Clanfather a litrpg prog.., p.1
Clanfather: A LitRPG Progression Fantasy Adventure Series, page 1
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Epilogue
Thanks
Other Work
Spellbook
Sign up to my newsletter, and you will be notified when I release my next book!
Copyright 2021 Jack Bryce
All rights reserved.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the author.
Cover design by: Jack Bryce
ISBN-13: TBD
To the One.
CHAPTER 1
The silence of the crypt weighed on us. Not even the wind dared to whisper in this dark abode, and the sound of my breathing—soft as it was—rang out like a blasphemy.
Not a place for the living…
Cold seeped into my bones from the bare rock under my boots, numbing me until my fingers cramped around my staff.
I peered into the dark by virtue of my Night Eye spell, ever watchful for foul things lurking among the cobwebs.
Foul, dead things…
The hallway went on as far as my spell allowed me to see. Statues of warriors of old flanked us, frowning down from alcoves set deep in the walls as they clutched weathered axes and shields. The figures were human, but still…
Something about them is uncanny…
I focused on Leresah, stalking at the edge of my vision. In the enhanced contrast of my spell, her skin was pale against the dark straps of leather that crossed her back. Even in this dire place, her full backside, thick thighs, and toned legs drew in my eyes.
Behind me came my allies: Rahandi, the earth gamer in a warrior’s body; Marcatus, a Priest who had proven his loyalty despite his natural cowardice; and Roswitha, my lovely Priestess of the icy North.
But this quest was for Leresah, and she looked to be in a hurry…
Her urgency gave me worry. In the games I used to play, tombs and crypts were places where one had to watch their steps. And while Aerda Online was not a game—not anymore, at least—it pulled the same tricks as the RPGs I used to spend my evenings on.
But I understood why she was in such a hurry…
You will find your father, Navaldus, in the Wyslec Crypt...
We had coaxed those words out of a cloaked man with a dagger to his throat. The man once gave Leresah her assignments—a contact between her and the mysterious force who extorted her into doing its bidding, using Navaldus as leverage.
I had wanted to ask more, but Leresah would have none of it. She sent the man on his way, promising him swift death should she ever see him again, and then urged me to come to the Wyslec Crypt to fulfil my promise to help her find her father.
“Why would they keep him there, though?” I had asked.
An impatient shrug. “It’s abandoned. Nobody goes there. The perfect place for a black-hearted scheme.”
Marcatus the Priest had nodded. “The Wyslecs were a cadet branch of Caerol’s house. They ruled over Chevalec for two centuries after Wyslec the Iron slew King Thecmanna on the throne.” He had sighed and made the sign of the Tribunal. “A dynasty of tyrants. After the Wyslecs were overthrown, the good people of Chevalec interned their dead in this ancient, abandoned crypt. None pay them homage, and the crypt sees no visitors.”
A cackle up ahead roused me from my ruminations.
Leresah had stopped moving.
“Well, screw me sideways…” Rahandi whispered behind me.
Leresah stood before a great stone door. Carved on its surface was a thing best described as half-man, half-worm. From its sides grew numerous hands that ended in claw-like manipulators. Each of them held several squirming men and women. It wore a peculiar mask that depicted a child’s face, tears streaking its cheeks.
“What the hell is that monstrosity?” I muttered.
“That is… how some depict the Crying One,” Roswitha said. “It is he who collects the souls of the dead.”
I frowned. I had seen the Crying One only as a small girl with tears in her eyes as she reluctantly gathered the wraiths of the dead about her.
This was very different.
“It doesn’t matter,” Leresah hissed. “We need to go through. It’s the only way ahead.”
I exchanged a glance with Roswitha, and she shook her head.
“We need to be careful,” I said. “We have made the mistake of rushing into things before. It’s important that we learn more about this place. Why would anyone keep Navaldus here? And we need to know more about Navaldus, your father. Who was he? Before he died, Keltro said—”
She glared at me over her shoulder. “And what would Keltro have known? The fool couldn’t even prevent his own death! What kind of Seer is that?”
“One who makes a sacrifice,” I said and stepped forward, hand extended to place it on her shoulder. “Leresah…”
Fast as lightning, she shot away. Before I could say anything, do anything, her hand was on the door, and she gave it a push.
Light flashed, blinding me and throwing me back. All at once, a mad cacophony of shrieking and wailing erupted. Underneath it, a deep voice thundered.
“Daughter…” it said. “You return to me with not one, but two Awakened.”
I heard moans and cackling ahead.
“What a slaughter it shall be…”
They came shuffling down the corridor, their movements slow and stunted, and I saw at once what they were.
Undead.
I had not seen their like in Aerda yet, although I had heard tales of them. And I had of course killed hundreds—if not thousands—of them in other games.
But it was different up close.
