The Diamond Spear

THE DIAMOND SPEAR
J. Donald & M. Kraus

www.Shyft.gg
https://facebook.com/shyftlitrpg
© 2019 Muonic Press Inc
Chapter 01 - Rude Awakening
Sir Lionel Reynard fully admitted that he didn’t know much about this
new virtual world he found himself in, but he had learned one thing
quite clearly - dying sucked.
The aftermath of death was bad enough. Catapulted back to your
respawn point, every last digit of XP wiped clean, there was a clear feel-
ing of failure and isolation in the immediate moments following death.
It had been especially rough for him, standing toe-to-toe with his party
members, facing down a deadly threat, in the midst of battle, metal clang-
ing metal, everyone depending on each other.
Somewhere along the way he’d failed. Let his guard down, missed a
block, didn’t pay attention. It could have been any of those things are all
of them, it didn’t really matter, the feeling to him was the same.
But even worse than the aftermath, then the realization of failure and
recovery were the memories.
He could still feel it. His knees hitting the ground, air bursting from
his lungs, the low hiss of swinging metal and that first bite of blade on
flesh. His flesh. An explosion of realization of what was about to happen
just before it collapsed in on itself and hurled him back into nothingness,
only to respawn somewhere else. Somewhere far away, where it was im-
possible to return to battle, where he was forced to leave his friends to
fight on their own. Every time he closed his eyes he could feel it, that sud-
den backwards tornado of whipping winds of unconsciousness, the dead-
ly swirl of reality and unreality twisting into a violent braid of piercing
agony.
Then, there he was. Elderand. The city that had been the launch
point of his adventures in Shyft, the first place he’d seen when he’d fired
up the game what felt like forever ago. In reality, it had been less than a
week of game time, but it seemed like a lot had happened in that week.
Discovery. Elation. Life. Death.
1
2 MIKE KRAUS
Now it all mixed up in his head in a confusing coleslaw jumble of

emotions, feelings and reactions. As he always did, Lionel tried to dig
through the strange congealed mass of sensations and focus on the faces
of his friends, the identities of those he’d left behind, but for some rea-
son he couldn’t. Was it a programming error? Something wrong with the
death code, or something wrong with him?
He’d respawned. He was no longer dead, he’d come back.
But he’d come back broken somehow. Like his character had a soft-
ware error of some kind. Lionel thought this sort of thing might be nor-
mal, after all, he was a beta tester in a very complicated virtual reality
MMORPG. Problems should be expected, right?
Swinging his legs from his bed, he placed a hand on the side of his
head, trying to settle the raging migraine that threatened to split open
his skull and spill out his brains. Every morning since his death he’d wok-
en up with it, and every morning he’d pushed past the pain and managed
to go about his daily business. There was apparently no Ibuprofen in this
virtual world, no pain killers of any kind. He hadn’t ventured to the Cler-
ic’s Temples yet, but he thought that might be the next logical step, as
long as his guild would allow it.
His guild.
The Diamond's Edge. Joining or creating a guild had been high on
the priority list upon his first invitation into this game world. His re-
cruiter into Shyft had told him that they had certain expectations. As an
early beta user, he was receiving perks. Enhanced perception skills, the
ability to choose his class up front, and a nice deposit of gold to allow
him to join or create a guild.
But in return for that, he was expected to fulfill guild duties. To fol-
low the lead of his guild leader, do what he said, go on exclusive quests,
explore the world.
He and his brothers had agreed. Their life in Austria wasn't bad, not
by a long shot, in fact their elevated place in the modern world was what
gave them the opportunity to be beta users for the game. Austria hadn't
THE DIAMOND SPEAR 3
been hit nearly as hard as the United States with the second Industrial
Revolution, but there was a sense of forced calm, a lack of spontaneity or
adventure that drove him and his brothers crazy. None of them had even
had to think that long about the invite before they'd agreed. And in spite
of what had happened so far, Lionel didn't regret it.
Even though things were a little weird with his brothers right now
and weird with the guild at large.
They’d been different since he returned, distant as if they weren’t sure
what to make of him. Even his two brothers, who had actually died be-
fore he had, were strangely vacant. He could see them, talk to them, com-
municate on a superficial level, but they didn’t seem like they were actu-
ally there.
Another software bug, he figured.
Opening up his HUD, Lionel scanned through his stats, just to once
again remind himself of how much dying blew chunks.
Sir Lionel Reynard
Class: Paladin
Level: 05
(0% to next level)
HP: 325/325
MP: 180/180
XP: 0/15300
STR: 22(+4 Class Bonus)
CON: 20(+4 Class Bonus)
AGI: 10
CHA: 18
LUK: 10
DEX: 12
WIS: 17 (+4 Class Bonus)
INT: 14
STA: 19
Skills
4 MIKE KRAUS
Lay on Hands
Blessed Blade Level 02
Divine Protection
Items
Iron Broadsword
Iron Shield
Blessed Chainmail
Clasp of Redemption
He still had all of his skills. He still had all of his items. Heck, he was
still on level five, but every single experience point he’d had to lead up to
where he was, there had been almost 9,000 in all, had been wiped clean
with his death. So now, if he wanted to proceed past level five, he had to
regain those 9,000 XP, and then continue climbing, work that had taken
him nearly the full week leading up to his death to accomplish.
He was still a Paladin, a class he'd chosen at somewhat the last
minute, mostly at the urging of his brothers, who had pointed to the cool
armor and the ability to both heal and fight, as well as the layered, pro-
tective armor that came with the class bonus.
His death was a bummer, though he fully understood that it could
have been far, far worse. He considered himself lucky that he learned
this hard lesson at level five, and not at level fifteen or twenty, when the
mountain to climb back would have been even taller and steeper. In rare
moments of brutal honesty, he couldn’t help but think that if he did in
fact die at one of those upper levels, if it might just be the straw that
caused him to unplug and return to his normal life, such as it was.
Lionel pressed both hands to his head now, trying to dig through the
muck of his fragmented memories. Trying to picture a world where his
thoughts could be trusted and weren’t just part of some lines and lines of
computer code, so easily corrupted.
“Yo, you okay, Bro?”
Lionel pulled his hands away and lifted his eyes as his brother Victor
walked in. Victor was all decked out in brushed metal armor, holding a
THE DIAMOND SPEAR 5
narrow helmet in his left hand, a sheath with sword slung at his right hip.
His feet clanked along the ground as he entered, shouldering the door
open.
“Yeah, Vic, I’m fine,” Lionel replied. He wasn’t fine, there was some-
thing very not fine about him at the moment, but along with everything
else going sideways since his respawn, his two brothers had been a little
weird, too, and there was something about them he no longer trusted.
“So... you gonna sit on your ass all day every day now?” Victor asked,
nodding sharply to his brother. “Ever since your respawn it’s like you
don’t care anymore or something.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Lionel replied, pushing himself to his feet.
“I’ll be all right.”
“I dunno,” Victor replied. “Me and Bruce, we’re a little worried.”
Lionel narrowed his eyes, looking at his brother’s face. There wasn’t
an ounce of worry on it. In fact, Lionel was struggling to find a sign
of any sort of emotion whatsoever. Any kind of human feeling. It just
looked like a mask.
Lionel sighed. “I’m fine.” He walked across the small room that
served as his private quarters, pulling his chest plate off the wall and in-
vestigating it. There were some minor dings and dents, but all in all, it
was still in relatively good shape, and he thought the sword and scuff
marks gave it a nice bit of character.
“The boss wants to see you, Bro,” another voice echoed and Lionel
turned from his armor again just as his second brother pushed in past
Victor.
“Is that the only reason you guys are here?” Lionel asked. He
respawned a few days previously and his brothers had not made any great
effort to come visit or see how he was feeling. Yet here they were, both
in one day, but not to check on him, instead to ask him to come see ‘the
boss’.
Lionel had considered himself especially fortunate when he’d been
accepted into the secondary beta for Shyft 2.0 and he had jumped in the
6 MIKE KRAUS
chance to get some play time with his two brothers. The minute they hit
the virtual world, his brothers had headed straight for the tavern, forgo-
ing any sort of training or preparation for partying and drink, but Li-
onel had gone right to work. Within two days he’d earned enough mon-
ey for all three of them to join Diamond’s Edge – a very exclusive guild
and one of the first guilds formed in Elderand. His memories were still
wrapped in tendrils of thick, opaque fog in his mind, but he remembered
his brothers not being nearly as excited as he’d been, seeing the guild as
more effort than it was worth.
But in the end, they’d been convinced to come along. Not quite kick-
ing and screaming, but pretty close, and when the time had come for
them to embark on their first quest, a trip down the Forked Tongue Riv-
er to do battle with the Sharak-Ku they’d agreed to represent the Dia-
mond’s Edge and come along.
But they’d been ambushed along the river’s edge, and Lionel’s two
brothers had been killed. At the time he had no idea what that meant and
if he’d ever see them again.
He still wasn’t sure if he had. Yes, when he was eventually killed him-
self and respawned in Elderand, his brothers’ faces had been among the
first two he’d seen, but it had just been their faces. The men he knew as
his brothers didn’t appear to be behind the layers of flesh staring down at
him. Not only that, but many of the other guild members seemed some-
how ‘off ’ as well. Just not quite right. Players he’d joined the game with,
other players and NPCs he’d come to know. All of them feeling suddenly
distant. Was something wrong with them?
Or did it rest within him?
He forced his eyes closed and pressed his palm to his forehead trying
to push through the pain and the confused haze of jumbled images.
“Lionel!” a voice barked and he snapped to. Victor was looking at
him. “Come on, kid brother,” he said, with no hint of actual care in his
voice. “We’ve got some stuff to talk about.”
THE DIAMOND SPEAR 7
Lionel nodded and followed Victor and Bruce back out of his quar-
ters and into the main building beyond, trying to brace himself for what-
ever conversation was still to come.
Chapter 02 - A Quest Awaits
Dominic Guerrino stood in the main chamber of the Diamond’s Edge
Guild Cottage, an open greeting room which served as the hub for the
various spokes that led off into living quarters. The room was a hexagon
shape with several hallways leading off at various angles, which led to yet
more hallways and more living quarters, the Diamond’s Edge currently
home to nearly three dozen guild members. One of the original guilds
formed in the city it was also one of the most profitable, bringing in reg-
ular sums of money through the quests, raids, and jobs the members all
performed. The Guildmaster of the Elderand Guild Hall made no secret
of his affinity for the Diamond’s Edge, understanding that they brought
wealth and prominence to his hall in ways that other guilds hadn’t quite
managed as of yet.
It certainly didn’t hurt that elite members of the Diamond’s Edge
had grown close with Lord and Lady Krieger, the two-headed leadership
at the helm of Elderand, and the Diamond’s Edge had become a secret
sword, if you will, an organization that served as the extension of their
own powers. While the Crimson Crest was the face of law enforcement
in the city, the Diamond’s Edge was its secret shadow, the darker, more
aggressive branch of executive order, willing to do some of the things that
the Crimson Crest wouldn’t or couldn’t. Many of those responsibilities
were directly the result of Dominic and his fealty to the Lord and Lady
and his willingness to do whatever they required, no questions asked.
“How are you feeling this morning, Lionel?” he asked, not even turn-
ing to ask the question. He stood by a broad central fireplace, an elabo-
rate stone construct in the shape of a diamond which reached up to form
a thick, brick chimney running up into the ceiling. The floors were pol-
ished wood and several long benches were set in even rows throughout
the room, though besides Lionel, his brothers, and Dominic himself, the
greeting area was empty. Along the brickwork of the wide chimney where
were three spears, gleaming and bright in the firelight, forming a strange,
8
THE DIAMOND SPEAR 9
open ended shape, an oblong, broken triangle of sorts, and Lionel no-
ticed it for the first time, his eyes locking on it and almost mesmerized by
its strange shape.
“I’m doing okay, Dominic,” Lionel replied, his voice somewhat faint.
The man turned toward him, his stark black hair spilling out over his
lightly tanned forehead, a thick scraggle of unshaven beard coating the
narrow chin above his thick layers of armored plate.
“Your brothers are worried about you,” he said softly, holding Lionel’s
gaze with his own. “As am I.”
“I’m not sure why,” Lionel replied. “Victor and Bruce both died al-
ready. Both of them before me, in fact. I don’t recall this sort of scrutiny
being paid to them.”
Dominic turned all the way around, linking his fingers together.
“They bounced back very quickly,” he replied. “You, not so much.”
“I’ll be fine, Dominic.”
Dominic nodded, but looked away, staring at the triangular shape of
spears hooked into the brickwork chimney.
“Do you remember how important the Diamond’s Edge is, Lionel?
The role we serve in Elderand’s greater good?”
Lionel opened his mouth to reply, but suddenly was confused. He
thought he remembered. He knew he did. But suddenly, for reasons he
couldn’t explain, he just couldn’t seem to vocalize it.
“If the Crimson Crest is the Krieger’s right hand, then we are the
clenched fist of that right hand. Does that make sense?”
“I suppose so.”
“As such, we have distinct responsibilities, not just to the Lord and
Lady, but to the Crest and to the city at large.”
“I understand.”
“For several days you’ve been holed up in your quarters recovering
from your brush with death.”
“It wasn’t a brush,” Lionel replied. “I died. Full on.”
Dominic chuckled softly.
10 MIKE KRAUS
“Yes, Lionel, yes you did. Time to move past it.”

