collective groan rose from everyone at the table save Alexis, who met the news with a gentle smile.

  “More wolves? Their pelts don’t even fetch that much,” Cheri complained. “Can’t we just skip to the good stuff?”

  “Look, the outlands of Alcatham have a wolf problem. It’s not my fault they’re the most common entry on the random encounter table. Just hope you don’t roll something a lot more dangerous,” Russell cautioned.

  Tim, always looking on the bright side, smoothed out the wrinkles he’d just put in his character sheet and checked the inventory. “At least we’ve got that magic cooking top from the trader. Only two thousand gold, and now we can cook all the wolf meat we want without sending up smoke.”

  “I still can’t believe they put a stove in this game,” Cheri said.

  “I can’t believe it was made by some enchanter instead of a proper gadgeteer,” Bert added, a touch of hurt pride in his voice. “The two thousand gold price tag did make it a steal, though.”

  Russell let them talk as he consulted the books about the trek to Alcatham’s capital. He’d already begun hand-copying the pages as well as making photocopies of both the notes and the book, but a piece of him had resolved itself to the possibility of never catching the shifting text except with his own memory. No, what he needed was another strange event, something tangible, something that people could witness. And the only way he knew of to get that was to have the players stumble into it. Much as his group wanted to race to Alcatham, Russell was using all his self-control not to just teleport them there. If he wanted this to work, he needed to be patient, to do the module right.

  This time... this time, it would work. Something would happen. It had to.

  * * *

  When the first limited-run module by Broken Bridge Publishing was released, there were a few hundred sold. Though the number seemed low, any analyst would have admired the fact that every copy produced was ultimately purchased. No copies lingered on back shelves or discount bins; none were thought to be held back by selfish shop owners as potential online auction items. Perhaps it was some well-designed marketing trick, or the fact that by the time anyone realized how rare the books would be, they’d already been snatched up. But whatever the reason, the books were bought and played in homes all over the world.

  The second module was different. For one thing, it never saw commercial release. The official explanation, from those who bothered to whisper about it on barely-seen message boards, was that every purchaser of the first book was entered into a lottery, and those who won had the new modules delivered to their doors. Some people wisely wondered exactly how such a contest would work, especially since no one recalled giving home addresses when buying their first copy, but as those who won began to play, the topic had died out and the message boards were forgotten.

  No one talked much about the third module. At least, not online. By this point, those who got their hands on a copy realized that they were touching something as mercurial as it was special. They all felt with one wrong word it would end, blown apart like a sneeze on a spider’s web. Though they didn’t know it, these were all people who had played their last module out properly, as well as hunted Broken Bridge for more.

  Well, they were almost all such players, with one very special exception.

  “Yo!” Mitch banged open the comic shop door, noting the dusty scent that hit his nostrils. It was a step up from the usual nerd BO he found in these places, but he still wrinkled his nose all the same. “We’re here for the game!”

  Glenn and Terry made their way inside behind Mitch. Neither looked especially cheerful about the location—nearly an hour away from the closest of their houses was a bitch of a commute—but they’d more or less run out of options. No GM around would let the group into their games anymore, except maybe Russell, and no one wanted to deal with all that weird shit again. So getting an email from someone offering to host a game was a sweet deal, even if they weren’t totally sure how the prospective GM had gotten their email addresses in the first place.

  At first there was no response. Mitch had to wonder if they were getting punked. Then a flurry of movement arose from the back of the store. A woman under a towering stack of comics staggered into view. She caught sight of the three young men and nearly dropped her burden, managing to set it down, just in time, on a nearby table instead.

  “I’m so sorry. I was in the back getting more stock instead of being out here to greet you customers. Please, let me know what you’re looking for, and I’ll be glad to find it for you.” Her tone was offputtingly cheerful, at least for Mitch. Though with the short brown hair and big eyes, she seemed cute enough to try and be at least a little civil.

  “We’re just here for the SS&S game. Some dude named Jamie emailed us about starting a new group,” Mitch said.

  “So you’re my new players.” She clapped her hands excitedly and rushed over to the counter, which she promptly disappeared behind. “It’s a pleasure to meet all of you. I hope you don’t mind that I emailed out of the blue. I was talking to Mr. Landon over at Comics, Comics, Comics, and he mentioned you three were searching for a group. Since I’m new in town and just got a limited edition module, it seemed like kismet.”

  At last she popped up, holding a hard-cover book that all three immediately recognized as a Spells, Swords, and Stealth module. They stared, still trying to wrap their heads around the fact that they’d driven out all this way to meet a girl GM. Those certainly existed, but none of the three had ever wanted to play under one. If they were a touch more introspective, they might have realized this sort of attitude was exactly why they’d had to drive an hour out of town to find someone willing to game with them. But sadly, that was not the case.

