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Ogress Bloodskull and the Dreadknights will return in Dreadknights 2: For the Love of the Guild
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Read the first few chapters of Luckbane
In a dystopian future, online gaming is the ultimate escape... until one corporation gives a few lucky players the chance to play their favorite sword, steampunk and sorcery game live and in-person on a distant planet. In the inaugural Otherworld campaign, the Champions will face monsters, magic, steampunk machines, dragons and betrayal as they quest to find a weapon capable of stopping the dread Firelord and his Infernal armies. For one lowly janitor-turned-alchemical adventurer, the stakes are much higher. Someone wants him very, very dead and has hacked into the system to carry out his execution. If you die in this game, there are no extra lives! In a world where no one is who they seem to be, Jarrod Luckbane has no idea who he can trust. Otherworld: Everything is NOT under control.
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Luckbane Preview: 1 – Thief
Scorched earth surrounded the monster's rocky lair for miles. Nothing lived here, not even a single blade of grass. Nothing dared.
“Sane folk stay far, far away from dragons,” master thief Jarrod Seventhborn said, watching Gregor carefully. Truth be told, Jarrod wasn’t overly concerned about the dragon. Fighting the dragon would almost be welcome right now. No, his chief concern at the moment was diversion, pure and simple; as the company's rearguard, there’d been nothing much to do except look at the backs of everyone’s helmeted heads. The scenery wasn’t much better.
He glanced at his dwarf friend, Rogar Thunderhammer, to see if he’d also noticed Gregor’s reaction. Given the fact that the dwarf spent his time alternately chuckling and humming some tuneless song, it was safe to say that Rogar’s mind was far afield. Knowing him, the dwarf was already counting the dragon’s hoard. This whole dragonslaying gig was Rogar’s idea. The dwarf had a knack for getting them both into trouble, which was half the reason Jarrod kept him around. Of course, Rogar was usually a little more observant…
Jarrod picked up a pebble and pinged it off the dwarf’s helmet. The humming ceased. Jarrod continued. “…especially dragons which clearly wish to be left alone.”
The dwarf grunted in response.
“And do you know why, Rogar?”
The dwarf glanced at the thief, managing to look both amused and annoyed. Jarrod flashed his eyes toward Gregor. Frowning, the dwarf turned around, but Jarrod could tell he was watching Gregor now, too.
Wiping a grin from his face, Jarrod got back into character. “Because dragons are a very sure and horrible form of death!”
Gregor flinched again. The master thief found this reaction intriguing – especially since Gregor, a heavily armored fellow whose lineage was suspected to be at least half ogre, seemed perfectly suited for such rough business as dragonslaying when they’d hired him. Jarrod was starting to think Gregor was far less capable than his shamelessly sculpted muscles, meticulously polished armor and flowing wheat-colored tresses would lead one to believe.
“What’s your point, Jarrod?” Rogar asked.
“We’re all going to die.”
Gregor flinched again.
Rogar chuckled. “Not today.”
Jarrod quickened his pace to march alongside the dwarf, speaking in a terse whisper. “Tell me you saw that?”
“He’ll be fine,” the dwarf said.
“Really? Look at him, Rogar,” Jarrod hissed. “Gregor’s coming apart at the seams. I’ve never seen somebody so jumpy.”
The dwarf didn’t answer.
Jarrod wasn’t ready to give it up. Raising his voice, he waved his hand toward the scenery. “Look at this place, Rogar: Not a single shrub nor tree, nor even a single, solitary blade of grass to hide our approach. Any rock big enough to provide cover has been smashed to shards, pal. You think that's a coincidence? No, sir. If that dragon comes out of its lair before we reach it... it’s only a matter of whether that monster prefers us rare or well done.”
Both Jarrod and Rogar watched Gregor throughout the monologue. The muscle-bound warrior’s reaction was a picture of craven cowardice. Gregor looked ready to flee at the sight of his own shadow!
“OK, I see it,” the dwarf admitted in a hushed voice. “I never should have hired him. What do you want me to do about it now? We’re already here.”
Jarrod’s eyes gleamed. “I want his daggers.”
The dwarf flinched. “What?”
“We both know he’s as good as gone. Why should it be a total loss? I want his daggers.”
The dwarf rolled his eyes. “You’re incorrigible. We’re here to hunt a ‘very sure and horrible form of death’ and you want to pick his pocket?”
