Skull and Thrones: A LitRPG/GameLit Adventure Read online

  I got a lot of hard stares as I walked, but no one said anything. The increased guard presence was unnerving, but it also seemed to be keeping monsters off the streets, so my walk felt somewhere in the neighborhood of safe. When I reached the Via Principalis, there were just City Guard everywhere — I couldn't walk more than ten feet without stumbling into one.

  Having the increased guard presence gave me the relative security to finally sort through all the notifications I’d received. Dying a bunch of times in a row tended to create a bit of a backlog of notifications.

  Death.

  Death.

  Death.

  Lots of deaths. And after each death, I got notifications about the guild.

  Congratulations, sort of. You are the last remaining member of the Biscuit’s Union. Therefore, you are the de facto leader of the Biscuit’s Union. You have unlocked the following abilities: Invite and initiate members. Change roles. Change names. Change dues. Change abilities. Change bonuses. Remaining Guild points to spend: 0

  After a few of those, I got a new notification alongside the congratulatory notice.

  Warning: a guild is not one person. A guild is a collection of individuals working together for a common purpose. Unless you are able to bring a group together, the guild will cease to exist. You have one (1) week to retain your guild by gaining at least eight (8) members.

  One week wasn’t much time. I didn’t want to lose the guild, and not just because I wanted the various benefits it offered. I also liked the idea of being part of an organization like that. And more importantly, I liked being in charge of an organization like that. Maybe it sounds a bit narcissistic, but I wanted to dictate the manner in which the Biscuit’s Union operated. And if I lost the guild, I’d have to start all over again at the bottom of some other group. At that point, maybe it would be better to just abandon Glaton and find a new place to play.

  You have been offered a quest by the Biscuit’s Union:

  Rebuild the Guild

  Reform the guild by having at least eight (8) members in good standing by the end of one (1) week.

  Reward for success: survival of the guild, unknown, XP

  Penalty for failure (or refusal): the death of the guild

  Yes/No

  There was no choice in the matter, really. I had to accept. A quick check on the quest page, and I saw that there were still seven days remaining. Nice that the game didn’t start counting until I’d read the notice.

  Eight members. From the wording, it didn’t sound like I counted. I needed eight new members in good standing.

  I knew I’d ask Matthew. Titus. Godfrey. The three who got me in the most trouble, naturally. Nadya would probably be great, but given her pedigree, I wasn’t sure she’d be willing to go through with it. Shae. That was five. Leofing might. He was a paladin, but I didn’t remember anything about joining the guild in the first place that denoted a Choice. Or anything saying that it had to be a guild focused on thievery or rogue-related activities. It could use a paladin. That made six. Careena. She’d maybe join. How awesome would it be to have a witch on board? Someone who could do magic — you know, besides me — could really push the guild in new ways. One more. I felt like I was forgetting someone.

  I snapped my fingers. The dude who lived in the second-floor apartment below Nadya’s pet mimic and my training room. The arena fighter, Lothar. He’d definitely be down for helping me. Probably.

  So I’d be fine. Provided I could convince all the people I thought of as friends to join. The only real trouble that might arise would be if everyone wanted something to join. Like a quest. If I had to complete eight quests in one week… then this would be near impossible.

  Chapter Nine

  By the time I got to the arena square, I expected to see light on the horizon. I thought it had to be dawn by that point, yet it was still dark. Very dark. The moons had slipped behind heavy clouds, and it felt like rain was in the forecast. Or rather, rain was the forecast.

  I had no idea how much time I'd lost while I was in the kill loop, which was definitely disorienting. I walked along the outside edge of the square, keeping in the darkness as much as possible. There were plenty of guards in the open area, most of whom just stood around looking menacing. They weren’t patrolling so much as hanging out.

  When I got to the Biscuit’s Union building, I took a moment to peek inside. I caught sight of people inside as they moved past the windows on the first floor and above. They had lights. Not magical lights so much as glowstones in lantern housings. It wasn’t clear who the people were, or what they were searching for. But whatever their reason for being in the building, they saw no need for secrecy. They were very much moving about in the open. I crouched down low and moved along the front of the building, doing my best to stay below the windows looking into the cafe. The front door to the place was wide open. I slipped inside.

  I heard voices in the kitchen. Two men, but only just audible. I couldn't make out any specific words. I needed to get into the office, and that meant going through the kitchen.

  I'd taken enough stupid chances lately, so I wasn't about to crawl across the kitchen trying to avoid the men who were obviously in there. So I went back outside, walked along the square until I found an alley, and then slipped into the dark.

  I stepped over a few piles of garbage, then backtracked and hid my bags underneath it. They were too clunky for what I was about to do: go climbing.