  “Wait... so there’s no Jamie?” Glenn asked, poking his way through the problem as best he could.

  “Of course there is. I’m Jamie. That or someone else with my name decided to meet their group on the same day I was meeting mine. And you’re Mitch, Glenn, and Terry, I assume.” If Jamie was bothered by their confusion or assumptions, it didn’t show on her grinning face. She was still rummaging about at the counter. She pulled forth a dented GM screen and a bag that echoed with the familiar clatter of dice. “Fair warning: I will still have to run the store while we play—at least until I get more employees—but as you can see for yourselves, the interruptions will be few and far between, unfortunately.”

  Mitch looked back at Glenn and Terry, trying to get a sense of how his crew was feeling about all these curveballs. On one hand, they’d be committing to a game that was a pain in the ass to commute to, and since the GM was minding a store, it wasn’t like she’d be able to meet them halfway. Plus, they’d be playing under a girl, and all of three were utterly sure that girls focused on dumb shit like role-playing instead of killing and looting. Then again, she had said “limited edition” when describing the mod
ule, and the idea of getting to play something rare while all the shithead groups in town were stuck with the run-of-mill material did have a certain charm.

  Ultimately, it was an issue of pragmatism over anything else. They were out of groups for the moment. Eventually, tempers would cool and people would chill the fuck out over the minor things Mitch and the others had done in-game—small shit like killing other party members because they’d gotten really cool items—and when that happened, they’d be welcomed back. It would take time, though, and during that wait, they could either have whatever half-shit game Jamie threw together or nothing at all. Well, there were the online options, but that crap was for nerds.

  Without getting an opinion or exchanging more than a look with his friends—mostly because he considered himself the unquestioned leader, but also because he didn’t care what they wanted— Mitch made the decision. “Okay, we’ll game with you. Just know that we’ve already got our party dynamic figured out and honed, so don’t try and throw any restriction horseshit at us. I’m the barbarian, Glenn is the wizard, and Terry is the rogue. We’ll take an NPC heal-monkey if the game needs a fourth or just spend starting gold on a shitload of healing magic. And don’t expect us to talk our way out of things if punching is an option.”

  “My, you’re just as boisterous as Mr. Landon indicated,” Jamie replied, smile unwavering. “That party arrangement is fine, and I don’t think you’ll run into too many diplomatic challenges. This module is all about finding the quest that’s right for you, meaning you’re free to choose tasks that let you chop and kill to your heart’s content.”

  “Kickass,” Glenn said, finally getting excited at the idea of simulated murder.

  “Just one thing to keep in mind.” Jamie grabbed her book, dice, and screen, and then headed over to a card table that was slightly less cluttered than the ones around it. “While you can go nuts on the quests themselves, getting your missions requires going into the kingdom of Alcatham’s capital. It’s a place with lots of adventurers and, therefore, high-level NPCs designed to keep the peace. I’ve only skimmed things so far, but I’d highly recommend staying peaceful while in the capital. Otherwise, your characters are going to be in for one hell of a fight.”

  “Psh, that’s just what the book says.” Mitch made his way over to the table and halfheartedly moved a small stack of comics out of the way, placing them on another table. He offered up his most charming smile, which was admittedly handsome, if not somewhat spoiled by the haughty gaze in his eyes. “You’re the GM. You can pull the enemies back if they get too rough. After all, you wouldn’t want to wipe your group out too early. We’d probably lose interest in the game.”

  As a rule, Mitch always found it important to establish the power dynamic with a new GM early on. Total control over the game could go to their heads, so Mitch made sure to remind them that without the players, a GM was just a dork reading a book. It would be all the easier this time, since Jamie was so desperate she’d emailed total strangers to come play. Mitch expected to be the one really running the games, even as Jamie had to the do the un-fun work of being GM.

  That’s what made it all the more surprising when Jamie met his suggestion with a delighted, tinkling laugh. “Oh no, I’m afraid there won’t be any of that. The game is only fun when there are consequences. I’d sooner give up Game Mastering than let go of that principle. The choices your characters make, the things they say, the people they hurt, it all has the potential to come back on them, just like in real life.”

  “But it’s not real life,” Terry pointed out. “It’s a game. That’s why we can cut some guard’s throat and take his sword if we want it.”

  “Yes, you can. You absolutely can,” Jamie agreed. “And all you’ll have to do is subdue him, and any friends or allies he might have in the world. I’d suggest you keep this next bit in mind as you make your way through the kingdom: nothing, in life or the game, is willing to die easily. If you try to kill them, they will strike back with every ounce of fervor and strength they possess. Everything fights with all it has when life is on the line. Even NPCs.”

