The Bard: A LitRPG Short Story (The Greenwood Book 4) Read online

  The Bard

  Galen Wolf

  Contents

  1.The Queen of Summer

  2.Romeo El Mejor - The Man and His Measure.

  3.Dwarfs in Trouble

  4.Astral Bob's Tower

  5.The Play's the Thing

  6.The Mirror Found

  7.The Narrow Road to the Deep East

  8.The Mansions of Amon Duul

  9.A Midsummer Night's Dream

  1. The Queen of Summer

  She appeared from nowhere in fizzles of silver, a scent of musk rose and green tea arriving with her. I stepped back, startled. It’s not often a goddess appears in person right in front of one. She was petite and blonde and pretty with a crown of woven flowers, shoulder length straight hair, eyes blue as midnight glaciers, but with dark brows and a heart shaped mouth carefully painted in crimson. She wore a floral dress that came to just above her knees. And what delightful knees! I could hardly take my eyes off them.

  “Hello, Romeo,” she said.

  I bowed low; she was Queen of Summer after all. But what could a goddess want visiting me in my humble theatre, when I was planning to put on the performance of my life?

  “Romeo,” she said, pronouncing my name like candy in her mouth. “I need you to run an errand for me.”

  We’d never met before, but of course, I knew her and her reputation.

  “Your majesty…” I hesitated. Was ‘highness’ better here? I knew little of gods; she was the first one I’d met in all my time playing the Greenwood and I was a maxxed out Level 20 Bard, considered the most adept in the realms, even if I said so myself.

  “Enough of the formalities. Call me Alice. It was my name before I was elevated to god-hood after all. Do you have any Darjeeling? I’m dying for a cup of tea.”

  “I’m about to put on a play...” I said, but my words faltered even as they emerged from my mouth, winding down to breathy silence. A pause. I was in a dither. She eyed me archly.

  “Tea?” She repeated.

  “Only Earl Grey, I’m afraid.”

  “That’ll do. Up on the roof garden?”

  She knew I had a roof garden. She must have done her research. I led her from my gloomy theatre up the cast iron spiral staircase; she tip toed in front of me in her dainty red shoes until we emerged onto the sun drenched roof. I let her sit on my best chair out on the roof garden. The sun split the heavens and she produced a pair of shades. Seagulls wheeled in the sky, and below was the bustle of Drury Lane in the Theatre District of the city of Vinab. The streets teemed with activity. She peered down. “A funny bunch, aren’t they?”

  “The NPCs?”

  She nodded. “You know we think they’re becoming sentient?”

  I didn’t. I was rather taken aback. I’d been used to treating them as things, but if they were becoming people - even artificial intelligence people - then that would clearly change things.

  “Tea?” She said, smiling sweetly. The sun caught her young face. She really was quite beautiful, and I consider myself quite a connoisseur of ladies, and as such am in a position to leave such a review - 5 stars! I must have gazed overlong because she fluttered her dark lashes and shooed me off with an elegant hand.

  I descended into my gloomy kitchen to prepare tea. I forgot to ask whether she took sugar and so when I came up with my finest china cups, the rose floral patterned ones, on my silver tray, which I’d hurriedly wiped in the kitchen, I was quite nervous.

  She took a sip without any complaint. Still looking at the CGI life on the streets below, she said. “It’s virtual reality, but it’s better than the real thing, isn’t it. In real life, I’m ugly. I bet you are too.”

  I was about to protest, but she held up a pretty hand to silence me. “About this errand.” Sipping tea, she said, “You’re familiar with the history of the Gods of the Greenwood?”

  “A little.”

  “Stop me if I’m boring you. So, The Greenwood was one of the first Virtual Reality MMOs, started by a group of enthusiasts, some say fanatics, in Sheffield, England. The greatest of these, the leader, was Genesis — the first god. He was a genius without doubt, sadly no longer with us.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Dead?”

  “Moved onto other projects.”

  “Please go on.”

  “Players could become gods by winning certain competitions. You can’t do that now. I was Alice, a Thief. I was elevated to godhood around ten years ago. When you become a god, you get all skill sets maxxed out.” She set down her teacup, then glanced up over her sunglasses, catching me with eyes blue as electricity on a windy night. “I had been concerned I’d be… bored? Is that the right word? But I needn’t have worried myself; being a god is great fun. You get to interfere in player’s lives and most of the time they don’t even know you're there.” She tapped her nose, “God Stealth - what a skill it is!”

  What a lovely smile she had.

  “Even when Genesis sold The Greenwood to an American company called Miskatonic Games, from Salem, Massachusetts, we were allowed to keep on being gods. Just no new ones.”

  I was sitting down now also. More at ease, but without being comfortable, I ventured, “So how do you fill your time as a god?” With a flash of panic, I wondered whether I was being over-familiar. She could zap me to death or encase me in stone for three weeks if I offended her. Gods are capricious beings.

  She yawned into her petite hand. “We do god quests and we squabble with each other. But that’s really why I’m here.”