Jarrod patted the dwarf on the back, grinning. “I’m bored. Just go with me on this,” he said. “Now, tell me I can always turn back.”
The dwarf heaved a heavy sigh and bellowed in his best stage voice. “We can always turn around and go back, Jarrod.”
“No, it’s probably too late to do the sensible thing. Even so, I'd feel a whole lot better if we still had the horses,” Jarrod said. Like vampires at the church doors, the horses had stubbornly refused to cross the oily swathe of grass that marked the far edge of the dragon's domain. “We won't stand a chance on foot.”
“That's why we have to kill it afore it catches wind that we're here,” his friend said with a wink.
Jarrod scoffed. “Do you seriously think we can pull this off?”
“As long as we don't get roasted or eaten in the process, I don't see why not. Which reminds me: try not to stab it when it's a-breathing fire. I've heard they explode when you do that.”
“Are you serious?” Jarrod asked, honestly intrigued.
“Dead serious.”
Jarrod shook his head. “See? Like I said, sane folk do not attempt to sneak up on fire-breathing dragons in the first place. And this isn’t just any dragon, mind you. This is Gargath the Merciless we’re talking about here! Gargath is just… huge! We’re as good as dead if we–”
“Shut up back there, Luckbane,” Gregor said, stopping dead in his tracks.
Jarrod scowled. He hated that nickname.
Gregor stomped toward Jarrod. It was obvious that the big oaf was using this display of anger to mask his fear, but it was an impressive sight nonetheless. Jarrod wouldn’t have been surprised if smoke started pouring from Gregor’s nostrils. “I've heard enough of your whining for one day,” Gregor warned. “No one forced you to come. Frankly, some of us would have been happier if you'd stayed behind.” Jarrod’s accuser looked to the two remaining members of their would-be troupe of dragonslayers, but the goblyn and purple-haired elf maiden remained wisely neutral.
“Stay behind? It’s bad enough that I’m behind you,” Jarrod shot back. “Do you seriously expect us to believe that stench is all coming from the goblyn, Sir Farts-a-lot?”
The goblyn growled. Goblyns unnerved some folks. Like all his kind, green-skinned Hogarth was a stooped and scaly caricature of humanity. A goblyn’s ability to blend into its surroundings until it popped out at you like the proverbial Boogeyman didn’t help matters much.
“No offense,” Jarrod assured Hogarth with a grin. Nonetheless, it was an unfortunate and undeniable fact that all goblyns stank. Horribly. Not even goblyns enjoyed being downwind of another goblyn. Given their camouflage abilities, their signature odor was usually the only warning adventurers had of a possible ambush. For his part, Jarrod had consoled himself for much of the journey with the thought that if the dragon did pick up their scent, it probably wouldn’t be able to smell anything but Hogarth. Since dragons weren’t overly fond of goblyn meat – apparently they tasted as bad as they smelled – there was a good chance that Garga
th would ignore them until they were at the monster’s very door.
Fortunately, the goblyn was chosen neither for his good looks nor his pleasant aroma. This mission called for a reliable warrior who wasn’t afraid of much, and Hogarth fit the bill. Like Gregor, the goblyn came with a lot of accessories. In addition to a crossbow, the scaly fellow carried an impressive array of daggers, a long crooked spear, and a nasty spiked club.
“That’s it!” Gregor yelled. He pushed Jarrod down. Jarrod got to his feet and pushed back. Gregor reached for his sword.
Rogar came to Jarrod’s defense. “Gregor! Jarrod! That’s enough, the both of you! Are you seriously gonna get into a fist fight when there’s a dragon lurking about?”
“He started it,” Gregor complained.
“Gregor, you'll be shutting yer pie-hole or I’ll be shoving my axe into it!”
“He's spooking us all.”
Rogar snorted. “Oh? The fact that we're trying to sneak up on a dragon out here in the great wide-open doesn't bother you? Just the talking about it: that's the part that gets you. Give me a break, Gregor.”
“No, Rogar,” Jarrod said, doing his best to look remorseful. “Gregor’s right. I got carried away. There’s a lot riding on this and, well, I guess I just lost my head. We have enough to deal with without me setting everyone’s nerves on edge. So I apologize,” the thief said, extending his hand.