  Buildings in a medieval city are easy to climb, especially in this fantastical one. Plenty of handholds from bricks that were a bit too big for the spot they were filling. Lots of windows with ledges. I basically flew up the side of the building, getting to the top in no time, and without even breathing hard. The roof was tiled, and steeper than I expected, but there were also plenty of spots to get a foothold and push against. I ran across the rooftops, jumping from building to building until I got to the flat Biscuit’s Union. I leapt onto it, landing as quietly as I could in a perfect superhero tripod. The hole in the window had yet to be fixed, so I dropped down it and into the meeting hall.

  Everything looked the same as I'd left it.

  I darted to the secret door, carefully closed it behind me, and crept down the stairs.

  At the bottom, I stopped and put my ear to the door.

  All quiet.

  I pushed the door open just a smidge and peeked out.

  Someone had cleaned up the office. It had been returned to its general order, though the artwork hadn’t been hung back up. The paintings were just leaning against a wall.

  I pushed the desk out of the way and got down to business: opening the safe.

  Voices echoed through the hall — the two men were coming.

  I paused for a heartbeat. It was risky to keep working on the safe when they could walk in on me at any moment, but I decided to keep going. I didn't want to have to do this nonsense again. I doubted the men were Iron Silents, or anyone else out to get me, for that matter. If that were the case, they'd be sneaking around like me, not wandering around talking to each other. There wasn't anything I could do to be faster about the safe though. I needed to get the lock around to the appropriate numbers, wrench the handle up, and open the heavy door. Then, out came all the stuff inside. I slid all of the various bags under the couch, then pushed the desk back in place without bothering to close the safe. The voices were too close.

  As the doorknob starting turning, I jumped across the room and slid to a stop behind the couch, laying down along the floor.

  The door opened, and two men walked inside. They had on nice boots, the kind where a cobbler had taken the time to make the boots individual for each foot. A right and a left boot. It was odd to think of that as a mark of wealth, but in ye olden days I was living in, boots were made unifoot. One gent had brownish leather boots, and the other had on dark blue. They walked into the room, each with a glowstone lantern, and set their lights on the desk.

  "Still," Brown Boots said, "this is an enormous opportu
nity."

  "It just seems risky," Blue Boots replied. "This is not an area where we have extensive expertise."

  "What, business?"

  "Manufacturing."

  "They are cookies. How difficult could it possibly be?"

  "It is not that baking is an overwhelming challenge, Barnaby. It is the scale of the operation. It is needing to operate a commercial kitchen at a continuous rate, providing a perpetually identical product."

  “Cookies."

  "You think there is no reason for their success? These are not just cookies any more than we are just magicians. This brand represents the pinnacle of sweet crunchy treats in the Empire. And though we may have rights to the building and the business, I think it a far better idea for us to simply sell it all rather than attempt to run it."

  "Running it gives us greater financial freedom."

  "Not true. It ties our capital up, not just our fiscal capital, but also our social capital. We must fill these jobs in some capacity."

  "Surely, my dear Erasmus, you of all my peers, would be able to think of an alternative to traditional staffing."

  "I would not feel comfortable selling food made by summoned beings, no matter from what plane they might hail."

  "I was thinking of something closer to home."

  "Even we would be wise to mind the laws on necromancy."

  "No one needs to know."

  "Just a closed bakery somehow churning out cookies with no one working here?"

  "We just smile and nod. No one will look askance at a group of Mancers making magic happen."

  "No one will likely eat foodstuffs made through magic, Barnaby. This is a foolish endeavor to continue—“

  "Allow me my flights of fancy, Erasmus. It could work."

  "But it will not.”

  I sighed softly, already tired of listening to the two old men argue about running what was rightly my business. I wasn't too clear on the legal situation I was in, vis-a-vis the properties I owned. I assumed I still owned them as my death was, well, not exactly permanent. But given that these dudes were probably somehow involved in killing me, it’d be a bit troublesome to step forward right now and claim the building. Did I want to deal with trying to take on the entire Imperial Academy of Mancers and Magic? I mean, obviously I'd need to get revenge of some kind, but—

  You have been offered a quest by the Biscuit’s Union:

  Revenge is a Dish Best Served With Cookies

  Determine why the Imperial Academy of Mancers and Magic was involved with the destruction of the guild, and make them pay. Bonus rewards if you are able to involve cookies.

  Reward for success: Guild Points

  Bonus: Unknown, but probably tasty

  Penalty for failure (or refusal): loss of guild standing

  Yes/No

  Great. I needed to stop thinking about things to do. It only seemed to delight the gameworld and force me to have to follow through with things.

  But I said yes. There didn’t seem to be a time limit involved, and I wanted to get to the bottom of the Imperial Academy of Mancers and Magic anyway. Having to do it with cookies only made my choices more creative. Maybe this one would be fun.

  The conversation between the two men continued on in its mind-numbing fashion, with what seemed like every possible argument over the financial implications of running a cookie company with magic exhausted. I quietly gathered up my things and crawled across the floor until I reached the secret door behind the bookshelf.