  She crossed her legs and smoothed her floral dress over her knee. What a fidget! I tried not to stare. She leaned in conspiratorially - now the scent of musk rose with a pleasing whiff of cordite. “I hate the Queen of Winter. I feel so stereotyped for saying it, but I do. She’s such a bitch.”

  I shrugged. “I’ve never met her.”

  “You’d hate her. I know you would. After all, you like me, and you couldn’t like both of us, we’re just so different.” She took more tea.

  I saw her lipstick had stained the delicate rim of the cup. It looked like a kiss. She said, “She has something. It’s a quest item. We have to collect a series of objects, and I’ve nearly won, but she has the Mirror of Revelation and she’s hidden it.”

  “Oh.” I was still wondering how I came into this.

  “I need you to get me the Mirror of Revelation.”

  I shook my head. “But why can’t you get it yourself?”

  She arched a dark eyebrow. I had overstepped; I apologized.

  “Because she mustn't know I have it. Really, Romeo, I don’t want her to know I have anything to do with it. She’ll retaliate if she knows.”

  “But she might know I have something to do with it?” I cleared my throat. I was developing a nervous tickle.

  “No, no.” She waved my concerns away with her pretty hand. “You sneak in, sneak out. That’s it.”

  “Surely a thief would be better placed…”

  She stamped a dainty foot. “I’ve chosen you and that’s that.”

  “But why?”

  She gave me a look. “Do you presume to question me?”

  “No, no, your Highness.” (Majesty maybe?) I gulped. The vision of being stone for three weeks haunted me. I’d still be paying my hefty monthly sub to the game, and unable to play, and I couldn’t quit — no one did. It was too addictive. So addictive we put up with torture at times and still remained in The Greenwood.

  “Anyway, you have Music of the Dead in your skill-set.”

  “There are undead?”

  She nodded. “So that’s why a thief wouldn’t work.”

  It was true.
The undead see through stealth and invisibility; as they don’t use eyes, they sense the living.

  “I had thought of the charming Achilles…”

  Achilles the Thief was a decent enough fellow. I played poker with him sometimes down in the theatre late at night with our other pals. But he wasn’t a patch on me skill-wise, even if I say so myself.

  “So, Romeo, you simply stroll in, enchant the dead with your music, get the mirror and voila!” She messed with her bangs. “Three days be long enough?”

  “Three days? Where is it?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “I do know it’s guarded by one of her little pets, a necromancer called Amon Duul. Don’t know where he hangs though.”

  I slumped. Three days wasn’t long.

  She stood, preparing to leave. She came and stroked my cheek, which made me tingle all over - her cool fingers and eyes crackling in my mind like plasma. I wondered what her Charisma stat was. “And if you get it to me, I’ll give you a +10 boost to tall stats two weeks- no, a month!”

  “You can do that?”

  “I can do anything I choose, Romeo.”

  And she disappeared in a puff of smoke.

  2. Romeo El Mejor - The Man and His Measure.

  Romeo El Mejor

  Male Human Bard = 20

  HP =250

  Mana = 740

  Chaotic Good

  Dark Brown Eyes, Wavy Dark Brown Hair, Light Beard.

  Height = 5’ 10”

  Weight = 210lb

  Strength = 20

  Dexterity = 17

  Constitution = 14

  Intelligence = 8

  Wisdom = 8

  Charisma = 27

  Willpower Save = 9

  Toughness Save = 7

  Dodge Save = 13

  Arrows (quiver of 20) x2

  Backpack

  Bedroll

  Blanket, winter x2

  Candle

  Canvas (10 x 10)

  Firewood (1 day) x2

  Mirror

  Mug

  Oil flasks x5

  Rope (50', hempen) x1

  Soap

  Spade / shovel

  Spyglass

  Climber's kit

  Disguise kit

  Herb Pouch

  Spell component pouch

  Armor

  +5 Studded Leather Armor of Dexterity (+5 DEX)

  +5 Buckler of Cold Resistance (20 Cold Res)

  +3 Rapier of Puncturing (1-4 CON damage on critical hit) 7% Crit Chance.

  Viper +3 Longbow of Poison (DoT Effect: 1-6 poison damage every 2 seconds for 2 minutes)

  Flute of Charming + 4 Charisma

  Bracers of Ogre Strength +5 Strength

  Cloak of Blur 10% Enemy Miss Chance

  Mandolin of Enchanting Notes (+10 to DC of Musical Enchantments)

  Bard Class Skills:

  Music

  Drama

  Song

  Fencing

  Influencing

  3. Dwarfs in Trouble

  I needed some advice. I decided to wander over to the Astrologers’ Tower where I would find my old friend, Astral Bob.