“I believe I have, Dominic.”
“I think it’s time you prove it.”
Lionel cocked his head curiously.
“I’m not sure I follow.”
“Not only do we as a guild have a responsibility to the Lord and La-
dy, but each individual member has a responsibility to the guild. You
need to pull your weight, Lionel.”
Lionel nodded. “I understand I haven’t exactly been participating
much in the past week”
“You haven’t been participating at all. And your little adventure to
battle the Sharak-Ku earned you nothing except an untimely demise and
all of your accumulated XP. It’s time for you to step up.”
Lionel squared his shoulders slightly, drawing in a breath. He hadn’t
been expecting this sort of verbal altercation. In the grand scheme of
things, Shyft was still just a game, a game he could simply stop playing if
he wanted to. Why was it being taken so seriously?
“We have a quest for you,” Dominic said. “An important one. To be
honest, I suspect you’re not up for it, but your two brothers have vouched
for you.”
Lionel looked at Victor and Bruce in turn with a questioning gaze.
Dominic cleared his throat and gestured to the brickwork chimney.
“As you can see the emblem of the Diamond’s Edge is incomplete.”
If Lionel was honest with himself he would have said that no, he
didn’t see. He wasn’t sure what Dominic was even talking about.
“The Diamond’s Edge plays an important role in Elderand’s liveli-
hood, and we depend on our will, our courage, and our steel to perform
that role. If you look at the chimney here, you’ll see something is miss-
ing.”
Lionel looked at the three spears on the chimney, his eyes narrowed,
until he finally realized what shape he was seeing.
“It’s supposed to be a diamond,” he said.
THE DIAMOND SPEAR 11
“Indeed,” Dominic replied. “Upon first glance it might seem as if the

missing spear is just one of many and unimportant, but that is not the
case.” Dominic turned to face Lionel. “If you find the fourth spear, it will
join with the other three, creating a mystical bond which forms the Di-
amond Spear. The Diamond Spear is an ancient, magical weapon that
serves as the symbol for our guild and tips the power within the Elderand
Guilds highly towards us.”
“And that’s a good thing?” Lionel asked.
Dominic chuckled. “Oh, yes, that is a very good thing.”
“So what exactly do you need me to do?” Lionel asked, and Dominic
smiled once again. Before he even verbally replied a message scrolled by
in Lionel’s HUD.
Quest Alert - Recover the Diamond Spear
Members of the Diamond’s Edge Guild went on a hunt in the Eastward
Peaks and never returned. They brought along one of the sacred spears
of the guild, and now Dominic wants it back. Travel to the Eastward
Peaks and find the fourth spear of the Diamond’s Edge so the Diamond
Spear can be whole once again!
Success:
Find and Recover the missing piece to the Diamond Spear
Failure:
Do not recover the spear
Die along the way
Quest Difficulty:
Difficult
Rewards:
2,000 Gold
1,500 XP
Do You Accept: Yes/No
Lionel hesitated for just a moment, a ragged nugget of doubt was
lodged in his gut and refused to work its way free. Something didn’t feel
right about this quest or this whole guild for that matter. But what was
12 MIKE KRAUS
he without it? He couldn’t abandon his brothers, and without the Dia-
mond’s Edge he had literally nothing.
What about your friends?
A voice nagged in his head. Friends. He had friends. Didn’t he? The
Paladin closed his eyes, trying to see their faces, trying to remember their
names, but all that came through was fog and static.
Finally, he pushed the thoughts aside and looked at Dominic once
again, nodding softly.
“I accept the quest,” he said.
“That’s the right choice,” Dominic replied.
Lionel still wasn’t convinced.
Chapter 03 - Through the Wall
Lionel had been through many areas of Elderand, but had never been
as far as the Eastern gate, so he wasn't quite sure what to expect as his
brothers escorted him over the cobblestone roads, winding past the town
green, where many citizens had gathered for a communal meal. They
walked in silence, passing by Merchant Alley, ignoring the barked voices
of salesmen and eager women, offering goods, waving various items over
their heads as they beckoned the three men to stop and leave their gold.
They approached the final few shops along the way, and Lionel let his
eyes linger on the Bronze Anvil, peering through the front window, look-
ing in on the squat salesman standing behind a long counter. The short,
broad man glared back at him without intimidation, even though he was
probably half Lionel's size. A few moments later, the stone wall stretched
up and out before them, reaching for the heavens and running along the
horizon as far as the three men could see.
A large set of double doors marked the eastern exit and beyond the
wall, even from this distance, Lionel could see the jagged ridges of the
Eastward Peaks, mountains covering nearly the entire sky ahead of them,
crawling up into the pale white clouds as if they just might be eternal.
This wall served as the eastern barrier for Elderand, but the Eastward
Peaks may as well have been the eastern barrier for the entire planet, and
Lionel could not imagine any world beyond those rocks. Far off in the
distance the faint squawk of some kind of large bird echoed overhead
and the two members of the Crimson Crest guarding the eastward gate
moved in, drawing the doors open, revealing a brisk wind just outside the
stone walls.
"Are you ready for this, bro?" Victor asked, cocking Lionel a sideways
smile.
Lionel looked at him and Bruce, eyes drifting from one to the other,
once again trying to quantify exactly what was wrong here, but not being
able to.
13
14 MIKE KRAUS
"I'm fine," he replied, and placed a hand on the broadsword at his hip,
feeling the familiar contours of its hilt. Its weight within the sheath was
a satisfying pressure there, a reassurance that whatever he was getting in-
to, his blade was there by his side to help him. He felt a low tingle at his
chest as well, a faint, vibrating hum and he reached up, pressing his fin-
gers to a small clasp just under his collarbone. He glanced down at it, nar-
rowing his eyes. There was something about that clasp, something special
about it. Something magical, even, and he could feel the gentle tug at his
memories. Through the fog of his thoughts he could see their faces—the
young man, the pretty girl, the mysterious dark elf with the light gray
skin. The puzzle pieces were there, he just could not assemble them.
"Lionel!" Bruce shouted and the Paladin snapped his head around.
"We need that spear," he said, his face sculpted into a determined, fo-
cused scowl.
Lionel met his eyes and nodded, affirming the message as his broth-
ers cast him one last look, then turned and strode back into Elderand.
Both doors swung together, slamming hard in the early morning stillness,
leaving him standing alone out in the rocky tundra, a flat swath of
ground between the wall and the mountains themselves. Lionel turned
toward the mountains, his eyes focused on the ground ahead. Rock gave
way to dirt, and a ragged, four-person-wide path had been hewn through
the hard stone, angling upward and deep into the mountains ahead. It al-
most seemed as if a giant had swung a mighty blade, cleaving the rocks
in two, forcing a jagged crag through the encroaching mountains, and he
strode forward, moving from rock to dirt, to the wide path, thick rock
and stone crawling up toward the sky, drenching him in shadow.
For several minutes he continued in silence, the path rising at a steep,
dramatic angle, his legs aching as he pushed onward as the path angled
left, deeper into the mountains. Shapes and shadows formed in the dirt
around him and Lionel paused for a moment.
"What's this?" he asked nobody in particular. Since his death and re-
birth, he'd taken to speaking his own thoughts to himself. Walking to-
ward the right side of the path, his eyes widened as the dark shapes clari-
fied along the ridge of the rocks, where they met the packed dirt.
"Better question might be who is this?" he replied to himself, bending
low. He touched his fingers to the worn and battered bones that lay there,
a corpse long since dead, not a scrap of skin or clothing left. Looking up
and down the path, he could see almost a dozen of the piles strewn about,
several individual skulls, a few sets of ribs, countless limbs. In many cases
the bones were yellowed with age, some of them worn smooth from ero-
sion. Standing back up, he tried to ignore the remains and he followed
the hairpin turn left.
Lionel's boots scraped on the dirt surface, his eyes locked on the path
ahead. A large, stone structure filled his view, thick slabs of stone crossing
from side-to-side, completely blocking his passage.
"Well, isn't this just a fine how do you do?" he asked, his voice hoarse
in the silence. Walking forward, he touched the hard stone surface of the
wall, running his armored fingers along it, trying to locate a seam or catch
or anything that might open it for access. He turned and looked back
down the path he had walked and he couldn't even see the large eastern
wall of Elderand from this distance, he was fully enveloped by the East-
ward Peaks. There had been no side paths or other branches to travel, so
he knew this was the only way up.
"There must be a way through," he said, turning back to face the large
stone wall. He could tell by looking at it that it was not a natural obstacle;
the surface of the barrier was too smooth and even, the edges a sculpted
ridge instead of a more organic, natural growth. Looking left and right,
Lionel crossed his arms over his thick, armor plated chest, glancing at a
rock wall to his left. The sun floated in the sky above, a plump yellow ball
dangling almost directly over his head, the gentle puffs of white clouds
drifting aside slowly.
As Lionel looked through the wide trench within the Eastward
Peaks he saw it along the left wall. A gentle glint of sunlight gleaming
from something embedded in the stone wall. Without hesitating, Lionel
16 MIKE KRAUS
walked toward it, striding swiftly, his metal boots clanging on the stone
and packed dirt beneath him, echoing between the tall rock faces on ei-
ther side. He drew near and saw what appeared to be some sort of metal-
lic lever system jutting out from between two rocks to the left of the tall
barrier. Closing his hand around it, he tested the item's resistance, and he
could feel it shift slightly in his grasp. With a twist of his shoulders, he
pushed it down and pulled out, an echoing clack sounding within the ar-
tificial valley as the device moved and pulled free of the rocks, coming
out into his tight grasp.
He glared at the item through his HUD.
You have Received:
Rusted Metal Rod
(An aged but tough rod of metal)
Durability: 45/45
Rarity: Uncommon
Looking at the metal post, it was slender and cylindrical with some
strange markings along its shaft and a series of sculpted bumps and ridges
near the far end of its smooth surface. It looked as if it were iron at one
point, but now looked worn and red with rust, affected by the weather
and conditions of this outside environment.
Turning it over in his hand, Lionel looked at the wall itself, eyes nar-
rowing. He'd successfully removed the lever, but nothing had happened
with the wall.
But was it a lever? He looked at it again, specifically focusing on the
far end of it where there were some sculpted details in a very specific pat-
tern. No, it wasn't a lever. It looked more like—
Lionel shook his head and chuckled, turning toward the stone wall
and walking along its smooth surface, looking at the uneven stone and
rock. He saw nothing unusual on the barrier itself, but reached the far
wall on the other side of where he found the lever, and saw what he was
looking for almost immediately.
There was a narrow slot in the far wall, in almost exactly the same
spot as he pulled the lever from a few moments earlier, which served to
prove what he had hypothesized.
"This isn't a lever," he said quietly. "It's a key." He stepped toward the
slot, angling the ridged details on the end of the pole, and shoved it in-
side. He could feel some light resistance, so he turned the rod slightly un-
til he felt it slide through the keyhole and push deeper into the rock, fi-
nally settling into place with a thick, solid click. Grasping the near end
with both hands he turned it like a steering wheel, twisting the rod, an-
other series of clicks and clacks echoing in the quiet morning.
There was a sudden thudding boom and the barrier seemed to drop
by a foot, sinking into some hidden recess within the dirt ground. Ratch-
eting chains sounded next and slowly the stone barrier ground and
crawled, moving slowly right, opening the pathway deeper into the
mountains beyond.
"Nicely done, Sir Lionel Reynard," the Paladin said to himself with a
satisfied smile. He walked past the door and continued on up the path as
the sun crawled behind the clouds, bringing on a menacing, gray dusk.
Chapter 04 - Stop Trolling Me
Lionel lost count of how long he'd been walking, but the gradual shift
from daylight to dusk to evening had progressed and as he walked along
the steep angle of the path it was now more shadow than light.
"No one told me I'd have to sleep out here," Lionel said quietly to
himself, shaking his head as he said it, his body a series of nervous twitch-
es as he continued his forward progress. "Somehow my brothers forgot
to mention that whole part, surprise, surprise. They always had my back
in the real world and now they're hanging me out to dry, and for what, a
place in a stupid guild? The Diamond Spear? Trying to make themselves
look good? What kinds of brothers are they that they screw me over just
so they can—"
A low scuffle came from his right, and Lionel slapped his lips shut
and twisted his head right, looking toward the noise. Purely by instinct,
his hand moved down to his hip, touching the ridged hilt of his
broadsword.
"Who's there?" he asked, stepping back cautiously as his iron
broadsword drew slowly from its sheath, slipping out with a long, drawn
out scrape. Reaching back, he also unslung his angular shield from his
shoulders and moved it into the grasp of his left hand while his right
hand balanced the large blade.
"Thanks, brothers," Lionel said, "for preparing me so well for whatev-
er this quest is. Always have my back, always looking out for me. Taking
care of me just like IRL. It's a wonder any of us survived this long."
"Shut up, human," a voice hissed from the darkness, a deep black
where the fainter shadows of two rocks met. It was a gravelly voice, a
vaguely humanoid, common tongue speaker, but definitely not purely
human.
"Sorry," Lionel said instinctively, though he wasn't sure why he was
apologizing to whatever this was.
"You've traveled out of your depths, Paladin. I will let you turn away."
18
"I'm in search of something for my guild," Lionel replied. "I cannot