With them came a putrid stench of decay that almost overpowered me. And as they shambled into the range of my Night Eye spell, I saw their bloated flesh, the long fingernails and thin hair, the leaking fluids, and the swollen bowels. Those that still had eyes didn’t even have that senseless hunger in them that I would have expected. Instead, they just stared emptily, seeing nothing, as if some invisible will led them on.
There were five of them, and the last one dragged its bowels behind it, stopped short when they hooked behind an irregularity in the flagstone floor.
I would have liked to say I stood fast, but I had little control over my gag reflex at this point. I doubled over to retch, unable to stop myself.
However, as the clamor of combat erupted around me, I regained my composure and gathered my strength. Standing behind my companions, I rained death on the shambling terrors with my Fire Sprout spell.
I realized fire didn’t do much for the smell, as the stink of rotting flesh burning permeated the already dank air.
Lucky for us, the shamblers weren’t a challenge at all—one Fire Sprout was enough to kill a shambler. We dispatched the Undead with an ease that left us in silence, eyebrows perked in confusion. We had expected a greater challenge.
Shortly after, I felt Leresah’s warm hand on my shoulder.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
I gave an obliging smile, nodded, and spat. A long runner of sour phlegm refused to leave my lips. “I’m fine,” I muttered and managed a smile. “I miss Keltro and his lengies…”
The others chuckled.
“Let me help,” Marcatus said and stepped forward, placing his hand on my other shoulder. “By the grace of the Salved One, let me bring comfort and ease in trying times.”
You are under the effect of a Hearten spell. Your nausea effect is removed.
The sour taste of bile remained, but the roiling in my stomach stopped at once. We took a moment to inspect the age-old corpses, while Rahandi kept watch in the corridor. At length, no new enemies came, and the shambling horrors had nothing of value on them.
“Right,” I muttered. “Not my most valiant moment.”
Rahandi grinned at me over his shoulder. “It’s all right, bro,” he said. “Hordes of Undead rushed me at my spawn. The first time they killed me, I was barfing, too.”
“Another reason to prefer the North,” Roswitha said. “They do not stink as bad in the cold.”
I laughed, then studied the corpses. Even though they were swollen and bloated, they still bore traces of their past lives. Men and women clad in tunics of wool and linen—most of them elder—no traces of armor or brutal deaths by the sword, other than the wounds my companions had inflicted on them.
“They look like normal people,” I said.
Marcatus gave a solemn nod. “Townsfolk, I wager,” he said.
Leresah withdrew her hand from my shoulder and tu
“Hold on,” Roswitha said, eying Leresah. “That voice called you ‘daughter’… Why?”
“That puzzled me as well,” Marcatus added, turning to her with a raised eyebrow.
Leresah’s lips pressed into a thin line. The glare she gave Marcatus was death, and the man shrunk under it.
Those two are far from friendly.
“I don’t know,” Leresah said. “I heard as much as you did and am as surprised as you are.”
Roswitha shook her head. “Not good enough.”
Rahandi sighed. “The worst time to discuss details of a raid is when the raid has already begun.”
I raised my hands. “All right, calm down everyone, please.” I turned to Leresah. “We need to know more, Leresah,” I said. “What are we walking into here?”
Her red eyes blazed. “I told you: I have no idea. You promised you’d help me find my father, and that’s what we’re doing.” She gave me a challenging look. “But if you wish to renege on your word, then by all means…”
I sighed. “No… no, I don’t want to—”
“Then come.” Without waiting for my response, she continued, stepping past Rahandi.
“Finally,” Rahandi muttered, and he followed her.
I looked at Roswitha, then at Marcatus. “All right,” I said. “If this turns out to be a bad call, hold me accountable, but I’m not letting her go alone.”
Roswitha fluttered her lips, then rolled her shield from her shoulder again. “Very well,” she said. “But it is on you, Oram Ludwickson.”
Marcatus nodded. “Lead on, Phylomancer.”
At the end of the corridor was a vast doorway, hung with frayed leathers that danced in the slight draft of the crypt and blocked view of whatever lay beyond. The stink of death was thick here, resting on us like a cloying blanket that we could get no escape from.
Leresah stopped in front of the doorway, the strength of her limber body gathered in a powerful crouch. Her blades extended from her bracers, ready to cut into the first foe to present himself. Rahandi stood beside her. He wielded his short stabbing sword; the corridor was too narrow for his two-hander.
A glance between Leresah and me was enough. I cast my Invisibility spell on her, and she disappeared. Only the slightest shifting in the leathers blocking the doorway told of her passing.
With business-like efficiency, the rest of us began casting our pre-combat buffs. I cast my Barkskin spell and shared it with Roswitha and Leresah through my Phylomantic Link. A strong but pliable armor made of bark covered my torso and upper arms. Beside me, Rahandi uttered a few words of bravery that roused my spirits, while Roswitha and Marcatus asked the Gods for their blessings.