Gregor stared at Jarrod’s hand, made a show of mulling it over and then shook it at last – albeit with a patronizing grin. “I guess we’re all a little bit stressed. No harm done. Just keep your worries to yourself from here on.”
Jarrod nodded contritely.
Rogar hid a grin, knowing Jarrod had likely just slid a ring off Gregor’s finger.
“Can we get back to what we came here for?” the elf maiden asked, tapping her crossbow impatiently.
Jarrod frowned at the weapon. Like most elves, Lydia Blackthorn was a master archer, although her kind generally preferred the longbow. Her rapid-fire crossbow – the machine gun of the archery world – was usually the type of weapon wielded by low-level grunts with poor aim. In the skilled hands of an elf, each and every bolt could be lethal. This knowledge was unsettling to the thief, especially given Lydia’s admitted connection with his accidentally-earned enemy, Rand. If Rogar hadn’t insisted they needed a sniper of her caliber on this dragon hunt, Jarrod would have ditched her in a heartbeat.
“Could you not point that at me?” Jarrod asked. His roguish smile did not reach his eyes.
She lowered her weapon and blew him a kiss. Jarrod and Rogar exchanged a worried glance, eliciting a ripple of laughter from the elf maiden. With a sly wink, she turned, causing her violet hair to bounce playfully as she resumed her post as scout.
Jarrod and Rogar waited until the march resumed in earnest and the others were out of earshot before speaking again.
“I think she likes you,” the dwarf said.
Jarrod shook his head. “I think she’d like me stuffed and mounted over her fireplace.”
“That, too.” The dwarf glanced at Gregor. “So?”
Jarrod grinned. “Got ‘em.”
“Good, now give me back my happy water,” the dwarf said.
“Your happy water is missing?”
“Don’t play dumb,” the dwarf warned. “I know you. You took the bottle when you slapped me on the back.”
Jarrod’s grin widened as he returned the dwarf’s property. “You know, Gregor has a right to be spooked,” he said. “This is probably one of the most dangerous things we’ve ever attempted. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to get me killed.”
“Wanna turn back?”
“Not on your life.”
“I didn’t think so,” the dwarf said. “Anyway, how could we pass it up?”
Jarrod kicked a rock. “Doesn't that bother you a little bit? If you think about it, it's all just a little too tailor-made to our situation. The timing couldn't be better.”
“Meaning?”
“I think we've signed up for a trap.”
The dwarf shrugged. “Of course it’s a trap. The question is who’s behind it. Rand? The Firelord? With that price on yer head, it could be anyone, maybe even that witch doctor we ran into back in Thoren.”
“What witch doctor?”
“The orc feller. The one with them snake eyes.”
Jarrod scoffed. “I forgot all about that guy.”
“That doesn't mean he’s forgotten about you.”
Jarrod nodded, conceding the point. “If it is a trap, it's very likely that at least one of us is a traitor.”
“Thought of that already,” Rogar said. “Keep your wits about you.”
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Luckbane Preview: 2 – Dragon
Gargath the Merciless was among them before they could even register surprise. Bursting out of the overcast skies, the dragon landed with such impact that all but the sure-footed dwarf were knocked to the ground. The monster roared a challenge from jaws big enough to swallow a man whole.
Lydia reacted first, firing several bolts from her crossbow while still lying on her back. Gargath snatched up the elf maiden in its claws, pinning her arms to her side, neutralizing their sniper for the moment.
The dwarf let fly a pair of throwing hatchets, aiming for its wing membrane. The dragon snapped its wings shut, thwarting Rogar’s attempt to ground it. Undaunted, Rogar unhitched an oversized warhammer from its back harness.
The goblyn got to his feet and heaved his crooked spear with all his might. The unlikely weapon sailed true, but clattered harmlessly off the dragon's thickly-armored hide. With a sharp hiss, the monster’s head snapped around to face Hogarth. Hogarth quickly camouflaged himself to escape retaliation. The dragon's spiked tail was already whipping towards him. It crushed through armor and bone before the near-invisible goblyn could scurry away. Hogarth de-camouflaged at death. The unlucky goblyn landed several yards away, flung like a lifeless ragdoll by the force of the blow.
