Gunrod the Barbarian: A GameLit LitRPG Fantasy Page 2

  But just when he began to feel hopeless, a far-away chanting caught his ear. It was coming from the moor beyond town. From his bird’s-eye view, he cast his eyes beyond the little town’s edge, over the rugged landscape to a distant ridge. A ghostly, greenish light was emanating from the other side.

  Nothing was over there but Druid stones and the remains of a Neolithic village. But the strange light comforted him, somehow. He pumped his arms and legs, desperately trying to float himself towards the moor.

  And then he woke up.

  Drenched in sweat, his heart racing, Ernest found himself in his childhood bedroom. For a second he wondered what he was doing there, but he soon remembered.

  “Oh … Right. Party’s over. I’m home again.”

  The nightmare faded out of his mind as he groaned and rolled onto his side. His eyes wandered up the wall to a poster of Arnold Schwarzenegger clutching a bloody sword and flexing his massive arms. Conan the Barbarian. Ernest had been a huge fantasy nerd as a kid. Well, okay, he was still a huge fantasy nerd.

  Arnold had a rather reproachful look on his face this morning, Ernest thought.

  “Don’t look at me like that,” he said, squinting up at the poster. “I know; I’m a pathetic girly man.”

  He stretched and reached for his phone: almost noon already. His friend Ian had texted him.

  “Last weekend before we sell our souls. Drink tonight?”

  Ernest replied: “Elvina and I are going to King’s Head. Join us?”

  “You sure?”

  “Lol. Of course.”

  They both needed a drink. On Monday, they were starting new jobs. At the Cube. That’s right; the same Cube that gave him nightmares. A career at that esteemed institution had been foreordained for Ernest, because his father was the assistant director. Adolphus Nosely treated it as a given that his son would take a cradle-to-grave job there and thank him for it.

  But Ernest didn’t like the idea of spending his life in a wasteland of desks and computers. Not to mention the fact that he distrusted the Cube and didn’t particularly like its agenda — at least the bits that were made public.

  So he’d been putting off the inevitable for ages. First he took a gap year. Then he’d managed to make his Folklore degree drag on for five years and, as soon as it was finished, absconded to Japan for another year. After that, he argued he needed a management certificate, which bought him one more year.

  But time had finally run out. He was nearly 27, with no job and no accomplishments to speak of. He was starting to hate himself.

  Admittedly, he was fairly tall and decent looking, with a strong jawline, brown hair, and blue eyes. This had given him certain advantages, but it hadn’t prevented him from being a loser. His fellow graduates weren’t doing much better, slaving away in jobs that paid just enough to get by.

  And here was his father, holding a silver platter with a prestigious, well-paying job on it. Maybe he should consider himself lucky.

  3

  Choose Your Class

  “If anyone has a reason to hate the Institute, it’s me,” Ian said, taking a gulp of beer. “Have you heard about their latest plan? They want to take over my neighborhood.”

  “Take over your neighborhood?” Ernest said. “What do you mean?” Ian lived in the loveliest part of town, with charming old houses and beautiful trees.

  “They want to ‘repurpose’ it to build a research center and an apartment block for Institute staff.”

  “But why there, of all places?”

  Ian shrugged, a look of distaste on his face. Pushing back his strawberry blonde hair, he focused his intelligent, brown eyes on Ernest.

  “And listen to this. Not only do they want to knock down loads of houses; they’re also cutting down all the trees. They claim they’re a safety hazard.”

  Elvina, a childhood friend of Ernest and Ian’s, was listening intently. “I think they’re doing it out of spite, specifically because it’s the prettiest part of town,” she said.

  “Exactly!” Ian replied, slapping the table. “They’re always going on about ‘science’ and ‘progress’ and ‘equality’ and all that, but everything they do just seems designed to demoralize people.”

  “But then why are you guys taking a job there?” She crossed her petite arms. “That’s what I can’t figure out.”

  Ernest took a big draft of ale.

  Ian shrugged. “Money. Prestige, I suppose. I’ll just work there for a year and then quit, probably. Besides, when I’m on the inside I’ll be able to get a closer look at what they’re up to.”

  “I suppose,” Elvina said doubtfully, looking at Ian with her big, sincere eyes. They were the exact same color as her hair: auburn. “But they are rather evil. I mean, it’s your life, but if it were me —”

  “You mean you believe the conspiracy theories about all the weird experiments and government cover-ups and all that?”

  “Well, they do have an extraordinary influence in Parliament; it’s well known—”

  “Hey! I had a bizarre dream last night,” Ernest blurted out as the nightmare suddenly came back to him.

