Blood Debt of the Wild Elf Read online

  Eternities

  LitRPG Adventure 1: Blood Debt of the Wild Elf

  By Amanda Clover

  @amandasmut

  Cover Art by O. Tovkach aka TagoVanTor (Tumblr | Deviant Art)

  This book and all its contents are copyright 2018 by Amanda Clover. All rights are reserved and no portions may be reproduced unless for the use of brief quotations for review purposes.

  All characters appearing in this story are over the age of 18. This is a work of parody and any resemblance to real people or situations is coincidental.

  I

  The Gateway

  “Cash stick.” The drowsy-eyed man behind the counter motions with his fat fingers.

  Charlotte Granger slides her cash stick across the counter and the man slots the chip on the end of the stick into the reader. Her ID flashes on the grimy screen. Charlotte Granger. Age 19. Northern California Zone. He punches a few buttons and calls up her cash balance.

  “Max it?” He asks.

  She purses her lips and nods with barely-repressed excitement. Her heart is already racing, her body tingling with anticipation. Every moment she spends on this transaction is a moment she is HERE when she could be THERE. Her honey-brown eyes wander to the display for the various immersion games available at the tank farm. The largest of them all is the colorful display for Eternities.

  “400 million users!” Proclaims the spinning holographic text. “It’s better than reality!”

  It’s not a lie. Reality is pretty lame lately. Too many people, too much pollution, dirty water, not enough jobs; the list of reality’s inadequacies goes on. The hologram beneath the text depicts a lush fantasy world and a beautiful, voluptuous red-headed elf casting a spell. Her magic vaporizes the flesh from a menacing orc in a grisly loop.

  The colors of the hologram are far more vivid than the dreary colors of the cheaply-built tank farm. The beauty of the holographic woman strikes Charlotte as a disorienting counterpoint to the unwashed pig behind the counter.

  Beyond the counter and the security cage are the tanks, their glossy white shells reflecting the cheap overhead light strips. In the hum of the machines, Charlotte can almost hear the birds singing and the soft breeze rustling the forest leaves. They call it Nerth in the game. That’s the main continent. Everyone just thinks of the place as Eternities.

  The game. The world.

  There.

  “You’re good for eleven hours. Tank 19.” The clerk slides the timed access card across to Charlotte along with her drained cash stick. “You need a suit?”

  “Brought my own,” she replies, plucking at her loose t-shirt.

  The gate buzzes open and Charlotte hurries through. Before she can dash off, the clerk taps his finger on a sign taped on the counter and growls, “Don’t piss in the tank or I will charge you an hour the next time you come in here.”

  “Right! I won’t!” Charlotte know the rules. Only first-timers and wasters piss in the tank and she is neither. Eternities is her passion, her greatest joy, but it is not her entire life. Unlike most wasters, she has a mom, dad, and two brothers living in the hyper stacks. She has a job at Mycoburger and part time classes at the Shang Academy learning to be a programmer. The weekends and evenings when she doesn’t have work or class belong to Eternities.

  The weight of her real life seems to lift from her shoulders as she races towards her reserved spot. The tank farm is little more than an air-conditioned warehouse. The bare concrete floor is covered with electric cables and thicker fluid feeds from the water recyclers, each bundle heading to one of the 30 glossy white clamshell tanks. Most of them are in operation, green LEDs showing along the door strip and the whirr of computer fans emerging from the grille at the back of each tank.

  The number “19” is stenciled in black numerals on the upper shell of Charlotte’s tank. The fans are silent. The LEDs are red at the door strip where the smaller upper clamshell hinges open. The grip is worn from hundreds of hands opening and closing the lid. She slides her card, grabs the grip, and opens the tank. The smell of musty saltwater wafts from the tank’s dark interior.

  She is so eager to escape from reality that she almost climbs into the tank with her sneakers still on. She glances around, her face hot with embarrassment. The clerk is watching with his piggish eyes, a mocking smile on his face. She kicks off her shoes and peels off her oversized t-shirt and shorts. Underneath, she is wearing her one-piece bathing suit, two-toned with a black bottom and a dark blue upper half that clings tightly to her breasts.