turn away."
"Then you will die."
"Been there, done that," Lionel replied, his voice cracking slightly.
"Still around."
The low scuffle of something on the ground came again, chased by a
low, ragged chuckling.
"Last chance," the voice said again.
"Not interested," Lionel replied, adjusting his grip on his shield, so it
freed his left hand. He joined his right, clasping it along the long handle
of the sword, dropping into a ready position. There was more quiet scuf-
fling, and figures emerged from the shadows. Three of them in total, tall
figures with narrow shoulders, walking in a slightly hunched over pos-
ture. The first one at least appeared to be carrying a weapon, some sort of
large, roughly carved club, likely cut from one of the larger trees Lionel
had passed on his way up the mountain path. As the creature walked,
bent over, the club dragged along the ground, scraping. Coming into the
scant light, Lionel could make out the features of the club wielder, and
was somewhat pleased to see that his stats also appeared in his HUD.
Stone Troll
(Hard-Skinned Mountain Dweller)
Level: 7
HP: 130/130
MP: 0/0
Skills
Bludgeon
(+3 to Attack)
Rocky Hide
(+3 to Defense)
Lionel glared at the creatures, all of them the same race and approx-
imately the same level. They were gray-skinned humanoids, walking on
long, gangly legs with curved spines and equally long arms. Their heads
20 MIKE KRAUS
were narrow with pointed, angular chins and broad, hooked noses. Tufts
of light hair sprouted from their lumpy skulls, looking almost like crab
grass more than actual hair. Narrowed eyes gleamed in the low light of
night and their backs, shoulders, and limbs were coated in rocky skin,
looking almost like gray, bloodless scabs covering them.
The Paladin waited for more, but the three figures seemed to be the
only ones emerging and they slowly fanned out, narrow, luminescent
eyes peering at him as they blocked his passage forward.
"My brothers," the lead troll hissed, looking to his left, then his right.
"Let us kill this interloper." Almost without warning the Stone Troll in
the center lumbered forward, wrenching his club from the ground and
lifting it into a tense, two-handed grasp, wheeling it around over his head
as he lurched forward. Lionel moved into meet him, twisting right and
bringing his shield up and around, the club slamming down hard on the
sloped and angled metal, echoing in the dim light of the setting sun. Vi-
brations thrummed up and down the Paladin's arm with the impact, but
the shield held, and his hit points did as well.
His blade still clamped in two hands, he stepped into the troll's strike
and swung up and left, the broad sword sweeping widely through the
tough hide of his enemy. A handful of HP scattered away as the sword
struck home, but the rocky hide of the troll made him fairly resistant to
standard physical attacks and the damage was minimal. As if that weren't
bad enough, the Paladin's wild sword swing had left his right side vulner-
able to attack and a second troll surged forward with his own wooden
club coming around. Tensing, Lionel absorbed the rough club strike to
his right side, his layered plate armor taking most of the hit, but ten hit
points still broke away in a flash of red, sending him stumbling to the left.
Planting his feet, he whipped his head around, instinct kicking in,
the familiar thirst for battle suddenly parching his throat. His death and
respawn had sent him for a loop, he'd been confused and out of sorts, but
the clash of club and steel and the brutal impact against his armor kicked
everything back into alignment.
Activating Vicious Smite he tensed and lunged, swinging his sword

back around with a renewed vigor and strength. The first troll stepped
back to avoid the slash from the blade, now glowing in a mysterious pale
light, but he wasn't quite fast enough, the razor edge of the broad sword
cleaving a ragged wound through the unprotected flesh of his right chest.
Tissue ripped open and blood flew, knocking thirty hit points away in
one sweeping slash.
Critical Hit!
In the same sweeping motion, he slammed the second troll's club
with the sword and drove it down, pinning it against the ground in a
swift blocking motion, bringing the creature forward and off balance.
Immediately Lionel charged, lifting his shield and driving it hard into the
troll's face, smiling slightly at the satisfying wham of metal on bone and
crunching flesh. The troll staggered backwards, releasing the club and out
of the corner of his eye, Lionel could see the first creature once again lift-
ing the club for another attack. He fell to the right, lifting his shield and
winced as the club struck home with a devastating, driving impact.
Warning - Shield Break!
Your shield has been broken and armor buffs have been reduced.
Lionel tossed the dented and busted shield to the left, bringing his
sword back around to counter the troll's strike. The club came up and
met the sword with a harsh slam, Lionel's fingers tingling. However, the
troll's club did more than cause its fingers to tingle, the wood splintered,
the hard edge of the iron sword snapping through the twisted material,
spraying fragments of broken tree into the air as the club broke and fell
into two pieces.
The third troll made its move, charging forward. This creature held a
sword of sorts, a blade cut from stone and chiseled into something barely
resembling weaponry. Tapping into his mana reserves, Lionel triggered
Blessed Blade, a skill he had bolstered to level two before his untime-
ly demise, and as he swung his sword a wide arc of white-hot magic ex-
ploded from the blade's swing, slamming hard into the two creatures and
22 MIKE KRAUS
knocking them sprawling backwards. Blessed Blade wasn't hugely power-

ful, and it was an impact spell, not a death dealer, but when enemies were
surrounding him and getting too close it did wonders to drive them away.
And if the enemy was unholy? Well that was another story altogether.
The trolls weren't unholy, though. Ugly as sin, but not sinners them-
selves.
Another club strike barreled into him, driving him behind his right
knee and forcing him down into a hard kneel, his metal armor clanging
on hard ground. Spinning the sword around, he barely caught himself,
wedging the blade into dirt and sand, holding himself upright so he
didn't sprawl face first. Already the troll was preparing for a follow up
strike and Lionel pushed himself forward, moving as fast as he could in
his heavy armor, just sliding out of the path of the swinging club. He
swung his sword wildly as he moved, trying desperately to get a good
strike in on his enemy, but the blade sliced through empty air and not
much else.
Stumbling left, Lionel swung his head back and forth, searching for
higher ground, some better avenue of escape. He'd fought these three off,
but with a few well-placed club strikes, his health was almost cut in half
and suddenly all three of his enemies were converging again, coming at
him, their hard skin keeping them relatively healthy in spite of his at-
tacks. He continued moving back and left, trying to find a good angle,
stumbling off the beaten path leading up into the mountains. A gap be-
tween the rocks seemed like good cover and he moved that way, duck-
ing a club strike, wincing as it slammed into stone and actually knocked a
large chunk of rock free. While one of the trolls remained unarmed, the
other two still came at him, one with a club and one with a sword, swing-
ing and slamming, parrying his sword strikes and giving no quarter.
Lionel blocked a huge blow from the club, stepping back— and his
foot hit loose rocks, sending him tumbling to the hard ground. Some-
thing beneath him broke his fall slightly, a soft pile of something he didn't
want to see, but he still struck the ground elbow-first, the impact jar-
ring him hard enough that his sword fell from one hand, clattering to the
ground. Sprawling over on his front, he desperately reached for the blade,
looking over his shoulder, seeing the trolls approach, their own weapons
held high and ready to deal the death blow.
Chapter 05 - Rescue from Above
Lionel scrambled, trying to lock his fingers around his sword, which still
lay just out of reach, moving against the strange surface of the ground be-
neath him. In his mind, he knew he should be on packed dirt or hard
rock, but the ground shifted and moved beneath him as he belly crawled,
fingers clawing through loose sand and some kind of strange—straw?
The first troll cackled as he lunged forward, bringing his club down,
when a shrill, splitting screech tore the air open, a ragged gash of noise,
high pitched and wailing, slicing down from above. The Paladin twisted
around, looking up, just seeing a darkened shadow sear through the air,
bolting downward at a swift pace. As it drew close, twin wings suddenly
tore open, slapping at the wind with an echo of noise and gust of hard
wind, kicking up the dirt around him. They flapped hard, blowing more
loose sand and pebbles around, the shadowed figure halting in mid-air
for the briefest of moments before folding the wings back and plum-
meting down, a sword scraping from a scabbard. As Lionel watched, the
strange figure hit the ground in a low, clicking crouch, wings curling back
and lashed out, a gleam of metal streaking across the vulnerable chest
of the first troll, cleaving tissue and blood, knocking the club aside and
sending him sprawling backwards.
A second troll surged forward, this one with the sword, but the fig-
ure with wings was fast, even on the ground, darting right, deftly avoid-
ing the sword strike, then lunging and swinging across its own broad-
shouldered body, raking its blade through the neck of the creature, its
body toppling right as its head tumbled left, landing with a wet thump.
Not the smartest race in the world, the final troll didn't take the hint
and roared forward, charging the newcomer, armed only with clenched
fists, and the winged man met him halfway, jumping, flapping wings,
hovering as he pulled up one of his legs into a bent-knee and lashed
out. Lionel saw the end of his legs, coated in rough feathers and termi-
nating in a series of thick, orange talons, and they lashed out like three
24
deadly knives, clawing at the approaching mountain creature. Hit points

sloughed off the troll's health meter as the claws struck, but he put a
foot back, regaining his balance, then surged forward, slamming into the
winged man's legs, pitching him forward. His wings flapped frantically,
but momentum brought him lurching forward into a tight somersault,
slamming hard into the rock with his shoulder.
Lionel closed his hand around his sword and pushed himself up-
right, going into motion, charging at the final surviving troll who
snapped its head around a little too late. The Paladin was on top of him,
bringing his sword down and driving the broad blade hard into the crea-
ture's collar. Bone snapped, muscle tore and flesh ripped open in a daz-
zling cacophony of shredding skin and viscera, a display that turned Li-
onel's stomach and made him wonder, not for the first time, just why
the game was developed with such intricate, brutal realism. The troll's
health meter drained to black and it slumped forward, slipping free of
the blade's bite and thumping onto the ground.
Lionel turned and looked as the winged man scrambled to his feet,
glaring up at the Paladin and he realized then that this wasn't just a
winged man who had come to his rescue, it was—something else entirely.
Peering at the figure as it stood straight, his HUD flickered to life.
Rensalear
(Winged Warrior from the Peak)
Class: Fighter
Level: 09
HP: 310/345
MP: 90/90
Skills
Talon Strike
(+ 5 to Attack)
(20% chance to Bleed)
Winged Fury
(+4 to DEX)
26 MIKE KRAUS
Lionel almost couldn't believe what he was seeing. The man before
him was not entirely a man at all, but a humanoid bird, standing nearly
seven feet tall with feathers coating his narrow, curved head and broad
shoulders, small and tightly clutched together, almost resembling fur
more than feathers. He had humanoid arms coated in the same lightly
colored surface, wearing ornate iron bracers on his forearms, his five-fin-
gered left hand wrapped around the hilt of his aged sword.
Narrow bronze armor was strapped to his chest, ending at his
midriff, layered leather skirt emerging from underneath and hanging
down to his bent knees. The coating of light feathery fur ended just be-
neath his knees, his legs tapering into ridged orange calves and three-
toed talons, which were currently curled and dug into the dirt beneath
him. Extending out from his spine was a pair of huge sets of feathered
wings, spreading out nearly ten feet from tip to tip and as Lionel looked
at him they fluttered slightly, whipping up a thin breeze. The creature's
face was just as much bird as his wings, twin narrow eyes situated over a
curved orange beak which was pressed tightly together in an expression
the Paladin could only describe as a scowl.
"What manner of creature are you?" Lionel asked, not trying to
sound disrespectful, but sounding that way anyway.
Pulling himself further upright, Rensalear shook his shoulders, send-
ing fluffy feathers scattering.
"I am Rensalear. Soldier of the Eastward Ridge. I am an Aarakocra.
We have lived in these peaks for generations, no thanks to the likes of
you." There was clear derision in his voice, a tone that Lionel could hard-
ly blame him for, considering the blood and violence he had already
brought to his doorstep.
Lionel dropped to one knee, touching the tip of his bloodied sword
to the dirt, and lowered his head.
"You have my respectful apologies, Rensalear. I did not intend for
this to happen."
The Aarakocra crooked his head and looked at the armored man
with curiosity.
"Then what, precisely did you intend to happen?"
"I have been sent here on a quest," Lionel replied.
Rensalear looked at him without emotion.
"It is an important quest."
"Important to whom?"
Lionel pushed himself to his feet, lifting his broadsword and sliding
it into the scabbard, then dusted off his armor, which had been layered
with a fine brown dirt from the beating wings of the Aarakocra.
"Well," he said, "important to—uhh... my guild, I guess?"
The bird creature shook his head and turned away.
"And why should that matter to me? For a thousand years my kind
has defended the Eastward Peaks from just the type of danger you have
brought."
"The trolls were here before I got here," Lionel complained.
"The trolls are harmless. They only strike unless provoked and appar-
ently you provoked them. Now if you have any sense in your fleshbag
head you'll turn around and walk back down the mountain. Those trolls
are the least of the dangers you'll find up here." He took a step away, his
wings unfurling further as he prepared to launch into flight, slipping his
sword neatly into its scabbard.
"The Diamond Spear," Lionel said in a shout as the Aarakocra coiled
his legs to leap.
Rensalear halted in mid crouch, holding there for a moment, his
neck twisting around so he could glance back over his shoulder.
"Excuse me?" he said.
"That is what I seek," Lionel said. "The Diamond Spear."
With a shake of his feathered head, the bird rose from his crouch, his
wings slowly tucking back close to his body.
"There is no Diamond Spear," he replied.
28 MIKE KRAUS
"I realize that," Lionel replied. "It's actually a collection of four sepa-
rate spears. My guild... the Diamond's Edge. They have three of them in
their possession and are in search of the fourth."
Rensalear crossed his feather-covered arms over his broad chest and
glared at the Paladin through unconvinced, black eyes.
"Your guild has three of the four spears?" Rensalear asked.
"Indeed. I have seen them myself. At one point I believe they owned
all four."
"I would be interested to see this with my own eyes."
"Perhaps that could be arranged?"
The Aarokacra shook his head and turned once again to walk away.
"You could not pay me enough to set talon in your filthy human city."
"Regardless," Lionel interjected, "With or without your assistance I
will be continuing this quest."
Once again Rensalear halted and Lionel saw his shoulders heave
with a deep, frustrated sigh.
"Do you know what you are asking?" he asked, glancing over his
shoulder again.
It finally occurred to Lionel that in fact, no, he didn't know what he
was asking. His brothers and guild leader had sent him on a quest blindly,
pushed him off into the mountains, telling him not to come back with-
out this spear.
"Why am I even here?" he asked aloud, without even knowing why.
"What am I doing?"
"Excuse me?" Rensalear asked.
"Nothing," Lionel replied in a quick, hushed voice. "Nope. Nothing."
The Aarokacra narrowed his black eyes, then shook his head, clicking
his beak together.
"You humans have no idea," he muttered.
"Then tell me," Lionel said.
Rensalear whirled around, talons kicking up dirt and rocks.
"The Diamond Spear! Before it was magically separated and cast