  I looked over my shoulder to check out Blue Boots and Brown Boots. They both wore robes and had long flowy white hair. Each had on more jewelry than anyone I'd yet seen in Glaton. Blue Boots was leaning against the desk while Brown Boots peered at the artwork. They were looking the other way, so I took the chance. I opened the bookcase and stepped inside, closing the secret door behind me.

  There was a very slight click as the latch fell into place, and I froze.

  The talking on the other side didn't stop.

  The two just continued to ramble on about the economics of cookies. I couldn't believe these men were in charge of much of anything. I just sighed and trudged up the stairs. I pulled myself back up on the roof, climbed over to the next building's roof, and made my way back down to the small refuse pile in the alley. I kicked the garbage away, took out my four knapsacks, and began walking home just as the rain started. It was a thankfully anticlimactic end to the evening.

  Chapter Ten

  There was a palpable sense of unease in the city as I walked through it. Something bad was lurking. The roving mobs of malcontents had disappeared in the time I’d been gone, however long that might’ve been. But I’d spent enough time fiddling around at night to realize there were far more homes with their lights on than normal. People were awake, and that meant they had to be doing something. What it might be, well, I had no real idea. There was the chance they were just having midnight snacks. The lot of them. But it seemed likely there were heavy conversations going on. Questions regarding the strength of the country and what might be coming the following day. Who would be in charge and what that might mean for the regular people.

  Old Town was calmer than most places, as usual. But I saw more than one family moving back and forth through their homes, packing. I wondered how many people were planning to leave the city. I had no idea about mobility in Glaton, how easy it’d be to move and find a new job somewhere else. And I also had no idea what the history around regime changes was. I shook my head, and focused on walking. On hiding in the shadows.

  I was just a stinky guy with a bunch of stuff walking down the street.

  Just as I reached the square where my little home was, I stopped. I stepped deeper into the shadows, and looked across the open space. I thought back to Etta, the girl I’d met on my first day in Glaton. How she’d been in this exact same situation, and hadn’t dared return home to her building. She’d been so against the idea that she gave me the building just so I’d get a few things out of it for her. Which seemed as crazy then as it did now.

  But there was also the chance I was the stupid one, and I was about to walk into an ambush. I didn’t see anyone around — it looked empty. The whole square was deserted. I waited a few minutes there, just watching. Nothing.

  I needed to get back inside, to get all the loot I had safely ensconced in my apartment. I’d figure out exactly what I had a later date.

  Slowly, I walked out into the square, and just trudged along like I had nothing I wanted to do more than get somewhere dry.

  No one bothered me.

  I got to the front door of my apartment, but stopped short. Something felt wrong. Not that there was any obvious reason for that feeling, but it just seemed, well, off. So I went along to the next door, pulled a key out of my bag, opened the door to the bakery, and went inside.

  I heard voices inside the pantry. There were people in here.

  I waited a moment, trying to think of who could be hiding in my bakery, and what I should do. I certainly hadn't let anyone use it, not that I knew of. But I was tired of slinking around. Being killed over and over again makes a man tired. Or an elf. So I pushed the door open and light poured out. A whole bunch of eyes turned my way.

  "You stink," Matthew said.

  Chapter Eleven

  Godfrey, Matthew, Titus, and Leofing were standing around a table. Someone had spread out a map of the city on it.

  "What's all this?" I asked. I set my various bags down along the wall and stepped up beside them.

  “We were trying to figure out what the hell happened to you," Matthew said.

  "Oh, yeah. Well, here I am."

  Matthew reached out, grabbed my arm, and gave it a squeeze.

  "You smell terrible," he said. "Did you, uh, are you—“

  "Are you trying to ask if I'm a zombie?"

  "Something like that."

  "Nope. Just, uh, had a bit of an incident."

  "You mean the Ring of Fire?"

  “Sadly that was just the
first of the incidents tonight.”

  “How'd you get out of that?"

  "I'm not exactly sure," I said. I trusted these guys, but I wasn't ready for it to get out that I could respawn.

  "I heard it's a guaranteed death," Godfrey said.

  "What is the Ring of Fire?" Leofing asked.

  "You know how Glaton feels about magic," Matthew said.

  Leofing nodded.

  “The Ring of Fire is a punishment for someone caught with particularly bad magics," Matthew said. “A group of Mancers gets together and casts a spell that kills everything inside.”

  “Oh, is that all?” Leofing asked.

  “That’s the quick and dirty explanation. How it actually happens is a Ministry secret, but it’s believed that the fire only burns living things, so the building and everything the building holds is untouched.”

  “That could make it very useful in sieges,” Leofing mused. “Renders castles useless.”

  “As far as I know, a building of the Biscuit’s Unions size is the limit to the spell.”

  “Hrm,” Leofing said. “Small castles then.”

  “The Ring of Fire is infamous in these parts,” Matthew said.

  “Largely because everyone knows it’s not limited to illegal magic users anymore,” Godfrey replied.

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “Up until recently, the Ring of Fire was almost never used. And now it’s been, I mean, what, four times this year alone?”

  “He makes five,” Matthew said, pointing at me.