  After he finished describing it, Ian laughingly said: “I like how the Institute was so scary it made you want to run away to the Druid stones.” The joke was that the Neolithic site was widely believed to be haunted.

  Elvina gave Ian an arch look. “Do the Druid stones frighten you?”

  “A little bit, yeah. I mean, I’m not superstitious, but my uncle was there once with a friend, and they both saw these dark shadows moving around the standing stones and heard voices.”

  Elvina wasn’t surprised; these types of stories were common. She looked at Ernest. “I’m surprised you’re still planning to work there after that dream.”

  Ernest put down his glass. “You mean you’d turn down a job because of a dream?”

  “Probably. But that’s just me. Anyway, why don’t you go up there?”

  “Go up where? The ridge? Why, because I dreamed about it?” he laughed, amused by Elvina’s whimsical logic.

  “Well, obviously!” she said. “It must mean something. Maybe an answer will come to you — Hey! You guys have plans tomorrow? Let’s camp out there.”

  “Camp at the Druid site? This woman is drunk,” Ian said.

  “I’m not drunk, you’re drunk. I’ve only had one pint.”

  “I’m just kidding,” Ian laughed. “I like it actually. It seems somehow appropriate for my last Saturday before working at the Cube.”

  Ernest liked it too, if only because it would allow him to put everything out of his mind for one more night.

  * * *

  It was late in the afternoon when they set out across the moor. By the time they approached the ridge, the sun was setting behind them, casting a reddish light over the rocks and heather. The moon looked down from the pale sky overhead. They set up camp at the top of the ridge, right in the middle of the standing-stone circle.

  For a while they sat up, speaking in low voices and gazing down at the remains of the Neolithic settlement on the other side of the ridge. Shortly after dark, they turned in for the night.

  Ernest was sleeping soundly when Ian nudged him awake. “Ernest. Ernest! Wake up. Do you hear that?”

  He started, sat up in the near pitch dark, and listened. He could faintly hear hundreds of murmuring voices.

  “I hear it, too,” Elvina whispered.

  Ernest got up impulsively and began unzipping the tent. “Right. Let’s have a look.”

  His heart was pounding as he looked out. Everything was blanketed in fog; not even the standing stones were visible. He came out of the tent, his two friends following behind. The murmuring voices stopped once they were standing in the thick white fog.

  “Well, that was odd,” Ernest whispered.

  Elvina made a little gasp. “Look! See that?” A distant light was gleaming through the fog. They watched as it slowly got bigger.

  “I think it’s moving towards us.”


  As the light got closer, they discerned the shape of a head, a torso, and arms — a human form. It became almost blindingly bright as it approached, and they shielded their eyes when the figure finally emerged from the swirling mist.

  It was a being clothed in light as bright as lightning, with eyes that burned like suns. The brightness made Ernest close his eyes tightly but the image still burned behind his eyelids.

  He looked down at his hands. They were shaking like mad. The trembling went through his whole body, all the way down his legs. It took a moment to realize that these were the effects of fear. He’d just never experienced such terror before. He looked at his friends and saw them bathed in the bright light. Elvina was covering her face with her hands and sobbing. Ian’s mouth was hanging open as if he was in shock.

  Ernest somehow knew it would be impossible to run away. In fact, they weren’t even on the moor anymore, were they? No, they were in some other realm …

  The being raised its hands, and its light became less blinding. Speaking in a voice that sounded like hundreds of voices, it said “Do not fear.”

  When it said these words, it seemed to overflow with what Ernest could best describe as humanity — even though it wasn’t human. He felt its terrible power and its strangeness, but he also felt immense goodwill coming from it. Ernest was suddenly overcome with emotion; tears streamed down his face. But he wasn’t terrified anymore, even though he still trembled.

  The being continued speaking. “You have been summoned because evil is afoot. You are already aware of this evil; now you are being called upon to fight it.”

  Ernest tried to ask, “What are you?” but only managed a croak. Still, the being seemed to know his thoughts.

  “I am an archangel,” it said. “I come to offer you a quest. This quest is merely the first step on the path of fighting the coming evil.”

  The mist opened like a curtain on their left, revealing an unfamiliar landscape: jagged mountains around them; a shadowy valley below; dark hills on the other side of it.

  “Your quest: Find the Wicket Gate and enter in. If you enter the Gate, more quests will follow. You will be in danger, and you may perish. However, if you continue on your current paths, you will certainly perish and you may lose your souls too. Do you accept the quest?”