apart, it was created from the bone of an ancient Platinum Dragon. Eons
ago, one of these dragons single-handedly decimated much of the East-
ward Peaks. It took the combined might of several different races, in-
cluding the Aarokacra to bring him down. One of our own archeologists
found a Platinum Dragon skeleton deep in the upper most caverns of
the peaks and used that skeleton to craft the Diamond Spear. Using that
spear, we were finally able to end the threat of that Platinum Dragon, but
not before scores of lives were lost and villages razed. During that final
battle, the Diamond Spear was shattered and broken, its pieces cast to
the winds."
"So how did my guild get their hands on it?"
"You ask questions I do not have the answer to," Rensalear replied.
"However, there may be one who does."
Lionel looked at him through narrowed eyes.
"While the threat of the Platinum Dragons has passed, there are
Wyverns who roam the caverns now. Descendants of the great dragons.
They are smaller and weaker than their ancestors, yet still retain vast
amounts of untapped power. I believe if anyone within these peaks
knows the location of this missing piece of the spear, they do."
"Will you take me there?" Lionel asked.
"Do I look like a fool?"
"My guild means no harm," Lionel replied. "I give you my word as a
Paladin. I will not allow them to use the Diamond Spear for ill will. It has
become a symbol of our guild. It is important to us."
Rensalear glared menacingly at him, his wings fluttering. They
locked eyes and held their gaze.
"They use it for wall decoration, no more," Lionel said. "We lack any
knowledge of what you've described."
"Your humans do not even possess the power to combine the shards,"
Rensalear said. "For that reason and that reason alone, I will help guide
your way."
30 MIKE KRAUS
Lionel looked at the man's wings, his eyes widening.

"You're not going to—fly me up there, are you?"
Rensalear chuckled, shaking his feathered head. "The Wyverns reside
within the maze of caverns just up the path and around the bend. Flying
would be dubious at best. We will walk. But as I said, greater threats than
those trolls roam within these peaks. Tread with care."
Lionel nodded.
"Thank you."
"Do not thank me yet," Rensalear replied. "I may simply be leading
you to your death."
"Wouldn't be the first time."
The two started their trek up the path, crossing between deepening
shadows, the rocky peaks converging around them, the mountains them-
selves almost alive with a potential of threat and power within.
Chapter 06 - The Long Climb
"What's the use of having those wings if you can't fly where you need to
go?" Lionel asked, leaning forward as they strained to walk up the in-
creasing angle of the mountain path.
Rensalear turned toward him, dark eyes narrowed, beak pressed into
a tight grimace.
"I could fly back home if that's what you wish. Leave you trawling
through these narrow passages on your own? My wings would do me no
good here, they would only slow us both down."
"I'm not sure how we could go much slower," Lionel complained, tak-
ing a breath as he pushed himself up a steeper incline. Shadows grew
around them as they continued upward, deep and limitless black against
the already darkly lit rock as the setting sun above was replaced by indigo
sky and the sparse pinpricks of stars. Within moments a plump, full
moon shone above them, crawling along the topmost ridge of the moun-
tains, shining just enough light down around them to show them how
lost they could be.
"You know where we are, I assume?" Lionel asked.
"Indeed," Rensalear replied. "I also know that we are coming upon a
dangerous network of caves, and within those caves reside various other
horrors not unlike those three trolls we battled already."
"You dispatched those Stone Trolls with barely a bead of sweat," Li-
onel said through a huffing of tired breath. "Why are you worried now?"
"Because we are entering the territory of Cave Trolls and Mountain
Trolls, both of which are far worse than those narrow-shouldered rock-
hide beasts we already slaughtered. Do not be over-confident." The
Aarokacra's voice was narrow and harsh, almost like the angular beak the
voice spoke from.
"Well, excuse me," Lionel said sarcastically, speaking in a low voice.
"Remind me again why I agreed to help you?"
"My rugged good looks?"
31
32 MIKE KRAUS
Rensalear looked back at him, feather-covered head crumpling into

an exasperated glare. Lionel shrugged just as a carved spear of wood
hurled from the darkness and screamed toward them.
"Head down!" the bird man shouted, bracing himself and whirling,
his sword suddenly out of its sheath and arcing through the air. The blade
struck the hurtling spear broadside and snapped the wood, cleaving it in-
to two pieces and sending them both clattering. Large, formless shapes
came loping along afterward, dark shadows lurching over the rocks. Even
in the low light of the moon, Lionel could see that these creatures were
a fair bit larger than the Stone Trolls, quite a bit wider, and had even
longer, thicker arms, which they used to propel themselves over the
stone, not unlike the ancient animals called the gorilla that he had stud-
ied about in school.
They grunted and chortled as they pounded over the ground toward
them, and while the one in the lead was clearly disarmed, there were oth-
ers behind him that seemed to be carrying clubs and swords. With only
the moon to light the way, he couldn't really tell how many there were
but the blackened shapes congealed together into an amorphous mob
that seemed to number close to a half dozen.
The lead creature barreled out into the pale moonlight and he finally
got a good look. His head was thick and wide, a gnarled, furrowed brow
clutched over beady eyes. His skin was a soupy gray color spattered with
darkened spots and lighter patches under the arms and over the chest.
Twisting backbone knobs thrust out from the meaty flesh of his curved
spine and flat, pointed ears extended out from each side of his broad
skull, the creature looking just barely humanoid. He wore a torn scrap of
cloth around his waist, but beyond that had no other clothes or armor,
and the Paladin could see the bulge of twisting muscle and pulsing veins
just beneath his leathery skin.
Cave Troll
(Dumb, but tough troll berzerker)
Level: 08
HP: 315/315
MP: 0/0
Skills
Bludgeon
(+9 to Attack)
Temper Tantrum
(+5 to STR)
(+5 to CON)
(-3 to INT)
"Uh oh," Lionel mumbled. "Yeah, these guys are lots tougher than the
others."
"I could have sworn I mentioned that just a few moments ago."
"Die, bird man!" the Cave Troll bellowed and charged, massive fists
raised like cudgels. Rensalear faltered back then moved right, twin fists
driving down through the air and slamming hard against the stone
ground, punching small craters in the hard surface, fragments of rock
twisting up into the air. The Aarokacra's sword was out and in his hand
as he charged forward, then angled left, swiping with the blade. It raked
over the ribs of the Cave Troll, hewing off a slab of flesh and spraying
blood into the dirt, but only twenty hit points dropped and the creature
barely hesitated.
Lionel, however, did not hesitate. His sword was out in both hands
and swinging, and he triggered Blessed Blade as he moved forward, his
long sword gleaming with the imbued mana. It struck hard into the
back of the first Cave Troll, who had turned to face Rensalear, the blade
wedging hard and tight into the packed muscle and leathery flesh of the
large creature. A second troll lumbered forward, converging on the Pal-
adin, and Lionel lifted his leg, kicking out and striking the first troll as
he wrenched his sword free with a tearing spray of dark gore. Twisting
he barely deflected a swift club strike, splintering the wood and knock-
ing the blow aside before it could cave in his skull. The Cave Troll was
thrown off balance, taking a clumsy, thundering stomp to his right and
34 MIKE KRAUS
Lionel moved forward, turning his sword and driving it hilt-first into the
large creature's stomach. Rensalear swung his sword again, hacking an-
other several HP off of the first troll, then his wings snapped out and he
launched himself into the air.
All around them the rocks were tall and slightly angled, so he
couldn't really fly, but the rapid slapping of wings at least took him air-
borne up and over the creature's desperate swing, and he hovered there
for a moment, turning his sword blade-down. Curling his wings around
him, he allowed himself to plummet down, the blade punching thick
flesh just next to the Cave Troll's neck. Embedding within the beast's col-
lar, the sword slid down through meat and muscle, sinking all the way to
the hilt as the troll screamed in pain. The Aarokacra curled his knees to
his chest and forward somersaulted over the troll's shoulder, yanking the
sword free, tearing open the angry monster's chest with a wet rip.
Critical hit!
Whatever was left of the Cave Troll's health swept away with the slice
of the blade, and Rensalear unfurled his wings again, guiding himself to
a more graceful landing in the midst of another group of angry, eight-
foot tall creatures. A club swung, which the bird man narrowly dodged,
his sword lashing out in a wide arc. Lionel shoved shoulder-first, knock-
ing his foe back into a clumsy stumble, and he moved in, swinging his
broadsword with abandon, triggering Blessed Blade with each glowing
sweep of metal.
While the trolls weren't unholy, they were likely of a chaotic evil
alignment, and Blessed Blade had a nice Holy Paladin bonus against
evil, each successful strike knocking an additional twelve percent damage
from the creature's reserves.
"How many of these trolls are there?" Lionel asked, barely stepping
aside a sword swipe.
"I tried to warn you," Rensalear hissed back, bringing his own sword
down on the thick arm that swung the first blow. He severed the limb
just below the elbow, then whirled the blade around and swiped it over
the creature's broad face, dropping the Cave Troll to nearly half health
with two well-placed strikes. Lionel stepped forward, silently activating
Blessed Blade yet again.
WARNING! Insufficient mana. Please wait for recharge.
"Are you kidding me?" Lionel asked, though even without the skill
buff, the blade raked through troll flesh and knocked down a chunk of
hit points. Just as he finished his swipe, another beast charged forward,
striking him in the chest with a hard shoulder and sending him sprawl-
ing, his own HP skating away. Slamming spine-first onto the ground, the
impact jarred him, knocking the sword from his grasp and sending star-
bursts of pain arching through his vision.
Through the firework bursts of his vision, he saw Rensalear throw
himself into a flapping frenzy, rising above the throng of angry Cave
Trolls, planting his talons into the shoulders of one of them and kicking
off, tearing blood from the creature and clearing the heads of three oth-
ers, spinning around and barely maintaining elevation. A club swung and
missed, another spear shot forward, whipping left of its target and the
Aarokacra hovered there for a moment, then plunged onward, diving in-
to the wall of sinew, flesh and muscle, sword slashing faster than Lionel's
eyes could track. The bird man moved like someone possessed, slipping
beneath sword swings, stepping beside attempted clubbings, talons lash-
ing, sword swinging, blood arcing through the air as his sword swept and
dipped. Lionel couldn't believe how fast he was moving, even with those
large, ungainly wings he moved with the grace and balance of a dancer,
and just when it seemed a troll was going to get the jump on him, a wing
lashed out and knocked it away, or carried him into the air, just out of
reach.
But the numbers were not on his side. The Paladin followed him
into the fray, slamming his blade into one troll, then swinging it around,
cutting through another. A rock hard fist barreled into his left side and
sent him staggering, more health exploding from his well of hit points.
Glancing at his HUD, he saw he was down to less than half, and he
36 MIKE KRAUS
looked at Rensalear just in time to see a club glance off his shoulder
and a fist the size of his torso pound into the bird man's chest, throwing
him backwards, knocking thirty hit points from the shrinking number
he had remaining. His wings tried to flap to correct his trajectory, but
he slammed into the ground, pinning them beneath himself, then som-
ersaulted backwards, grunting.
Lionel looked over at the trolls as he made his way to his feet and
charged in the direction of the huddled, prone form of the Aarokacra.
Three more of them lay on the ground, lifeless, and only three remained,
a trio of angry looking Cave Trolls, continuing their relentless pursuit,
loping angrily toward them. Dropping to a knee next to the groaning
bird, Lionel pressed his palm to his shoulder and activated Lay on
Hands, his healing spell, and he could feel his recharged mana draining
slowly away, converting into health, a warm, green glow surrounding
Rensalear. The trolls grew closer, looming over Lionel, but he didn't leave,
he wouldn't abandon his fellow warrior, he knelt next to him using every
ounce of mana he had to heal the creature, determined to stay right there
by his side until the last possible moment.
A club swing screamed through the air and Lionel threw himself to
his feet, stumbling backwards to avoid the blow, narrowly missing the
roughly cut hunk of wood as it passed by his head. Planting a metal
boot he lunged forward, but didn't even bother activating Blessed Blade,
knowing that he didn't have the mana to power it, anyway. His sword
swing brought the blade hard against the attacking troll's shoulder,
though only ten hit points drained with the attack. The second of the
three remaining creatures came around the first, swinging an old, beaten
down blade and Lionel swiftly parried the blow away with his own
sword, then went on the attack, metal banging metal in the dim light of
encroaching night. A swing, a clang, a scrape, shuffling feet, thrust, clang,
clatter, he and the troll went blow-for-blow, sword against sword, each
one trying to get the upper hand while the other two trolls looked on,
eager smiles splitting their broad, leather-skinned faces.
Rensalear jumped to his feet, his own sword coming around.