  Her face only gets hotter as she feels the clerk staring at her. She doesn’t think of herself as particularly attractive with her unkempt brown hair and her boyish hips, but she is young and female, and that’s enough for creeps like him.

  Charlotte shrugs off the clerk’s stare and tucks her folded clothes and shoes into the cubby under the tank. She does a few stretches, because even with a perv watching her she knows the consequences of spending hours in the tank without stretching. At last, she steps her bare foot over the rim and into the cool, dark liner of number 19.

  She settles into the soft inner webbing and closes the lid above her, everything dark and every movement echoing in that darkness. After a moment, the tank begins to hum and curved displays flicker to life on the inside of the lid. They begin their pre-programmed instructions on how to activate the tank and choose a game.

  “Please make your selection using the touch-pad or activate your interface—“

  Charlotte cancels the voice with a slide of her fingers along the touch-pad and exits the tactile menu. She plucks the interface crown from its socket and settles the connections on her head. Whoever was in the tank before her had a huge head, so she adjusts the size until it feels like the crown won’t possibly fall off her scalp.

  “Time to get the hell out of here,” she murmurs.

  Charlotte presses and holds the connection button on the crown with the tip of her index finger. There is a hum inside her brain growing louder and louder. She “hears” a soft beeping tone that moves from her left ear to her right. There isn’t sound, just the crown tricking her brain into thinking there is sound and calibrating to her neural response. After another second a feminine voice says, “Connected” and repeats the word in Spanish, German, Chinese, and Japanese. The computer reads her brain’s reaction to hearing the word in the various languages.

  “Prepare for immersion,” says the woman, continuing only in English.

  Warm immersion fluid floods into the tank, quickly covering Charlotte’s body. She is weightless as she floats in the high saline water. The sides of the tank are within her reach, but if she floats with her arms at her side she is not touching anything. Not even her toes make contact with the webbing as she floats in the darkness.

  The fluid reaches the tank’s fill level and gurgles softly to a stop. She closes her eyes and drifts in the water as a woman’s voice in her head begins a soft countdown. Light sparks behind her eyelids. A glowing grid unfolds in the darkness, warping, forming a tunnel with brighter light in the distance. She focuses on that distant point and zooms towards the light, willing the tank to give her what she desires and to take her where she wants to go. The light grows larger, filling her vision, seeming to roar in her ears like rushing air. With a sudden gasp she plunge into the light and she is…

  There.

  A breeze stirs her long, pale blonde hair. Sunlight warms her dappled shoulders and golden skin and shimmers from the surface of the river Welswent. A wheel creaks as it turns in the river’s flow and the murmur of a dozen conversations begins to populate her senses.

  Men, women, elves, catfolk, orcbloods, and planetouched folk appear around her in the marketplace within the co
bblestone plaza beside the river. Food stalls offer a variety of savory delicacies, sweet pastries, and concoctions meant to warm a traveler’s belly. Trinket peddlers and mystics and call out to potential customers. The wide open space is bounded by Tudor-style houses, taverns, and shops. The gothic architecture of a church of Jastin, the human god of justice, looms over the plaza.

  Everything is more vividly sensual than anything she has experienced outside of Eternities. The village of High Barrow is set on the fringes of the human Tarolian Imperium, so most of the players here are very high level. Beyond the picturesque town are thousands of acres of high level mobs, end game raids, and stunning scenery.

  She flexes her powerful muscles and feels the weight of her ample breasts shift. She is no longer Charlotte Granger, broke teenager. That boring identity begins to fade.

  Bronwen-of-the-Red-Feather – Level 159 Wild Elf Warrior

  The words float into her consciousness. Her character’s gauzy back story stretches over her real memories. She sees an upbringing among the wild elves, living in the trees, hunting parro elk and stringing bows with sevet-gut. She recalls her blooding among the elves, her first hunt, her first battle with the orcs and goblins of the Kojun jungle.