As one, Jarrod and Rogar attacked the monster. From a bandolier slung over his shoulder, Jarrod tugged off a cigar-sized glass phial with a metal band around it. He tossed the force phial at the dragon’s chest. The alchemical weapon exploded on impact, rocking Gargath backwards on its haunches. Rogar hefted his out-sized warhammer – one of the thunderhammers his clan was famous for – and slammed it down on the dragon’s foot with all his might. The weapon delivered a nasty electric shock on impact. Gargath’s plate-sized eyes widened in pain. Rogar lifted his weapon for another attack. The monster kicked him hard enough to knock the weapon from his grasp. Rogar dutifully picked himself back up and readied another weapon from his ever-present arsenal.
Meanwhile, Jarrod noticed that Gregor was patting himself down, searching for something he’d lost. “What are you doing?” the thief shouted.
Gregor sputtered. “My daggers…”
“Use your sword!” Jarrod yelled. If the dragon noticed Gregor’s fumbling, the muscle-bound warrior was as good as dead. Deciding he couldn’t have that on his conscience, Jarrod fired a few quick potshots from his wrist crossbow to distract the creature, aiming for its eye. The dragon moved its head at the last second, avoiding the bolts. Snapping viciously, it tried to swallow Jarrod in one bite. Jarrod pulled another force phial off his bandolier and threw it into the dragon’s face. The dragon recoiled from the explosion. Disoriented, Gargath backpedaled, shook itself free of the dwarf – who was trying to jam a long dagger between its scales to hamstring it – and leapt skyward, its elven prize still grasped firmly in its claws.
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Luckbane Preview: 3 – Bait
A few minutes after the attack, both humans stared down at the goblyn's mutilated body.
Rogar made a face as he joined them. “And I thought he was ugly before.” Without further ado, he began searching the departed for valuables.
“What are you doing? Have you no reveren
ce for the dead?" Gregor asked.
Rogar weighed a pouch of gold coins in his palm with a grin. “None at all. The dead cain't help me, and I sure as stone cain't help the dead. It's the living and staying alive that concern me.”
“This mission's a loss,” Jarrod said, making a sour face at Rogar’s grave-robbing. The master thief had long ago decided he would only rob the living, unless he had no other options. Still, he kept careful inventory of the items Rogar discovered, just in case he needed to “borrow” some of them later.
“Not yet, it isn't,” the dwarf said. He sniffed an unlabeled bottle and tossed it aside in disgust.
Gregor was beside himself. “Yes, it is! You saw that thing. We're no match for that. Think about it: We just lost both of our archers. It can just pick us off whenever it pleases.”
Jarrod eyed the overcast skies. “I hate to say it, Rogar, but he’s probably right. We should cut our losses, live to fight another day.”
“I'd be the first to agree with you,” the dwarf said soberly, “except I don't think the monster killed our lady Lydia. Are you willing to abandon a damsel in distress?”
Jarrod groaned. Rogar knew full well that the thief’s personal code of honor prevented him from doing such a thing. “She's bait then.”
“Bait? You mean the dragon expects us to rescue her?" Gregor asked.
Jarrod and the dwarf stared at him meaningfully.
Gregor took a few steps backwards, shaking his head. “Oh no! You can't be serious! That's suicide!”
“What if it was you?” Rogar asked. "Would you want us to just abandon you to that creature?"
“Hey, I'm not heartless, guys. It's just that it's... it's....hopelessly insane! What good will our deaths do her? She's going to die anyway. Let's not join her!”
Rogar stared at him with obvious disgust.
Jarrod began reloading his wrist crossbow. “Do what you will,” he said. “We're going after her.”
Gregor stared at them in disbelief, clearly torn between going and staying. Finally, his face resigned, he muttered, “You're both fools,” and began walking back.
The friends watched him for a few precious moments, before setting off for the dragon's lair. Jarrod continued to scan the heavens, but also kept a bead on Gregor.
“Well, now I’m glad I nicked his daggers,” Jarrod said. “Think he'll make it?”
“I don't give him much chance. He made an incredibly bad choice.”
Jarrod cocked an eyebrow.
“Who do you think the dragon's gonna pick off first?” the dwarf asked. “I think one lone human makes a far better target than two ready warriors.”
“Point taken,” Jarrod said. “Still, even if he is an incurable coward, I wish him the best of luck.”
“Oh, luck he'll have, I reckon. All bad.”