"You think me dead!" he shouted, and one of the trolls whirled on
him eyes wide just before the blade swept through and removed its head
from its shoulders.
"Gar! Die, feather man!" the third troll grunted and lunged forward,
thrusting with a long polearm, but Rensalear stepped aside, glanced the
thrust away, moved in and buried his sword into the troll's thick forearm
with a gout of dark blood. The bladed staff clattered to the stone, and
the Aarokacra's wings swept free, carrying him into the air for a brief mo-
ment before he surged back foward, thrusting out his sharpened talons
and digging hard into the meaty flesh of the creature's chest, rending
strips of skin and tendon. More hit points vanished and as the Cave Troll
sprawled backwards, Rensalear landed in a low crouch, then followed
him down, thrusting his sword hard and deep, carving off the rest of his
already red-hued health bar.
Turning toward Lionel, he saw the Paladin continue to trade sword
strikes with the final Cave Troll, their battle not a graceful dance, but a
brutal, aggressive boxing match, only instead of gloves, they used long,
sharp metal. Lionel darted right, taking a glancing strike off his chest
plate, sparks illuminating the darkness, but instead of going backward,
he continued his motion right, staying within the creature's range of mo-
tion, finally tapping into his pool of MP that had regenerated, and ac-
tivating Blessed Blade. The sword struck home, an indicator for Critical
Hit flashed in his HUD and the final angry mountain dweller crumpled
to the ground, the last remnants of his health bar depleted.
Lionel stood, knees bent, leaning on his sword, his breath coming in
hard, uneven gasps.
"Piece...of... cake," he huffed, shaking his head softly as Rensalear
walked toward him, swiping his blade on his skirt, wiping off the blood.
He reached the exhausted Paladin and stood before him, looking down
slightly, dark eyes narrowed. "Now we loot the corpses."
38 MIKE KRAUS
Lionel met his gaze and held it, unsure of what to do until finally the
bird man extended a feather-coated arm, opening his hand as an offering.
The Paladin took it, and Rensalear swallowed his hand in both of his,
shaking earnestly.
"You could have left me to die, but you stood your ground until I was
healed."
Lionel brought himself a bit straighter in posture, nodding. "I am a
Paladin. That is what we do."
"You are also a human," Rensalear replied. "That is not typically what
they do."
"Then you just haven't met the right humans."
The Aarokacra thought on that for a moment, then nodded softly.
"Perhaps you are right."
Up above, the fat, full moon had risen to its apex, shining down upon
them, yet the valley between the two peaks was still dark with shadow.
"My night vision is good," Rensalear said, "but perhaps we should
find a cave. Bed down for the night and resume our trek in the morning?"
Lionel looked around through his own tight gaze, peering into the
darkness for a moment, until he finally nodded his acquiescence.
"Agreed. We can heal, we can rest, and finish this quest on the mor-
row."
"Did you say on the morrow?" Rensalear asked, his head cocked as
the two of them walked toward the dark shadow of a cave.
"Um. Yes?"
"Nobody says 'on the morrow'."
"I'm pretty sure people say 'on the morrow'."
"You would be wrong."
The night was dark and still and they were swallowed by the growing
shadows as they made their way to the prone forms on the ground and
began the process of looting the bodies. First, the searching, then the
sleeping.
Chapter 07 - Climbing the Mountain
Lionel rolled over, groaning slightly at the pain in his back from laying
on the rough surface of the dark cavern all night long. He could see the
pale shine of the rising dawn outside the mouth of the cave, the stone
and rock cast in a pink hue, the trademark sign of the new day. Pushing
himself up into a seated posture, he looked to where Rensalear had been
laying, but saw the rock floor empty, with just a light scattering of feath-
ers there instead, the Aarokacra himself gone from view.
Clawing to his feet, the Paladin pushed aside the pain in his back and
legs and checked his HUD as he walked toward the exit from the cave.
Sir Lionel Reynard
Class: Paladin
Level: 05
(0% to next level)
HP: 325/325
MP: 180/180
XP: 575/15300
STR: 22(+4 Class Bonus)
CON: 20(+4 Class Bonus)
AGI: 10
CHA: 18
LUK: 10
DEX: 12
WIS: 17 (+4 Class Bonus)
INT: 14
STA: 19
Skills
Lay on Hands
Blessed Blade Level 02
Divine Protection
Items
39
40 MIKE KRAUS
Iron Broadsword
Blessed Chainmail
Clasp of Redemption
"Ouch," he said to himself. "Only 575 experience for all of that? I
think I almost died twice." He didn't bother muffling his voice, talking
to himself as if he were someone else, his metal boots clanking on the
hard ground as he emerged from the cave out into the opening outside.
The scattered bodies of Cave Trolls were still haphazardly strewn and he
thought back to the previous night where they'd spent nearly an hour go-
ing from body to body, digging out what items they could find and what
coins were present. There hadn't been much, but he'd found a nice fistful
of coins and some assorted beaten down weapons, most of which he'd left
where they'd lay. He didn't have any sort of bag of holding or enchanted
cloak, so he had to be a bit pickier about what he chose to take with him.
"Enchanted cloak?" he asked himself, his mind wandering. In the
back of his head he saw the faint outline of a woman with gray skin and
a long, flowing green cloak, but the image was blurry and he couldn't
put the pieces together. He hadn't been in the game for very long before
he'd died for the first time, but it had felt like he'd already made friends.
Friends he now did not remember. Friends he would likely never see
again. Lowering his head, he pressed his palm to his temple, trying to
ease the sharp stabs of pain.
"A fine morning," a voice said from his right, and Lionel looked up,
seeing Rensalear striding over the hard ground, nodding crisply toward
him, wings curled around his broad shoulders. His eyes were alert and he
looked as if he'd been awake for a long while, certainly longer than Lionel
had, though he wasn't sure what he'd been doing out here.
"How long have you been awake?" asked Lionel, rotating a sore
shoulder within his layered plate armor.
"Long enough," the other man answered, resting his hand on the hilt
of his sword as he turned from the cave and looked out toward the rocky
peaks to his right. "I scouted ahead some," he continued, then lifted a
hand, extending one of this thick, white fingers. "There is a narrow cut
through those rocks which expands to a broader path, leading to a stone
bridge between us and the main caverns where I believe we will find your
missing spear. I think it would be most prudent if we left early before any
other creatures start milling about."
It took a few moments for them to gather their things, but before the
purple had faded from the sky, they were marching through the gap in
the rocks, out into the narrow, winding path stretching up through the
Eastward Peaks. The wind was a biting cold up here, and Lionel won-
dered just how high they were. It had been a gradual two-day hike so far
and it hadn't felt like he was climbing a mountain, but there were signs
that they had traversed quite a distance up into the peaks.
"So where do your kind live up here?" Lionel asked, looking over at
Rensalear.
His beak shifted into what might pass for a smile. "The Aarokacra
have many homes throughout the upper regions of the Eastward Peaks.
A vast network of nests, residences, and even our royal compound. You
have ventured deep into the mountains, to be sure, but my home is still a
long, long ways from here."
As they progressed down the winding path, it tucked around to the
right, and a gap appeared between the rocky crags they’d been walking
toward. The vast blue canvas of sky filled the gap, clumps of pale, white
clouds embracing the vertical peaks, the tops of the mountains vanishing
within the cloud cover.
“Up there,” Rensalear said, directing a thick, white finger toward the
clouds. “On the other side of those clouds, that’s where you’ll find my
home and my people’s homes.”
“It must be cold up there,” Lionel replied, feeling his own shiver as a
sharp slice of wind cut through the gap in the rocks.
“My people are covered in feathers, the cold does not bother us. Nor
does the high altitude. In fact, we were born for that life.”
42 MIKE KRAUS
“Spending that much time up in the mountains you must not inter-
act with those of us on the ground much.”
“Trust me,” the Aarokocra replied, looking over at him, “that is by
design.”
“You don’t like us much, do you?” Lionel stepped over a small pile
of rocks, carefully balancing himself. The winding path ventured left and
the rock wall there petered out into an uneven ledge, the path clinging to
the curved surface of the mountains to their right.
Rensalear looked out over the edge, his entire body seeming to relax
slightly, as if a clenched fist unclenched. A fresh breeze blew from the
open air to their left and he closed his eyes, feeling it ruffling his feathers,
and his shoulder-mounted wings puffed out slightly.
“We keep to ourselves,” he said quietly. “Humans and the other
ground dwellers provide complications. They barricade themselves with-
in four walls, close in their cities, crawl into hovels and pull covers down
over themselves. The Aarokocra prefer their freedom. The idea of being
in an enclosed place is abhorrent to my entire race. We want the wind
and the air, for good or bad.”
They continued along the curved path, which came back around the
rocks and dug into the mountain, another rising peak emerging from
their left. As they crossed between the two rocks, the path pressed for-
ward into a narrow, rocky bridge, passing over a deep, gaping chasm be-
low. Lionel paused for a moment, looking down over the edge of the rock
bridge, the air below plummeting down into darkness. He didn’t know
how far up they were, but he knew he could not see the bottom from
where he was, the open air passing down into darkness within the shad-
ows of the surrounding mountains. More wind gusted through, bristling
his skin, even covered underneath layered plate.
“Tread carefully,” Rensalear advised, his curled talons clicking along
the stone bridge, which was several meters long, but narrow in width,
joining the two mountains by a long span. Without a railing or guard
on either side, Lionel slowed his pace, making sure his eyes were pointed
straight forward and not straying to the open air around him, not think-
ing about the long drop just below.
It took a few moments to cross the span, and then it opened up into a
circular gap between the rocks, the mountains curving around and leav-
ing the area exposed, a wide, rough-hewn oval of tightly packed dirt and
rock. Within the large, oval emptiness there was a boulder in the center,
a singular, uneven rock resting almost dead center in the open circle be-
tween rounded rock walls. Rensalear paused for a moment, holding out
his hand as he looked around the circle. A short distance ahead there was
a gap in the rocks, opening up into what seemed like a cavern of sorts, a
wide and jagged doorway plunging deep into the stone.
“I believe we have arrived,” the Aarokacra said quietly, gesturing to
the cavern, set into the rock wall a few yards beyond the large, out of
place boulder. “Just around that large rock. That is where the Wyvern is
rumored to dwell.” His voice was a hushed whisper, an air of concern and
trepidation in his voice. Lionel looked at him.
“The Wyvern frightens you,” he said simply.
“Caves make me uneasy,” Rensalear replied. “And if you had a mod-
icum of intelligence, the Wyvern would frighten you as well, human.
They are smaller than their ancestor dragons, but no less mal-tempered.
If there is one in there, they will not take kindly to interlopers, especially
ones determined to take the spear.”
Lionel shrugged. “Only one way to find out.” He slipped the
broadsword from his sheath and held it firm in his right hand as he
stepped toward the boulder, then angled to its left. Rensalear took a step
behind him, then halted.
“Did you see that?” he asked.
Lionel turned. “See what?”
“The boulder. Did it just move?”
Lionel whipped his head around, moving his feet, bringing the broad
sword to bear on the large rock. Sure enough, as he set eyes on the boul-
44 MIKE KRAUS
der, he saw it shift slightly, the rounded top edge of the stone sagging in
one direction, then rotating.
Suddenly, there was a series of light cracks, the sounds of splitting
rock and stone, and a rock-covered limb peeled away from the main
boulder, forming into a thick, ragged arm. It slammed downward, plant-
ing a massive fist in the dirt and slowly the boulder seemed to unfold
and rise, emerging into a bizarre humanoid form, a second arm splitting
free of the main boulder. Legs broke free into separate, tree-trunk sized
chunks, knees coiled tight and slowly straightening as the apparent boul-
der formed into a massive, hunch-backed creature. As Lionel glared at
the thing, a circular head twisted on grinding stone, eyes splitting from
the scant rock, twin irises glaring out from beneath hard, crusty skin.
As the creature rose and turned, Lionel saw something resting on the
ground by its feet, something resembling a massive Warhammer, and as
he looked into the strange thing’s eyes, its stub fingers reached down and
wrapped around the hammer’s handle, lifting it up and pounding the
blunt end on the ground, helping itself stand further upright.
Lionel’s HUD flashed to life.
Mountain Troll
(Massive Guardian of the Eastward Peaks)
Level: 10
HP: 468/468
MP: 175/175
Skills
Rock Blow
(+10 Blunt Force Damage)
Hammer Smash
(+25% to Critical Hit)
Items
Rock Warhammer
“Mountain Troll!” screamed Rensalear, his sword out and clutched