I felt pride at the silent efficiency. As a party, our experience at the Mothercleft had forged a bond that transcended the bickering and made sure we all knew our place. In addition, we long discussed strategy in a secluded room at the Five Streets House. Everyone knew their jobs, and even though there were… undercurrents in the party, we were, for now, efficient and capable.
A minute later, Leresah manifested in front of us again. Her eyes were wide, and her jaw set.
“Well?” I asked.
“My father is there,” she said. “Waiting…”
Doubt took us, and more than one pair of eyes fixed on Leresah.
“Well… is he… is he imprisoned?” I asked.
She shook her head. “No,” she said. “He’s… sitting on a sarcophagus, reading.”
“Reading?”
“Reading.”
“Is he alone?” Rahandi asked.
“I… It seems that way?” Leresah said. “It’s a large room.”
“Good,” Rahandi said, and began unpacking his two-hander.
“I think he knows we’re coming,” Leresah said. “I even believe he saw me… He looked at me and smiled. But there is something… off about him.”
“Like what?” Rahandi asked. “Is he a zombie like those other guys?”
Leresah shot him a glare. “A what?”
I waved it away. “Never mind that. If he’s sitting there, with no guards, it has to be a trap.”
“Yes,” Leresah said. “And I don’t care.”
A stirring passed through the others. They exchanged doubtful glances, and Marcatus even took a step back. “I’m not walking into a trap,” he said.
I fixed my eyes on Leresah, spotted the determination there.
She is going to continue even without us… and I’m not letting her go alone.
“You all stay,” I said, my eyes on Leresah still. “Leresah and I will go in. If we’re in trouble, you’ll know… Once we’re in, assess the situation and decide whether you can help us.”
“That’s just foolish!” Roswitha said.
“No more than standing around in a crypt filled with Undead discussing our next course of action,” I said. “It’s that or turn around, and I’m not turning around.”
Roswitha shook her head. “Fine,” she said. “But whether I join you here next or after you’re reborn in Liandrenn, we shall sooner or later talk about you and this…” she glared at Leresah. “This Cambion.”
Leresah bared her pointy fangs and shot Roswitha a fiery glance, but said nothing.
Gods, I need to deal with this.
I looked at Rahandi and Marcatus. “You two in agreement too?”
Both nodded.
“All right,” I said. “Let’s go.”
CHAPTER 2
We entered the room without attempting to be silent or remain hidden. Brushing aside the leather straps that covered the doorway, we stepped in, ready for anything.
It was a large interment chamber—a domed tomb with sarcophagi beyond count, as well as recesses in the walls wherein lay caskets and corpses in wrappings. The scent was one of musty death and sickly decay.
At the center of the chamber stood a dais with several platforms, much like a terraced pyramid. On each platform stood sarcophagi with the likenesses of men carved into their lids. The highest level held but a single sarcophagus wrought of black stone—devoid of ornament and color.
Upon that casket, surrounded by tomes and candles and a collection of small carved statues, sat a single man.
He was tall and gangly, with a beardless and almost boyish face framed by flowing silver hair. He wore a robe that must have once been white but was now covered in stains and dust. When he fixed his eyes on us, I knew he was as dead as the rest of this crypt; his skin was taut over his skull, and the light in his eyes burned with magical animation.
“Daughter…” he said, voice dry as the stone on which he sat, mockery clear as he spoke that word. “I’m terribly sorry about my minions attacking you… they’re an unruly lot.”
Leresah came up short, hesitation in her step—something I had rarely seen in this fiery daughter of Demons.
“It is good to finally meet you,” Navaldus said, and his dead eyes lingered on her with a hunger that was… well, inappropriate for a father.
“Father…” she muttered. “I… We came to rescue you. But are you not held? Who keeps you here?”
He smiled. “I keep myself here, my sweet. I and the living, for it would do your poor old father little good to dwell among the fine people of Chevalec… at least not while they live. They would not understand.”
“But… they said they had you—that they would kill you if I did not carry out their demands.”
“An unfortunately necessary trick,” Navaldus said. “I’m afraid you would not have done as your dear father desired, had I just asked.”
Her mouth fell open. “You… But—”
“Our interests are unlikely to align.” With those words, he rose from the sarcophagus, movements stiff and jolted, and his icy stare fell on me, sending shivers down my body as he frowned. “I see but one Awakened,” Navaldus said. “Where is the other? Has he fled?”
Rahandi…
He was the only other Awakened I knew beside myself and Anuina. And he was an Awakened of Earth.
Like me…
“Well, it matters not,” Navaldus said. “One other is enough.”
“Father,” Leresah said. “What is—”
“My sweet,” he said. “You have served your purpose, and you have served it well, but you ask too many questions. It is time now for myself and your lover to speak.” He gave me an icy smile. “Oram Ludwickson, is it not?” he said. “Word of your exploits precedes you. I have heard little praise and much hatred, but only from my enemies. And how again is the saying on Earth: the enemy of my enemy is my friend?”