  There is no clear line between the battles she experienced as a player and those generated into the false memory of Bronwen. This illusion of continuity allows Charlotte’s real identity to recede into the background within the physical reality of this place.

  Charlotte is gone. She is Bronwen.

  Her body is larger and stronger, her figure no longer that of an underfed 19-year-old. Bronwen-of-the-Red-Feather is a gorgeous, blonde, Wild Elf Warrior, nearly at the Eternities level cap of 160, with her barbarian and dual-weapon fighting skills maxed out. Her voluptuous body is not just for sex appeal. Beneath her soft curves, she ripples with muscles to match her incredible strength statistic. She is a pure warrior and confident enough that she would be willing to face off against just about anyone on the server in solo PVP.

  Bronwen opens her inventory and selects her suit of Legendary Shadow Chain she recently looted from a raid on the Sarcophagus of Xypheen. She switches out her Blessed Furs, feeling the warm weight lift away to be replaced by the comfortable coolness of the enchanted mail. Her dexterity drops, she can feel that without checking my stats, but she has protection from magical attacks and the ability to stealth move to reduce detection range.

  The Shadow Chain clings to Bronwen’s prominent breasts like a second skin and the skirt hangs over her groin and her peachy bottom, barely more than a loincloth. When she takes a step, she feels the weight of the hanging chain shift to reveal the dark thong of her underwear between her cheeks. She can feel some of the other players and NPCs watching her move. Charlotte would have felt ashamed. Bronwen doesn’t mind the attention.

  In her right hand she grips her trusty Legendary Blade of Solana-of-the-Red-Feather. It’s her class-best weapon and one she has been using for several weeks. It takes off Pallor Knight heads as easily as whacking the tops off dandelions. In her other hand, she grips her Epic Soultaker Dagger. The black blade glows with unholy might. It deals massive damage on a sneak attack and allows her to trap the souls of fallen monsters she kills. These souls can be used by her companions to craft magic items.

  “Thought you weren’t going to show,” says a familiar voice behind Bronwen. The beautiful elf sheaths her weapons and turns.

  Myna Frostfyre – Level 157 Human Wizard

  The green text for an allied player floats above the head of a petite white-haired wizardess. Myna is young and beautiful despite her white hair, with delicate features that seem more elflike than human. Her shimmering blue armor, more of a gown, reveals much of her pale flesh. She is carrying a white staff that emanates with blue magical energy and cold vapor.

  Myna is Bronwen’s oldest friend within Eternities. They have been together since the beta, adventuring from Heimsvak to Shaddobar, and they are the founding members of their tiny guild called “The Queens of Chaos.”

  The warm breeze stirs Myna’s hair and she flashes Bronwen a grin.

  “Looking fit in that Shadow Chain,” says Myna.

  Bronwen scoops the small wizardess up in a powerful embrace, squeezing Myna against the softness of her ample breasts before setting her back down.

  “Oh my,” laughs Myna, fanning herself as if overheated.

  “I’ve been looking forward to this all week,” laughs Bronwen, her voice husky and sensual. “Where are Rista and Veluxina?”

  “Already waiting at the entrance to the Sorrow Hive,” says Myna.

  “Let me put my Blessed Furs up for auction.” Bronwen is eager for the cash selling the high-level item will get her and the weight is a bit of an annoyance in her inventory bag.

  “No time,” says Myna, taking Bronwen’s hand and tugging urgently. “We need to go now if we’re going to make it before the spawn.”

  “Yeah, alright,” Bronwen says grudgingly and shoulders her inventory bag. “I mean, Veluxina and Rista will get eaten alive by Zhibbareth.”

  The boss only spawns once per day from the Unhallowed Mountain and he is the toughest creature in the game. A thief and a paladin stand no chance against him.

  “Let’s go!” Myna shouts and she sets off at a run.

  Bronwen’s powerful legs carry her in long strides that leap over obstructions. She begins to catch up and the small human wizardess sparkles with magical light and lifts into the air, gliding easily over the village’s rooftops.

  “No fair!” Bronwn shouts at Myna.