in firm, feather covered fingers.
“I noticed!” Lionel echoed, scrambling backwards as the large, bes-
tial creature lunged, bringing its hammer high. Narrow eyes glared out
above a stubbed, porcine nose set just above a wide-split sneer, its open
mouth lined with narrow teeth. A pair of jagged tusks emerged from its
lower mouth, curling up over snarling, crusty lips.
“Intruders!” the Mountain Troll bellowed, his voice a crack of thun-
der, echoing in the morning air. The hammer came around, hurtling to-
ward Lionel, who scampered left, barely avoiding a crushing blow, the
rock-carved broad head of the weapon slamming hard into the ground
just to his right. It struck with a resounding crash and the dirt shuddered
beneath the Paladin’s feet, a crater drilling into the hardpack underneath
the collision of hammer-head on ground.
Rensalear lunged forward, wings sweeping, carrying him off his feet
and forward into an acrobatic approach. His sword lashed out, clanging
against the creature’s rocky hide, and chunks of stone shrapnel blistered
free. Only a few HP lifted from the massive beast and it seemed to barely
notice the sword strike, though it noticed enough to pry the hammer’s
head from where it was wedged into the ground and turn to face Ren-
salear, who was flapping his wings and drawing further away from the
beast.
With thundering, crashing footfalls, the Mountain Troll lumbered
forward, clasping two huge hands around the hammer’s handle and
swinging it in a slow, wide arc. The Aarokacra swept underneath the
swing, tucking his wings tight to his shoulders, then he snapped it free,
slowing his progress suddenly, giving him clearance to take another swing
with his narrow sword blade. It dug into the creature’s broad, muscular
chest and gouged a red trench through clenched muscle, yet still only
carved off a thin slice of health. Lionel leaped forward, taking advantage
of the large troll’s diverted attention. Activating Blessed Blade, he struck
swift and hard, his sword gleaming as it barreled into the back of the
46 MIKE KRAUS
beast’s thick knee. He struck home with a wet crack, but the creature’s
knee barely buckled and he only lost three hit points with the attack.
Before Lionel knew what was happening, the hammer was hurling
around, swung one-handed, its massive weaponized edge cutting swiftly
through the air. The Paladin curled left, bringing his shoulder around,
tensing as the hammer drew near. It was just a glancing blow, stone on
armored shoulder, but pain exploded in his entire right side, the im-
pact picking him up and whirling him around into a dizzying, spiraling
pirouette, sending him sprawling and crashing down onto the ground.
By some miracle, he maintained a handhold on his sword, but already the
Mountain Troll was coming around for a follow up strike.
Rensalear dashed in, striking with his sword in two rapid swipes, do-
ing little to no damage and barely even drawing the attention of the mas-
sive beast. Lionel twisted around on the ground and scrambled clumsi-
ly to his feet, feeling the thundering stomps closing in behind him, the
ground shaking as he moved. His eyes landed on the path they’d walked
coming into this circular clearing, and he continued moving that way as
the bird man slung sword strike after sword strike, jabbing at the Moun-
tain Troll like a pesky insect. Lionel could feel the shaking footfalls draw-
ing nearer and instinctively ducked, the hammer blow curling just over
his head. He’d already lost a quarter of his HP with that blow to his
shoulder, he didn’t even want to think about what a similar strike to his
skull would do.
Feeling another shift in weight, he turned, seeing the troll taking an-
other swing, this time backwards through the air, and he brought his
broadsword up, angling it sideways, bracing his arms. His broadsword
was tiny compared to the massive head of the hurtling hammer, but it de-
flected the weakened blow just enough to save his life, though the force
of the strike, dropped him to one knee, slowing the progress of his es-
cape. The sword cranked left, and he held his grasp, but the blade swept
far away, leaving him exposed. Lips splitting into a wide, sinister grin, the
Mountain Troll brought his hammer back up and around, preparing for
one more crushing blow to the Paladin’s chest and Lionel knew there was
little he could do to stop it. He tensed his shoulders, preparing for the
inevitable impact.
The Aarokocra was quicker. Darting left, then right, Rensalear
plunged his sword deep into the left ribs of the troll, burying the blade to
the hilt, splitting skin and muscle, spraying red down into the dirt at his
feet. Halting his swing the troll screamed, a loud, wet, ragged scream, but
he recovered swiftly, altering the course of his swing, bringing the ham-
mer around instead of down. Rensalear noticed a fraction of a moment
too late and ripped the sword free, stumbling backwards and bringing his
arms in to try and protect himself. The shaft of the hammer struck him
full on, the head a bit too far to strike, the only thing that likely saved his
life. Still, the impact was hard and sudden, and threw him backwards in-
to an uncontrolled flail, arms and wings sprawling apart. His shoulders
struck hard ground, his sword scattering away, and he grunted loudly be-
fore rolling to his left and laying still.
Lionel was on his own.
The troll knew it. Turning back around as the Paladin clawed to his
feet the large beast grinned again, tusks peeling away from blackened
lips.
“You’re next, flesh bag.”
Lionel spun left and darted away, heading back the way they’d come,
but he could feel the Mountain Troll just behind him, massive feet
pounding hard on the ground. Cutting between twin rocks, Lionel
charged out onto the narrow stone bridge, legs pumping, and he could
feel the Mountain Troll coming along behind him. Thrusting out his
foot, he whirled around with his sword, snarling at his pursuer.
“Cut me down if you dare!” Lionel screamed, holding his sword in
two hands and facing the creature head on. The troll bellowed a dry,
echoing laugh of triumph and brought the hammer up and around and
down.
Just how Lionel wanted.
48 MIKE KRAUS
He dropped back, shifting the grasp on his sword to one hand before
sliding it back into its sheath, while he reached behind his back with
the other, eyes affixed on the hurtling hammer. It seemed to move in
slow motion, the carved stone head crashing downward, cutting a curved
gash in the sky. Lionel bent his knees, moving back further and bracing
himself for the inevitable impact, and the hammer slammed down hard
against the stone with a shattering explosion of cracked rock and flying
dirt.
Another massive crater blistered within the bridge, exploding
chunks outward, sending spider web cracks streaking along the surface
like lightning bolts. Lionel looked at the bridge, his breath clutching in
his lungs as his fingers closed around what he was searching for curled
into the belt of his sword sheath. He took an unsteady step back as the
Mountain Troll wrenched his hammer free and lifted his leg, taking an-
other angry stomp forward. Lionel withdrew the item from his belt. The
troll’s foot pounded down on the stone bridge.
Cracks cascaded, rock separated, and the bridge let out one loud, fi-
nal gasp before breaking apart and crumbling, nearly disintegrated be-
neath their feet from the hammer strike, sending both Lionel and the
Mountain Troll plummeting into the darkened chasm below.
Chapter 08 - Face to Face with a Monster
Lionel’s stomach lurched as he dropped, a shower of broken rocks and
stone flying down around him, the Mountain Troll screaming as it tum-
bled head over heels down into the darkness. Lionel closed one hand
around the rope and pulled out the grappling hook that he had found
on the corpse of one of the trolls further down the mountain. Slowly
swinging the hook by the rope in one hand, he flung his arm forward and
released, sending the metal three-pronged grapple hurtling through the
air. He silently pleaded that his dexterity was high enough to make this
throw, watching the hook arc slowly, trailed by the winding cord he had
wrapped around his opposite wrist.
The hook struck an outcropping of jagged rock, bobbled for a mo-
ment, then held firm. Lionel moved his other hand to the rope, making
sure it was coiled tight around one forearm and he braced himself as it
caught tight, wound hard around his arm and jerked him forward, send-
ing him swinging at a swift pace, slamming into the rock wall on the far
side with a bone jarring impact.
He remained there, still for a moment, then looked down into the
chasm, seeing nothing, though he still heard the fading screams of the
Mountain Troll as it spiraled down out of view.
After a handful of minutes, Lionel turned, planting his feet on the
rock and slowly pulled himself up, hand-over-hand, wincing every time
the grappling hook shifted or the rope moved. To his relief it held tight
his whole way up, and after a minute, he lunged upward, wrapping his
fingers around the edge of jagged rock, before slowly pulling himself up
onto the ledge and onto safety. Laying on his stomach, his breath came
in ragged, uneven gasps, his shoulders and back aching from the fall and
just in time recovery. Finally, he lifted his head and looked out into the
clearing, seeing Rensalear still laying on his side, unmoving, his sword on
the ground several yards away.
49
50 MIKE KRAUS
Scrambling to his feet, the Paladin made his way over to his new
comrade, then fell into a kneel and peeled away his glove, resting his bare
palm on the Aarokocra’s chest, activating Lay on Hands.
Congratulations! You have reached Level 02 of your Lay on Hands Skill
(Part of the Holy Warrior Skill Tree)
(+30 HP per Minute)
Lionel felt the warm glow of energy transfer from his own mana into
health as it flowed into the prone form of Rensalear and to his relief, the
Aarokocra began to stir slowly after a few moments.
Rensalear put his hand on the ground, and made his way into a seat-
ed posture, groaning lowly, putting his other hand to his rounded fore-
head.
“Once again you have healed me,” he said. “And once again I feel I
owe you my life.”
“I wouldn’t have made it this far without you,” Lionel replied. “As far
as I’m concerned, we’re even.”
Using the Paladin’s shoulder for leverage, Rensalear pulled himself
upright on shaky, taloned legs, his wings fluttering behind him, sending
feathers scattering. He looked over toward the cavern entrance and held
his eyes on it for a handful of moments, beak grinding together.
“Are you sure that’s where the Wyvern lives?” Lionel asked. He re-
turned the grappling hook to its spot on his belt and slowly slid his
broadsword from its hip sheath. Rensalear was picking his own sword up
off the hard ground, then twirled it lightly, testing its balance. The two of
them approached quietly, heading toward the cavern.
“I do not do well in caves,” Rensalear said uneasily. “Confined spaces
do not agree with me, and I do not particularly agree with them either.”
“I’ll lead the way,” Lionel said, stepping to the cave entrance and
making his way inside, crossing the threshold of the wide, jagged mouth,
the shadows of the interior cavern draping over him in opaque darkness.
He looked back over his shoulder and saw the bird man framed in the
entrance, carefully considering his next step, halting by the edge of the
cavern, but not daring to venture inside. Lionel chuckled and continued
within, moving carefully and quietly, step over step.
In the first clearing within the cave there was a pile of items resting
there, some scattered and broken weapons, a closed wooden chest, and
several glinting coins scattered all over the stone floor. Looking around,
Lionel dropped into a kneel and began scooping up the coins, reaching
and placing them into one of the lined pockets of his cloak. Peering in-
side the treasure chest, he found even more coins there, some of them
iron, others silver, and even others looked like they might even be gold.
He almost expected Rensalear to chide him for stealing from the chest,
but the bird man said nothing as he plucked every loose coin and slid
them into one of his pockets. After a few moments of recovering spare
items strewn throughout the floor of the cave and within the chest, he
pressed his broad sword into the ground and used it to hoist himself up-
right, the coins and items weighing down his cape, jingling as he moved.
“I thought you had come for the Diamond Spear?” Rensalear asked,
somewhat accusatorily, finally venturing into the cave.
“Are you judging me?” Lionel asked as he lifted his sword. “I feel like
you’re judging me.”
“I am very much judging,” the bird man replied, then halted, his eyes
narrowing as he looked deeper into the cave. Lionel turned, following his
gaze.
“I don’t see anything,” he said.
“Most of us Aarokocra have excellent night vision,” Rensalear said.
“Something is there, just a few meters into the darkness.”
“How deep does this thing go?” Lionel asked, his voice lowering to a
whisper as he continued onward, walking low and as quiet as possible in
the dim light of the cavern.
“As I said,” Rensalear replied, “we Aarokocra do not like enclosed
spaces. I have not ventured this far into a cave in a very long time. But if
the Wyvern does indeed live here, it must travel deep into the mountain.
52 MIKE KRAUS
And if the beast sleeps, we may very well be able to venture in and ven-
ture out without alarming him.”
Lionel fell in behind Rensalear, walking into the darkness, matching
the feathered man stride-for-stride. As they drew deeper into the black-
ened cavern and his eyes adjusted to the light, he could see what the other
creature had seen, the soft glinting of something metallic leaning against
the rock wall of the cave, something slender and straight.
Something that looked like a spear.
“Is that it?” Lionel asked, easing his way past Rensalear and moving
closer to the item, approaching cautiously. When he got close enough,
his HUD flashed.
Spear of Ancient Dragonbone
(Mysterious weapon made of rare material)
Durability: 220/220
Rarity: Rare
“This is it,” Lionel said, turning to look at Rensalear. “It’s made of an-
cient dragonbone. This must be it!”
“Be cautious,” warned Rensalear, “and keep your voice down.”
“We’ve seen no sign of the Wyvern,” Lionel replied, shaking his head.
“He’s probably sleeping deep inside the mountain! We’re free and clear!”
He closed his fingers around the strange metal spear and lifted it from
where it rested against the rock wall. Returning his sword to his sheath,
he held the weapon in two hands examining it carefully, a smile spread-
ing across his face.
“I can’t believe we actually found-”
Suddenly the darkness split with a white-hot glow and a thick gout
of pale blue fire exploded from deep within the cave. Lionel turned at the
sound of the low, roaring growl of approaching flame and the scalding jet
struck him full in the face, washing over him, splashing over his armor,
heat and smoke engulfing both of them with clawing, coiling tendrils.
Chapter 09 - Small Victories
Lionel’s screams echoed like tortured souls, screams and cries of pain
echoing in the brittle, chilled air of the Eastward Peaks. Smoke belched
from the mouth of the cave and vomited him out, running clumsily, his
entire head swarming with spitting blue fire and roiling smoke. He fran-
tically slapped at his burning face with one hand as the other hand re-
mained tightly clamped around the dragonbone as he spilled out from
the cave back into the clearing where they’d fought the Mountain Troll.
Rensalear was just behind him, wings tucked close, head ducking as they
moved through the mouth of the cave, another sudden jet of blue heat
thrusting out from the caverns behind them. It cut into a tumbling fire-
ball, which rolled over the dirt and struck the mountain, blasting clumps
of rock and scalding stone in the air, chased by torn remnants of super-
heated flame.
A low, gravelly roar burst from the caves followed by the thrashing
footfalls of something charging out, a guttural, angry sound, filled with
rage and hatred. Rensalear turned, sword drawn just as the Wyvern burst
free, a serpentine beast, low and long, propelled by a quartet of squat,
scale-covered legs, wings sprawling from its narrow body, throwing it up
into the air, the anguished, mad cry of rage following it all along the way.
Even in that moment, they’d seen its head, long and reptilian, smoke
bursting from narrow nostrils, snout long and rounded with yellowed
teeth thrusting from dark lips. Two sets of scaly frills extended from each
side of the creature’s head, and just above its eyes were lined with various
jagged bones poking up through puckered, scaleskin. Thin membranes
spread open as it leaped airborne, impossibly huge wings unfurling, car-
rying the slender beast into the sky, curling around, its thick tail snapping
out behind it. All throughout its jump and flight, it roared and screamed,
a mix between a bear and an eagle’s cry, while down on the ground, Li-
onel desperately tried to smother the flames that consumed his face and
head.
53
54 MIKE KRAUS
WARNING! You are burned!