  I left the theatre, locking it behind me. The difference from the cool dark of inside with its raked leather seats and high wooden stage was immediate. The street was blistering. I rubbed my forehead with my red silk handkerchief. Crowds bustled by, trying to sell me jewelry, magic potions, glass trinkets and roast meat on slices of white bread. I refused them all. Most player characters had shops, but sometimes they were out on the street. You could tell the difference between Player Characters and NPCs by the color of the names floating above their heads, if you chose to have names switched on. I’d never paid much attention to NPCs before, but after the Queen telling me they were becoming sentient, I stared at them and listened to their conversations to see whether they were parroting the same old scripted garbage, or whether they were generating speech based on their own AI concerns. With real people it's hard to tell too.

  I got so far down Drury Lane, when I was stopped by a trading wagon halted in the middle of the road. I looked up to see it manned by dwarfs. There were five of them gathered round the corpse of another. The dead dwarf was pierced with black feathered arrows. They were weeping. They were NPCs and normally I would have squeezed my way past their wagon and gone on my way. But now, seeing them weeping, and remembering what the Queen said about them becoming sentient, I stopped.

  “Hello,” I called up. “Are you all right?”

  A red faced one with a blue hat wailed down. “Starveling is dead! Killed by bandits.”

  A fat blond one with a tartan waistcoat said, “Murdered, and now we are bereft.”

  “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  A lean faced dwarf with a grey beard said, “Why would you help us? You’re a player, we’re only NPCs.”

  “But still. I can see how grief stricken you are at the loss of your friend.”

  We continued our conversation in the middle of the street with the midday crowd thronging past us.

  “Won’t he resurrect?” I knew that if I were killed, I’d simply resurrect. I’d have lost a level through dying, but that was that - a simple matter to put right.

  The bearded dwarf wiped his eyes with his forearm. “NPCs don’t resurrect. Once we’re dead, we’re dead.”

  I bowed my head. Of course, that was obvious. I’d just never thought about it before. “Well, can’t I help you out with some gold?” From years of questing and putting on successful plays, I had heaps of gold. I reached into my inventory.

  The bearded dwarf said scornfully, “And what would NPCs do with gold? What can we buy? No, gold is for players. We carry it so when we’re killed, you can snatch it from our corpses, but it's no use to us.”

  It sounded harsh when he put it like that. “Well what can I do?”

  The dwarf with the blue hat said, “You’re not a bad guy for a player. What’s your name?”

  “Romeo el Mejor, the best bard in the whole of the Greenwood.”

  “I’ve heard of you. You own the Theatre Royal down the street.”

  I turned and pointed, proud of my little place. “Yes, I do. Have you been?”

  He shook his head. “What would be the point? Your plays give XP to players. What use are they to an NPC?”

  It was true. Every play I put on gave XP to those watching it. For that privilege, they paid me in gold. But yes, it was for players only. I had no policy keeping NPCs out; it’s just they never came.

  “So what can I do?” I asked finally.

  The bearded dwarf said, “You can give us a job.”

  “Don’t you have a job?”

  “Not really,” they all said at once. “We were bought by a player who wanted to trade ore between Vinab and a mine in the Midland Hills, but he hasn’t played for ages now. We are on auto, so we just go up and down the route and recently there has been no wood for us to collect, so we trundle along empty. It’s pointless.”

  “Can't you just come and work for me?”

  “I think you’ll need to buy us. For all I know ownership has reverted to the Game, so you should be able to get us via your game HUD.”

  “But I’m a theatre producer. Can you act?”

  “We can turn our hands to anything. We’re NPCs.”

  “Okay, let me figure this out later. For now can you take your wagon to the back of the theatre and wait for me there?”

  The tartan waist-coated dwarf smiled. Though they were clearly sad at the death of their friend, their mood seemed lifted by the offer of employment. I was thinking of putting on Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream. The idea came to me when I was taking tea with the Queen of Summer. I'd abandoned all my previous ideas - I knew this was the one! I would cast her as fair Titania, queen of the fairies, and for Oberon, her husband, I had naturally cast myself. These dwarfs could play the rude mechanicals. It might work out well.

  4. Astral Bob's Tower

  I went o
ver from where I'd encountered the dwarfs to the Astrologers Tower where I would find Astral Bob. It wasn't far as both building were in the Theatre District of the great port city of Vinab. I hoped the dwarfs would be fine without me and they would make themselves at home behind the theatre. The Astrologers Tower was a tall building made from white stone that soared much higher than the houses and theatres around it. I was about to knock at the green painted door of the tower but before I could, it clicked open.

  That's the problem with having friends who are scryers. Astral Bob must've been watching me through his crystal ball and knew when I had arrived at his door. I wondered whether he knew I was on my way before I’d decided to set off? Astral Bob was spymaster of the city of Vinab, it chimed perfectly with his scryer skill set. I took off my hat and stepped into the cool gloom of the Astrologers Tower. Bob met me halfway down the stairs. He wore his usual clothes - midnight blue robes embroidered with suns and moons in gold and silver. He didn't have his Gandalf hat on his head for a change, but still tugged habitually at his wispy goatee beard. "Romeo, my old mucker, to what do I owe this honour?"