Pawn- A LitRPG Adventure: Monsters, Maces and Magic, #5

Pawn

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Higslaff the Pawnshop Owner needs a job done, but the Guild War has taken a toll. Those he’d normally call upon are engaged in some other vital assignment, or dead.

He decides to hire Gurk, Jax, Marigold, Lysine and Kalgore instead. The adventuring party has proven themselves resourceful and effective on previous jobs, not only for himself, but for the local silversmith, and the Church of Apollo. This particular assignment shouldn’t be a problem.

What Higslaff doesn’t know is that details of his job have been compromised. Agents of the Riven Rock Thieves’ Guild are on the move, ready to wrest control of the enchanted item that could tip the balance in the Guild War.

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Praise for Monsters, Maces and Magic

Ervin’s imagination is fueled by Tolkien's sweat, Willy Wonka's blood, and Clint Eastwood's attitude. A crazy mix to be certain, but a combination that makes for amazing possibilities. Ray Johnson, LitRPG Audiobook Podcast

Exciting and hilarious! It feels like a true game with friends. Dueling Ogres Podcast

I was pulled into the world and could see the rules of the world unfold. This really does feel like a game. A fun game that I am going to have to continue. Casia’s Corner

Pawn- Monsters, Maces and Magic Book Five

Copyright © 2020 Terry W. Ervin II

All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

Published by Gryphonwood Press

www.gryphonwoodpress.com

Cover art by Mario Barraza

Edited by K.S. Brooks

This is a work of fiction. All characters are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Dedication

This novel is dedicated to Eric Bowser, a co-worker who lost his battle to pancreatic cancer while I was completing Pawn. Eric was a caring and funny man, loving husband and father, and an innovative teacher and technology supervisor. He was a longtime supporter of my writing and shared many of my novels with his sons.

He is and will continue to be missed.

Acknowledgements

First, I would like to thank Kathy, my wife, and Genevieve and Mira, my daughters, for their patience and understanding. They allowed me the countless hours to imagine, plot, research, write, revise and edit—all things necessary to complete Monsters, Maces and Magic: Pawn.

Second, I would like to thank my family, friends, co-workers, and the members of Flankers, all of whom encouraged, questioned, and prodded me along to finish Pawn.

Third, I’d like to thank the folks at Gryphonwood Press, especially David Wood for not only believing enough in Flank Hawk (my first novel) to publish it, but for his continued insight and advice, and an avenue for me to reach readers, offering them the tales I want to share.

Fourth, I want to thank Mario Barraza for applying his artistic talent, practiced skill, and attention to detail in creating the cover art.

Fifth, Kendra Oldaker, for naming a character in the novel, Elisha Justine Woolwine. It was a pleasure to work with Kendra while discovering the added dimension the sentinel brought to the story. Kendra was selected from among the members of Flankers and the readers who receive my newsletter.

That leaves you, the reader. You are the primary reason I wrote Monsters, Maces and Magic: Pawn. Thank you for choosing my fantasy novel from the hundreds of thousands available. I truly hope you enjoy the tale. With that in mind, don’t hesitate to post a review or send an email to let me know your thoughts. You can learn more about my works at www.ervin-author.com, along with a link to receive my newsletter.

Prologue

The barren drylands south of Three Hills City

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Kyreen Shortcuff lay next to a gully under a moonlit sky, her body broken and sliced. Once again she lapsed beyond feeling physical pain. Twice the cleric had cast cure spells upon her, each time restoring twelve to fifteen hit points. The clear objective was to prolong the torture.

Kyreen recognized who the lean man worshipped based upon the pendant he carried. Silver on black, depicting a skull in front of a barred gate. Hades clerics were known for their curing capacity almost as much as for their compassion.

She didn’t have long to live.

Her torturer, the one asking questions, ones she refused to answer, leaned close. He was decked out in leather armor and his smooth movements tagged him as a thief. He smiled into her remaining good eye. Her other was swollen shut. Pummeling damage. With remarkable clarity she saw his brown teeth, and recalled his foul breath. Her nose, broken and seeping blood—also due to pummeling damage—was long past sensing it. The other detail she’d remember was the jagged scar that bisected his left eyebrow.

Shortcuff, he said, my associates have come all the way from Riven Rock. Used a Transport Spell, on the offhand chance they would need to inspire you to divulge what that vile walking corpse, Black Venom, is planning.

Transport Spell? The gray-bearded man standing five steps back was a magic user. A powerful one. At least tenth rank, or less if he read the spell off of a scroll.

Or the man leaning over her was lying.

This was it, she thought. She’d made a good, long run. Longer than the rest of her trapped party.

Through broken teeth, Kyreen said, Won’t tell you...anything. Raw nerves fired sparks of pain with each word uttered. In comparison to what she’d already suffered, the pain was minor. Especially in comparison to what would happen to her, what Black Venom would do if she betrayed him, and the guild.

Other guild members died to keep secrets, had certainly suffered more and longer. No, she wouldn’t speak another word.

Defiance, her torturer said with a wicked grin. Admirable, but to be expected of a guild’s Third Lieutenant. He shrugged, then grinned wider. Oh, you’re thinking that death will be your escape.

This guy was such a flat and predictable NPC. Death was her escape. She’d given up on returning to the real world for well over a decade. Since then she’d been loyal to Hermes. She’d given plenty of gold over the years to the church’s coffers. She’d frequently plied her trade on behalf of his churches and shrines.

The torturer shook his head, causing his greasy mop of dangling curls to swing. He wiped the blood off his thin dagger onto Kyreen’s tattered and already blood-soaked blouse. After sheathing it he pulled a thin necklace from a pocket. It was a silver choker decorated with shards of glittering onyx. He affixed it around her neck.