(-3 to STR for one minute)
(-5 HP per thirty seconds for ten minutes)
Desperately trying to recover from the searing pain, Lionel locked
his eyes on the beast as it angled up into the sky.
Wyvern
(Descendant of the ancient dragons)
Level: 11
HP: 670/670
MP: 480/480
Skills
Fireball
(+ 4 to Attack)
(+20% chance for burn damage)
Crushing Bite
(+5 to Attack)
(-10 to target’s Dexterity)
The attack alone had clawed almost half of Lionel’s remaining HP
away, his health already depleted by the earlier hammer blow from the
Mountain Troll and he checked his HUD, not really wanting to see the
results.
Sir Lionel Reynard
Class: Paladin
Level: 05
(8% to next level)
HP: 75/325
MP: 45/180
XP: 1275/15300
Yeah, he was hurting. Not only was his HP chopped way down, but
his MP was still in full recharge mode, meaning he would even have trou-
ble carving some out to heal himself with. Removing his glove, he pressed
a bare hand to the scalding, smoldering flesh bubbling on his face and
neck and funneled every last ounce of MP into his Lay on Hands skill
desperate to do something, anything to soothe the agony he was feeling.
For what felt like the hundredth time, he cursed the game developers in
their fierce devotion to realism and state-of-the-art pain receptors, and
promised himself that after he was done with this quest he’d be taking
some time off from the game for a bit. Yes, he was an early beta tester
and played an important role in the game’s development, but this felt like
more than a game at the moment.
It felt like life or death, and he didn’t like it.
Coiling his legs, Rensalear threw himself into the air, his own wings
snapping open as he took to the sky in pursuit of the blue-scaled Wyvern,
who was already coiling back in on itself, working to get a better angle
to renew its attack on Lionel. The Paladin cast a look at the spear in his
hand and shook his head softly, wondering how he’d gotten where he
was.
No, he didn’t have to wonder. He knew. It came down to, as so much
did in his life, his brothers.
“Don’t just stand there!” Rensalear shouted as he folded his wings
back and darted toward the Wyvern, his sword lashing out in a swift
slash. “Take cover!”
“Where?” Lionel asked as he ducked and ran, a swift jet of fire racing
past him from above.
“Then pull back!” the bird continued. “Back down the mountain!”
“Bridge is wrecked!” Lionel shouted back.
“Are you kidding me?”
Lionel lurched right, barely avoiding another blast of fire. “Yeah, I
was a little busy while you were unconscious, sorry!”
“You are unbelievable!” Rensalear soared up, widened his wings,
then plummeted back down, ramming the sword toward the flank of the
flying reptile. The blade skidded off the hard scales of the beast’s skin and
it glared back in mid-flight, snarling at the Aarokocra. Without warn-
ing, the reptile’s tail lashed out, snapping quick and hard, blistering the
56 MIKE KRAUS
other flying creature in the left side with a powerful, clubbing impact.
Rensalear rolled clumsily in mid-air, trying to compensate, but his wings
wrapped and tangled around him, and he sprawled clumsily toward the
ground. At about two yards above the unforgiving rock of the moun-
tains, his wings finally came free and opened, halting him and allowing
him to retain some narrow grasp on being airborne.
More fire shot free from the Wyvern’s curled lips, digging a hot,
molten trench along the dirt and rock, narrowly missing Lionel as he
dashed forward. He had to do something. This wannabe dragon was go-
ing to burn him to a crisp if he didn’t get some better angle, if he didn’t
get within range.
He halted his avoidance, taking a battle stance along the western
ridge of the clearing, looking up at the flying reptile, something occurring
to him. He would have to time this just right, or the whole quest would
be for nothing.
Fire barreled from the creature’s snout, and Lionel stepped to the
right, avoiding it as he recognized the pattern. Sure, Shyft’s advanced AI
could look almost natural, but at its core, it was a computer program,
and a computer program relied on patterns of code. As the Wyvern came
back around, he noticed it for sure. It was flying in a tight figure eight
motion in the air, going left, around, cutting back along its same path,
then turning right and repeating the motion. Rensalear didn’t see it,
since he was up there flying alongside it, but Lionel could see it clearly.
Then at the apex of each bank around, he was launching fireballs down
toward him. It all came down to recognizing the pattern and learning the
strategy.
Shooting forward, the Wyvern soared above him, the shadow passing
along the ground as its wings spread and its lithe body cut through the
late morning sky. It banked right, twisting its head around and firing
more jets of blue flame. Lionel charged forward and left, deftly avoiding
the hot, weaponized breath, then came back around, eyes narrowed. He
lifted the dragonbone spear and lunged forward, launching it through

the air, mentally calculating the Wyvern’s path.
The creature lurched forward, heading towards its second twist and
the dragonbone spear struck home, driving hard into the soft flesh where
the Wyvern’s jaw meets the rest of his serpentine body.
It bellowed, long and loud, snout springing open and coughing blue
smoke and fire. Its head lurched forward, carrying it down into a crazed,
wild spiral, wings sprawling desperately, trying to stay airborne. Plum-
meting to the ground, it struck rock and dirt hard with its front left
shoulder, smashing a massive crater into the ground, jarring its entire
body, its left wing folding under it as it howled in defiant rage. Smoke
and fire sputtered from its flared nostrils and sneering mouth as it
stomped to its feet, curling around, glaring at Lionel. Rensalear struck
next, screaming in from above, driving his sword hard into the base of
the beast’s neck and its already throaty roar split into a screeching snarl,
as it angled its head back, snapping at the Aarokocra with jagged teeth.
Fangs closed around the bird man’s arm and he screamed in pain and
the Wyvern snapped its head around, sending him sprawling over the
ground, legs flailing.
Lionel ran forward, moving swiftly to get in range of the creature.
His head still radiated heat and he could feel the blistered skin peeling on
his face, but his vision as clear, and the adrenaline had forced the agony
to depart, at least temporarily. Flame shot from the Wyvern’s mouth,
but Lionel angled left around it, then lurched forward, activating Blessed
Blade and swinging it hard in a downward arc. He wasn’t sure what align-
ment the Wyvern had, but even if it wasn’t technically evil, his sword
would strike home and do some damage. The Wyvern recoiled, but the
blade still carved through the scale-covered flesh, knocking a few more
hit points away, the sword’s almost supernatural gleam washing away in a
jet of pale colored blood.
The beast roared and skidded back around on its rear legs, coming
face to face with Lionel, smoke blossoming from its nostrils.
58 MIKE KRAUS
Wyvern
Level: 11
HP: 400/670
MP: 230/480
Lionel was actually a bit surprised at how much damage they’d done
already, but he didn’t take too long staring as a gust of hot air clued him
into the fact that another attack would be coming. He moved forward
and left, barely avoiding shooting heat, splashing over his right shoulder,
and flaring burning white pain all along his right side.
Lucky for him it didn’t trigger another round of burn damage and
he lurched forward, diving onto the hard ground, scrambling toward
the dragonbone spear still embedded within the scaly flesh of the crea-
ture. One of the stubby arms lashed out, claws skimming over his head
as he ducked and continued onward, reaching out, wrapping his fingers
around the metal post jutting out of rigid Wyvern flesh. The reptile
lunged, jaws wide, but Lionel swung with his broadsword in his opposite
hand, sending the blade hacking at the beast’s face, carving off a few more
HP. Fire lanced just behind him, a desperate burst of hot flame licking
his cape and armor, making things hot, but not scorching. The creature
reared up to strike again, and Lionel was at its mercy now, holding the
spear and frozen in place, looking deep into the beast’s opened maw, a
tiny, bright sphere of light forming within the dark recesses of its throat.
Rensalear hurdled over him, wings tucked back, sword clamped in
two hands, and he brought it down, slamming the blade between the
Wyvern’s eyes. Very little actual health came away, but the snout was
forced down, belching smoke and fire straight into the sand at his feet,
heat blasting back up into his blue-tinged face. Roaring, the creature
drew back just as Lionel pulled, and the spear wrenched free with a rip,
prying loose several scales and sending them scattering. A blur of motion
filled Lionel’s field of vision as the Wyvern twisted and swung around its
massive tail, punching into him and the Aarokocra, sending them both
sprawling across the hard ground. It roared, a piercing scream, and fire
boiled within its open mouth.
“Move, move, move!” shouted Rensalear, clamoring to his feet and
charging forward, striking Lionel as he started to stand, both of them go-
ing over backwards. The flame hurtled above both of them, searing out
into the sky and scattering away.
The air stunk of smoke and burnt rock, and Lionel was pretty sure he
could smell the rancid odor of his own burnt flesh and the idea twisted a
tight knot in his gut.
“How do we stop this thing?” he stammered as the creature hissed
and stomped sideways, working to get a better angle.
“Its greatest advantage is its fire breath,” Rensalear said. “Its greatest
weakness is its temper. You hear how angry the monster is getting? How
enraged those roars are?”
“Seems to me making him angrier is going to reflect poorly on us!”
Lionel responded as he scrambled to his feet, barely avoiding another
sudden gust of white-hot flame.
“I assume you’ve been watching his magic levels?” Rensalear asked,
and Lionel snapped his head around at the question. He’d assumed the
Aarokocra was an NPC, and he still didn’t have an appreciation for how
aware of the game mechanics NPCs were. Apparently they were at least
aware of character stats, and not just aware of them, but actively looking
at them.
“Ummm,” Lionel replied, feeling a bit sheepish that apparently Ren-
salear was paying closer attention than he was.
“His fire breath costs MP!” replied Rensalear with a shout. “He’s al-
ready down to a quarter, though it regenerates somewhat quickly.”
“If we can get him to spend his MP, we can press the attack?”
The Aarokocra nodded. “I figure if I can time a hit just as soon as
his MP is drained, we’ll have a window of time when we can get close
enough to strike at him.”
60 MIKE KRAUS
The Wyvern screamed and roared, and unleashed another fountain