  Chapter 4

  In the time it took them to reach Camnarael, the group encountered four more wolves, one bear, and a dire turkey that made for a delicious change of pace once it was roasted over the campfire. There would have certainly been more had they stayed to the outskirts of the kingdom as originally planned, but with every passing day, they rode farther into civilization. True, there were still large gaps of untamed forest or festering swamp to pass; however, these scenes were interspersed with ones of modest towns or thriving villages. It made the journey easier, as they were able to intersperse their rough nights with ones on actual bedding, even if it did further cut into their dwindling coin reserves.

  Eventually, the smaller hamlets fell away, giving rise to an enormous farming community that encircled a city large enough to see from over a day’s ride out. All semblances of wild lands fell away as more travelers filled the road and guards wearing the crest of Alcatham became a frequent sight. Here, at least, there would be no tolerance of untamed monsters or roving bandits. However, with the increased safety arose a need for subterfuge, and the demands of that were sitting worse with some than others.

  “I feel exposed,” Gabrielle muttered under her breath, adjusting the collar on her robes for the umpteenth time.

  “And I’m sure Grumph isn’t enjoying hauling that axe of yours, but we need to blend in as best we can until we’ve obtained a quest.” Thistle wasn’t sure how often he’d had to remind her that the situation was temporary, only that he would easily be as glad as she when the deceit came to an end.

  Though they were all peculiar in their own rights, Gabrielle and Grumph were easily the most eye-catching of the lot. Between his being a half-orc with a spell book and her blood-red demon-hide armor, they were the ones for whom King Liadon’s people would most likely be on the lookout. Thus, to better obfuscate themselves in the crowd, Thistle had suggested the two switch their visible roles. Gabrielle’s armor was packed up and stowed on her horse, traded out for a set of Grumph’s mage robes that Eric had hemmed and altered halfway back to cloth before they’d fit her. Grumph, in turn, had strapped Gabrielle’s imposing axe to his back. While Thistle’s old friend said nothing, his minor squirming made it clear that Grumph wasn’t particularly keen on the burden.

  “At least we’re almost there.” Eric’s own camouflage had been the simple addition of a cloak to cover his sword and armor—like any good rogue, he’d taken pains to avoid standing out in people’s attention.

  “That we are.” Grumph’s head was tilted back to appreciate the workmanship of the large stone buildings they passed, which appeared to have stood for hundreds, if not thousands, of years.

  Unlike the capital of Solium, Camnarael was not surrounded by a massive wall, nor did it have a clear perimeter. Instead, it cropped up gradually, signs of civilization and advanced architecture snowballing until suddenly one had arrived in the city proper without even realizing it. This gradual progression also meant that the streets weren’t as narrow, so they were more accommodating to the steady flow of travelers as they made their way through the kingdom’s hub. Smaller roads split off from the main at regular intervals, leading to all the various reaches of Alcatham’s lands. One of them, a narrow path with visibly less use than the others, would carry all the way up through the mountains to the beginnings of Baltmur. That was the road the party would have to go down eventually. Though, when that time came, they hoped to be better prepared for the hard journey ahead.

  “Where to?” Timuscor asked. He was near the front of the group, insistent on staying close to Thistle since the gnome had also packed away his armor. Gnomes were often seen in all manner of garb and role, but to be hunkered down beneath a full suit of plated mail was unusual, and exactly the sort of curiosity that might draw the wrong type of attention.

  “Straight ahead, to the building with Alcatham’s crest emblazoned atop a
pair of crossed swords,” Thistle replied. “Shouldn’t be too much longer now.”

  “Going to take a wild guess that you’ve been there before.” Gabrielle’s tone had taken on a bit more bite than usual, no doubt a side effect of being forced from her armor and weapon.

  “As you know, before I settled in Maplebark, I paid a debt to another group of adventurers by acting in their employ. Alcatham’s quest centralization, aside from being quite pragmatic, has the added benefit of drawing adventurers from all across the lands. Being able to gather in one place and see the array of options spread out before you is far more appealing than wandering from town to town, hoping to hit on a worthy task. So, yes, I’ve been through here before, though not for quite some while,” Thistle said.

  “Wonder if the mead is still good.” Grumph’s comment drew a few curious glances from the others. They knew that Thistle and Grumph’s past intertwined at some point, but since the gnome’s story of how he’d come to join his previous group of adventurers had been absent any half-orcs, they knew it wasn’t at the outset. Evidently Grumph had been tagging along by the time the old group made it to Camnarael.

  “If anything, I bet they’ve improved the recipe.” Thistle actually licked his lips as he spoke, and his eyes took on a distant expression the others rarely saw, except when he spoke of his late wife. “That mead is something special, crafted from ingredients across the kingdoms, tinkered with by only the finest of brewmasters. We spent many a night telling tales and jokes over the mead served in these halls. I daresay it might be what first inspired Grumph to start his own tavern.”