Now observe, as my associate prepares your grave and...if you remain uncooperative, where your soul will be tethered. He tapped the necklace and then brushed his knuckles along her swollen cheek. Say, for a week shy of eternity?

The torturer backed away as the black-robed Hades cleric uttered the words to a spell and pointed at her.

Her eye widened as she felt a damp coolness rise up to engulf her body. An instant later, she realized that the cleric had cast a Create Water Spell. The result was a massive quantity of water magically appearing, and she was sinking into the resulting mud.

On instinct, Kyreen held her breath. With her one shattered knee and lacerated tendons along her right arm, and weakened as she was from blood loss, there was no way she could rise up out of what must have been a shallow pool. But urgent panic found away. Her abdomen tightened and she began to sit up, despite the soupy mud clinging to her chest.

The torturer rewarded her with a booted kick to the head. She fell back, under the mud again, and without the air the stunning blow forced her to release. Drowning doesn’t care if you have one or thirty-one hit points remaining. Being a twelfth rank thief doesn’t keep mud from entering your lungs.

The end proved both quicker, and quieter, than Kyreen thought it would be.

Moments later, when Kyreen was truly dead, she felt her soul detach and rise. She floated inches above the silty mud that, as her torturer said, was her grave.

A few well-worded clerical spells by someone associated with her guild would verify she was dead. Unless the same casters expended powerful spells, nobody would know where her grave was. The nearby cleric and magic user could probably make any success in locating her grave next to impossible.

Most thieves didn’t end up in graves. Burned to ashes, fed to pigs, weighted down and thrown into a river. That was what unskilled or unlucky thieves expected.

Kyreen had been, unlucky. Missed a saving throw. And now, nobody that she cared about would know that she’d died with honor. That she’d kept the guild’s secrets.

Kyreen knew her soul would remain tethered to her corpse for three days, and then she’d be free to join others in the Elysian Fields. She wasn’t exactly a hero, but her loyalty to her guild, and to her deity would certainly mean at least an existence along its beautiful border. She gulped, or as much as an intangible soul could gulp, and moved to stand erect upon her grave.

Her eyes widened to see the Hades cleric standing at the foot of her grave, staring right at her. A menacing grin spread across his face.

That is correct, newly dead thief. You have departed the realm of the living. Departed the working realm of my associate. He gestured to the right where the torturer stood.

The brutal man who’d spent from sunset to midnight causing her agonizing pain gave a slight bow, but his eyes were not focused on her. He couldn’t see her.

You are now in my realm, that of the dead. And from this realm there will be no escape for you. He paused, folding his arms across his chest in an assured manner. "Unless I permit it."

Kyreen met the Hades cleric’s gaze, undaunted. "I did not tell him anything." She gestured to her former torturer.

The predictable NPC torturer didn’t acknowledge her words. He couldn’t hear her. More than her vanished bodily pain...really she felt nothing. More than the absent caress of the night’s cooling air, or the missing scent of the dry thatches of grass tucked next to the sun-baked rocks. More than the mud that should be cooling the soles of her booted feet, the torturer’s silence and lack of recognition drove home that she was indeed, dead.

At least her soul appeared to be adorned in the clothing she wore upon her death. It wasn’t even torn and tattered. How odd.

After a second’s hesitation, the former Third Lieutenant in the Three Hills City Thieves’ Guild completed her declaration. I will not tell you anything.

The cleric stood silent. Amusement crossed his face as he held back what had to be laughter. The utter silence unnerved Kyreen. Except for the cleric, she heard nothing.

Let us complete our business, the cleric said. A Converse with the Dead Spell, even when cast by someone as accomplished and learned in the ways of my deity as I am, has a time duration.

Kyreen knew about turning undead. She’d seen clerics do it before. This fellow, she guessed, was at least tenth rank. The volume of water created, and the clarity with which he spoke to the dead suggested that.

But she wasn’t undead. Just dead. Without spells, souls couldn’t interact with the living, just as her torturer had no real image of her presence. But this cleric could interact with her.

That settled it. Kyreen lunged at him, hands ready to clamp down on his throat.

Mid-leap a force arrested her, like a chained dog. Something around her neck held her back. Her fingers explored around her neck and felt the silvered chain with shards of onyx. She reached back and tried to unclasp it, to no avail.

What is this? she asked.

"Why, it is your anchor, newly dead one. True, you are tethered to your body, or would be for three days, but you are now permanently affixed to your grave for eternity...unless I choose otherwise."

Kyreen—long ago, back when she was Luci—had never been a Game Moderator. She’d never even looked at the Enchanted Items List in the Monsters, Maces and Magic Game Master’s Guide. The players who had? They were long dead.

Kyreen staggered back, turned and tried to run. The unseen magical force yanked her to a halt less than a stride from her muddy grave. It wasn’t like a collar; more like a full body harness that confined her. Apparently such a magical item existed in the Game Master’s Guide, or a homebrewed one created by the SOB Moderator that sucked Luci and her gaming friends into the game world.

The cleric’s hands moved to his hips. You will share with me, what my associate would describe as ‘actionable information.’ He turned and nodded toward her former torturer, who could hear the cleric’s side of the conversation. After you do, I will direct him to remove the enchanted item from your neck, that which binds you to your grave.

He shrugged. "If you do not, my other associate will cast a Mud to Stone Spell upon your grave, sealing your corpse beneath the earth. After three days, your soul will not be released. He paused and shook his head in mock sadness. Your soul will then transform into a lesser shade. The weakest of the incorporeal undead.

And here you will remain, bound to your grave in this isolated wilderness, alone, for centuries upon centuries. If, by some highly unlikely chance a white or gray cleric were to encounter you, and destroyed you, what remains of your twisted and, by then, black soul will descend to inhabit the darkest pools in the realm of Hades.

He held up his hand with its index finger raised. "You have this final