of fire, sending them both diving for cover. Rensalear shouted in pain as
his wing tip was caught in the blast, feathers sizzling.
“We need to do this quickly!” Lionel shouted. “We won’t last anoth-
er five minutes!”
Lionel looked over at the Wyvern.
Wyvern
Level: 11
HP: 320/670
MP: 100/480
“Its magic reserves are down to a hundred!” Lionel shouted, angling
right as the creature’s narrow eyes followed his progression.
“I’d say it’s got three more solid fire bursts left in it,” Rensalear said.
“It seems to fire three quick bursts, take a break, then fire three more
bursts.” As if on cue, another swirling column of blue/white fire lanced
out across the open ground, sending the two of them scampering away.
Lionel stumbled as he dodged, taking a few clumsy strides toward a low
ridge of broken ledge. Stopping himself, he glanced over and saw that the
ledge dropped clean off and he was staring down the long drop along the
face of one of the mountains, empty air leading down to the rocky base
of the crag where it met the flat ground between eastern Elderand and
the edge of the rocks. It was a very long way down, and he had to steady
his legs for a moment, as dizziness swam around in his head.
“On your toes!” Rensalear shouted and Lionel snapped back around,
moving left just as another rocket of fire raged over the flat ground.
“That’s two!” the Aarokocra reported. “Let me see if I can draw one
more!” He buckled his legs and launched into the air, wings pinning
back, carrying him up into the sky. The Wyvern followed his track with
his horn-rimmed head, opening his mouth and belching out a thick,
bright column which arced through the air, chasing the acrobatic bird
man. Rensalear curled up, tucked his knees tight, falling into a backwards
somersault, then turned back around, dipped under the fire and surged
forward, withdrawing his sword as he bore down on the creature.
Recognizing the threat, the Wyvern snapped out its leathery wings,
flapping them heavily, kicking up dust and dirt, once again starting to
pull himself airborne.
“No you don’t!” Rensalear shouted and dipped forward and down,
tucking into a tight bolt, then unleashed the sword, striking and slashing.
The blade struck the membrane of the Wyvern’s wings splitting tissue
and rending through the connective digits, slicing material to shredded
muscle fiber.
The Wyvern screeched, mouth prying wide, smoke coughing from its
nostrils.
“Mana’s empty!” Rensalear shouted, sweeping above the creature’s
head and charging toward where Lionel stood, the Wyvern following his
motion. Lionel had a brainstorm. He shoved his hand into one of the
pockets of his cloak, digging through the piled coins inside and closed
his hand around the ridged hilt of something inside. An iron dagger that
he’d found from one of the looted corpses further down the mountain.
The Wyvern glared at him and he lunged forward, swinging his arm
back, letting fly with the small dagger, sending it hurtling through the
air. It struck home, slamming into the lizard creature’s right eye with a
wet snap and popping of liquid, the monster rearing back with an an-
guished and enraged scream. As soon as it landed, both front clawed feet
slamming hard on rock and dirt, it charged madly forward, growling and
snarling, moving amazingly quickly, far faster than Lionel had anticipat-
ed, legs pumping as his narrow profile moved swiftly forward, one wing
shredded, the other pinned to its scale-covered hide.
“Hold your place!” Rensalear shouted, matching the Wyvern’s pace,
soaring through the air toward the edge of the clearing. He seemed
to be sensing Lionel’s plan. The Paladin stood there, knees buckled,
broadsword in one hand, the spear in the other, his weighted cloak
draped over armored shoulders. The Wyvern closed, liquid magma spit-
62 MIKE KRAUS
ting from its lips, smoke spiraling around its narrow head. Lionel bent
low, waiting, holding, bracing himself.
The Wyvern was upon him, making one last, desperate lunge, and
Lionel threw himself into the air, seeing his plan unfold in his head, re-
membering countless platform games where the idea was to jump over
the boss, sending him careening over the edge to his death. He could pic-
ture it, he could feel it happening, and as his feet left the ground, he felt
a surge of confidence and assuredness as his plan came together.
But in his mind, his pockets weren’t filled with old coins. In his
mind, he was leaping well over the charging Wyvern, jumping clear, cape
snapping, moving with a grace and fluidity that his level five dexterity
would not yet allow.
The Wyvern’s ridged head struck him in the thighs, the momentum
throwing them both into the rocky edge of the clearing, smashing into it,
curling back around it, and spilling over it, out into the vast emptiness of
open, high altitude air.
Lionel felt himself tumbling and spinning, flailing, all legs, arms, and
cloak, wrapping around him, tangling him the Wyvern falling down in-
to him, then off of him, then below him, screaming as it hurtled through
the air toward the ground below, its animal cries vanishing into noth-
ingness. Lionel’s sword and spear left his hands and he was cartwheeling
down, out of control, sky and rocks spinning around him like a kalei-
doscope of different colors and structures. His mind struggled to ratio-
nalize what was happening, until finally the stress and panic twisted his
overactive imagination down into inky blackness as the ground rushed
up to meet him.
Chapter 10 - The More Things Change
Somewhere, deep within the darkness, Lionel Reynard awoke from his
nightmare. A nightmare that had started with his death, a sword hacking
through his exposed neck, the pain and shock still resonant in his mind,
even as he'd respawned and tried to continue on with his life. Now he'd
gone face to face with the horror of a Wyvern, had received a scalding
burst of flame straight to the face, melting his flesh, twisting his skeletal
structure, permanently altering the only thing he truly knew about him-
self in this world.
Still mired in the strange blackness, he pressed his fingers to his face
and felt the congealed, bunched mess of flesh that his broad, rugged face
had been. The thin layer of facial hair he had was scorched clean off, his
left eye closed tight amid buckled skin and twisted bone. He'd flooded
himself with healing several times on the mountain, yet still he remained
this disfigured beast, a contorted mask covering who he had been before.
Through the thick haze of confusion the piercing light of morning
pressed through, a narrow gouge of painful bright cutting through the
soft haze of awakening confusion. To Lionel the confusion felt gentle...
calming. A warm embrace separating him from the hard, cold, sharp real-
ity that he was now faced with. A reality where he'd died and been resur-
rected, a reality where he had the power to heal, yet his face was a charnel
ruin of clumped, charred flesh.
"Lay on Hands," he whispered, pressing his palm to his face and feel-
ing the warm soak of healing energy pulsing from his palm, sinking into
his flesh, wrapping soothing tendrils throughout his head, face and neck.
His hand was pressed against the uneven flesh of his burnt face, and even
through the calming, healing energy he could tell the skin and muscle
within his face remained how it was. Bulbous, reddened, and hard, a se-
ries of alligator-skin crusting scabs.
"I can heal," he whispered to himself. "Why am I not healing?" He
checked his HUD before he could even bring himself to open his eyes.
63
64 MIKE KRAUS
Congratulations, you have completed the Quest:

Recover the Diamond Spear
Members of the Diamond’s Edge Guild went on a hunt in the Eastward
Peaks and never returned. They brought along one of the sacred spears
of the guild, and now Dominic wants it back. Travel to the Eastward
Peaks and find the fourth spear of the Diamond’s Edge so the Diamond
Spear can be whole once again!
Success:
Find and Recover the missing piece to the Diamond Spear
Rewards:
2,000 Gold
1,500 XP
Smiling slightly, he mentally scrolled right, triggering his statistics.
Sir Lionel Reynard
Class: Paladin
Level: 05
(21% to next level)
HP: 190/325
MP: 00/180
XP: 3175/15300
He'd depleted his entire reserve of mana and had healed a decent
chunk of his HP, yet his face was still a gnarled fist of wrecked flesh. It
made no sense, none at all.
Finally, he forced himself to pry open his eyes, letting the light settle
over him, looking at the sparse and open ground around him, covered in
tundra and low grass. His vision was foggy, clear through one eye, though
his other eye was pressed shut, clamped between burnt skin.
Slowly, he took in his surroundings, the pale light of the sun shining
down on the rough ground, and he could see the tall border wall of El-
derand not far away, rising tall from the ground, barricading the city
within. Feathers were scattered all over the ground, at least a dozen of
them, and for a brief, moment, he remembered some of the events lead-
ing up to this moment.
Rensalear the Aarokocra. It must have been him. He must have saved
him. He'd been plunging through the air, down the sheer rock face of
the Eastward Peaks, and he'd seen the ground rushing up toward him be-
fore he blacked out. Rensalear must have caught him and brought him
more gently to the ground. Looking left, he saw his sword laying in the
dirt, and he painfully crawled to his feet and walked over to it, bending
to pick it up, then slipping it neatly into the scabbard at his hip. The sun
glinted in his peripheral vision and he looked over.
A spear was embedded in the ground, not far away. The sharp end
was dug deep into hard ground, the shaft sticking out at a narrow angle,
glimmering in the rising sun, sparks dancing in Lionel's vision. There was
something important about this spear, he knew that much for sure and
he walked toward it, moving slowly and painfully, his entire body bark-
ing in sharp, muscular agony.
Reaching over to the spear, he saw what looked to be a scrap a parch-
ment looped through the narrow shaft of the weapon, and some writing
was scrawled there in uneven, haphazard writing.
Sir Lionel -
Treat it well. Do not abuse its power or my clan and I will know, and we
will put a stop to it.
Be safe and watch your back.
-R
Lionel smiled as he read the note, and in the distance he thought
he heard the faint scrawl of a bird's call, a high-pitched screech way up
among the clouds.
Horse hooves chased the sound away and he turned, glancing over
his cloaked shoulder, watching as a trio of mounts with riders ap-
proached, coming toward him from a gap in Elderand's eastern wall.
66 MIKE KRAUS
"Lionel?" a voice echoed. It was his brother Bruce, Lionel recognized

it immediately. The Paladin turned away, hooking his fingers around his
cloth hood and yanking it up over his head to hide his disfigured face.
"Go away!" he shouted, his voice a harsh, gravelly growl.
"You actually completed the quest?" another voice barked, this one
clearly belonging to his brother Victor.
A third voice belonging to Dominic Guerrino, the guild leader of the
Diamond's edge came next, echoing in the quiet morning.
"I'll be damned," he said, shaking his head. The horses came to a stop,
neighing and clopping their hooves, and the three men swung their legs
from their backs. "You are good for something after all."
"Leave me alone," Lionel hissed.
"Gladly," Dominic chortled, walking toward the spear jutting out
from the ground. "All we need is this. Your job is done." His two brothers
cackled as the three of them converged on the spear. Lionel whirled
around, his voice breaking into a snarl.
"It's not yours! Leave it alone!"
Dominic gasped and took a step back as he got a clear view of the
Paladin's ruined face. His two brothers braced themselves, sweeping their
swords from their scabbards, holding them out, keeping Lionel at bay.
"Don't!" Bruce shouted. "Don't you dare!"
"The spear is ours!" Dominic yelled back. "You got it for us!"
Lionel took a step toward them, reaching for his own sword.
"What happened to you?" Dominic asked. "You're—horrific."
Lionel faltered, his step halting, his reserve suddenly crumbling.
Slowly, the three men fanned out in front of them and Dominic walked
to the spear, closing his fingers around it, then yanking it free of the
ground.
"Don't!" Lionel screamed, the shout hurting his throat and he lifted
his sword free taking a long stride forward.
His brothers were faster. Bruce lunged in with his short sword, clang-
ing it hard against Lionel's armor, staggering him. Victor stepped for-
ward with his own blade, thrusting it into the Paladin's stomach, sliding
between plates of his armor.
Lionel saw his hit points explode in his HUD, a number of them
sprinting away as pain raged in his left ribs. His brothers—- his own
brothers were turning against him—
Bruce followed his brother's strike, bringing his sword down hard
into Lionel's armored shoulder, hitting with an echoing metal-on-metal
bang, driving him down to the ground. He dropped his sword and fell to
his knees, his eye closing.
"Don't—" he pleaded.
"Finish him," Dominic growled. "End his misery."
Shadows drifted around him as his two brothers approached, taking
no hesitation in walking toward him, weapons drawn and ready. Their
swords lifted as they came closer and he glanced back. Desperation
welled up inside of him as the sun glinted from their swords, he could tell
they were aiming for his exposed neck, the neck that had already been
severed once, trying to cut off his head—the head that had already been
taken off once. All of the memories and all of the pain rushed back to
him as their looming forms blocked out the sun, and he panicked, his
arms tensing, his fingers closing around his sword.
"Remember your old life," Victor said. "Game over." He brought his
sword down.
Lionel drew in a deep breath and twisted, arching his sword back
around, digging deep into his well of MP.
Congratulations, you have learned the skill Vicious Smite Level 01
(Part of the Holy Warrior Skill Tree)
(Cast holy reflected light)
(2x damage to evil alignment)
(+20% chance to critical hit)
"Leave me alone!"
A blinding, splitting arc of white light tore through the air, streaking
from the gleaming blade, blasting out in a wide shockwave of white. It
68 MIKE KRAUS
struck all three of the men with a blunt blast of impact, knocking them
from their feet, sending them scrambling back, picking up Victor and
tossing him several yards backwards. He remained there on his hands and
knees, his breath rough and haggard, pain racing through his entire body.
"Just leave him," growled Dominic, picking himself up and scooping
up the spear, bringing it with him to his horse. "He'll be dead within a
few hours anyway, based on those injuries."
Victor glared at his brother with pure hate, dusting off his armor and
picking up his sword from the ground where it had fallen. He and Bruce
crawled up onto their horses, and in short order the three mounts and
turned and charged back to the city from where they came.
Lionel sat out in the tundra, alone, and injured, his twisted and
burned face a eternal reminder of the life he'd had and where everything
had gone wrong. His mind raced, sprinting in all directions at once,
struggling to put any of the pieces together.
Somewhere up above, a bird screamed again, a lonely, baleful howl,
and for a brief moment, the Paladin thought he saw a large, spread wing
creature soaring overhead, but he relented his battle against sleep and
once again let the darkness take him.
***
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www.shyft.gg1 or our Facebook page at www.facebook.com/ShyftL-
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The Diamond Spear - Mike Kraus PDF

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J. Donald & M. Kraus

Now it all mixed up in his head in a confusing coleslaw jumble of

“Yes, Lionel, yes you did. Time to move past it.”

“Indeed,” Dominic replied. “Upon first glance it might seem as if the

"I'm in search of something for my guild," Lionel replied. "I cannot

Activating Vicious Smite he tensed and lunged, swinging his sword

knocking them sprawling backwards. Blessed Blade wasn't hugely power-

deadly knives, clawing at the approaching mountain creature. Hit points

"The Diamond Spear! Before it was magically separated and cast

Lionel looked at the man's wings, his eyes widening.

Rensalear looked back at him, feather-covered head crumpling into

Rensalear jumped to his feet, his own sword coming around.

“Mountain Troll!” screamed Rensalear, his sword out and clutched

WARNING! You are burned!

lifted the dragonbone spear and lunged forward, launching it through

The Wyvern screamed and roared, and unleashed another fountain

Congratulations, you have completed the Quest:

"Lionel?" a voice echoed. It was his brother Bruce, Lionel recognized

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