  She grunt with effort, leaping from a pile of crates to a nearby roof, to a wagon trundling down the road, and over an awestruck NPC. She races through the village’s seedier quarter, brushing off the enticements of NPC whores and barreling into a random ambush of some back alley thugs.

  “Hand over your coins!” Snarls one of the thugs as he brandishes a short sword. “Or we’ll cut you from your gullets to your gutters!”

  These grimy thugs are low enough level that Bronwen could one-hit even their leader. She glances at Myna, who is hovering nearby, and lets out a snort of amusement.

  “Loving the dialogue update in the latest patch,” says Myna with a smirk. She floats over the cutpurses and Bronwen barrels past them as their sword swings miss her completely.

  “I hear there are some that will try to have sex with you,” says Bronwen, recalling some chat she saw on social media. “They just added it. And I do not mean the friendly sort of sex”

  “It’s a checkbox,” says Myna. “Check your character sheet. They slipped it in without announcing it. You have to volunteer to be open to extreme content to get the rape encounters.”

  “Ew, not gonna go there,” laughed Bronwen.

  “Vel did it,” says Myna as the pair race over a stone bridge out of town. “She said a Skull Wight caught her and spent an hour fucking her in a crypt. She made it sound scary but that crazy slut loved it.”

  “Too kinky for me.” Bronwen shakes her head and vaults over a slate-stone wall. Her toe catches the top of the wall and pebbles skitter along behind her.

  “I’ll probably get bored one day and try it out,” says Myna.

  Bronwen decided long ago that sexual content on Eternities was not for her. She dabbled in it when she first started, but found that women that had sex with other PCs earned a reputation as whores. The ones that fucked the NPCs earned an even worse reputation.

  Bullshit double standard, thinks Bronwen.

  All the male players screw constantly in the brothels and inns. They try to have sex with every woman in their group. Some of them will even have sex with defeated female monsters, which is just disgusting to her and why she either solos or groups up with her friends from the Queens of Chaos.

  Their destination is on the other side of the mist-shrouded Ash Fell Mountains. The Unhallowed Mountain is a great, black peak rising behind this smaller range.

  “We’re not going to make it in time
,” says Myna. “Not over the mountains.”

  “The ancient canals,” shouts Bronwen, pointing Myna to the route as she runs alongside the levitating mage. “We can skip backtracking in the mountains. Get there with plenty of time.

  “Not counting the mobs,” says Myna, taking a skeptical tone. “We’ll have to fight high level sminids.”

  “Not high level compared to us. We fight through them and keep moving. If too many with javelins spawn I’ll use my Battle Rage and kill them, then you just levitate me past the warriors when they close in around me.”

  “That’ll work,” says Myna.

  They veer towards the ruins, following the ancient canals into the Valley of Woes. The jungle is quiet around them, the sun passing through the canopy of wide leaves and casting shadows across the stagnant green waters of the abandoned canals. They skirt the ruins of an ancient village and pass skeletons and strange symbols meant to warn of dangerous siminids nearby.

  “Help me, please!” A woman’s voice echoes in the quiet jungle. They burst from a last copse of banyans and emerge onto an overgrown plaza bounded by crumbling ruins. Bronwen slows to a stop to take in her surroundings. Judging by the ruins, this was once the heart of a significant settlement.

  A massive white rock climbed by creeper vines stands in the center of the plaza. Bronwen can just make out the faint lines of elven facial features in the timeworn stone. It must have been a huge statue that toppled and eroded over thousands of years.

  “Heelllllllp!” The woman calls out again in a voice hoarse with fear.

  “There she is,” says Myna, pointing to a figure dangling beneath an outcropping on the massive stone.

  The woman is as voluptuous as she is poorly clothed, her peasant blouse and skirt torn in several places so that nearly her entire body is revealed as she kicks her shapely legs. Her brown hair is disheveled and she has a smear of blood on her forehead. The woman’s sensual curves jiggle as she swings from the rope binding her wrists. Her desperate expression is coupled with a flush that seems intended to be sexual arousal.