  For Ernest, there was no doubt in his mind he would accept it. It turned out that being in the presence of an archangel was a life-changing experience, perhaps akin to dying and coming back to life. At least, for him it was. He looked at Ian and Elvina; it was clear from their faces that they felt the same. They all nodded to each other in agreement.

  “Yes,” Ernest said. “We accept.”

  “Follow the light to reach the Wicket Gate,” the archangel said. Far away, on the other side of the valley, a bright light pulsed like a star above dark, distant hills.

  “You must prepare yourselves. Choose your class.”

  In front of Ernest, there appeared the ghostlike figure of a man. He understood it was one of the “classes” from which he was supposed to choose. The man looked like a woodsman; he wore a green cloak, and his face was partly covered by a hood. He carried a quiver on his back. One of his gloved hands clutched a bow, and the other rested on the hilt of a sheathed sword.

  This was probably like the “Ranger” or “Hunter” class in video games, Ernest surmised. He loved fantasy role-playing video games, but he didn’t play them much growing up because his father hated them and forbade them in his house. He did play them sometimes at Ian’s house, but not enough for his friend to stop calling him a “noob.”

  The woodsman moved aside, and another cloaked figure emerged. This one was almost completely hidden in shadow, except for two glinting daggers in its hands. Ernest understood that this was the “Thief” or “Rogue” type.

  Next to appear was a grey-bearded man, standing erect and holding a twisted staff that glowed with bluish light. Mage or Wizard, that was for sure. Another figure, wearing a white robe and holding a chalice, was evidently a priest.

  Then came a towering beast of a man with ripped muscles. His scarred chest was bare except for a lion pelt draped over his massive shoulders, its toothy upper jaw hanging over his brooding brow like a hood. A two-handed axe rested over his shoulder, and he also carried a sword and shield.

  “Barbarian,” Ernest thought, already knowing he was going to choose that one. He looked at the Barbarian apparition for longer than he’d looked at the others; as he did so, he could somehow sense what some of its class characteristics were: very high strength and stamina; ability to intimidate enemies; can draw on primal rage to make himself deadlier. Just what you’d expect from an RPG.

  “This is seeming more and more like a video game,” Ernest thought. “The only difference is that the information doesn’t just pop up in text.” The moment he thought about video game text, actual text appeared in his vision.

  Barbarian Class

  “What?” Ernest’s heart sank and his head swam in confusion. Actual text? What could this mean? He was assailed by an appalling sense of doubt. Was this even real? But then, just as quickly, his disquiet was replaced with serene calm. He turned and saw the dazzling light of the archangel, who was reassuring him without words that everything was okay. Feeling emboldened, Ernest turned back to the Barbarian image and willed the text to appear again.

  Barbarian Class

  Known for his powerful strength and formidable stamina, the Barbarian excels in combat. Woe to his enemies! His friends and allies, however, have great advantage with him at their side. The Barbarian is the first on the battlefield; he charges like a mad bull, clubbing and hacking his enemies with primal fury. He is a living bulwark against oncoming foes.

  Already stronger than most mortals, the Barbarian can make himself even more dangerous by invoking his Rage. This puts him into a state of wild fury, increasing his resilience against attacks and poison, as well as his ability to deal damage.

  Those who reach Level 10 can also draw on Berserker’s Rage, which has the same effects to a greater degree. If you live long enough to reach Level 20, you may unlock yet another special ability: Berserker’s Familiar. All bears will consider you their friend. You learn more about each of these abilities as you figure out how to use them.

  Recommended class: It is recommended you select this class. You are descended from conquerors, seafaring Odin-worshippers of the north. Choosing the Barbarian Class will give you the opportunity to fully realize the barbarian potential that you carry in your blood. You have already begun physical conditioning to improve your strength, stamina, and fighting ability. This would be the next logical step.

  Do you choose the Barbarian Class, Ernest Nosely?

  He stared, open-mouthed. Whatever intelligence was producing the text knew things about him. It was true; he had improved his physical condition. He was never into sports as a kid, but he’d started lifting weights in university and had become obsessed with it. Over the past year, when he was supposed to be working on his management certificate, he’d also been training in mixed martial arts one night a week. It’s not like he competed or anything, but it had improved his fighting ability, which was basically non-existent before.

  As for the “Odin worshippers” bit, he did have some kind of Anglo-Saxon warrior lineage on his mother’s side. Her family had been in the Tavyton area for many centuries. Surely that’s what it was referring to.

  “Y-yes,” Ernest murmured. “I choose Barbarian.”

  The Barbarian apparition disappeared. Everything went white and Ernest was vaguely aware of the ground coming up and hitting him. He felt intense pain in his muscles and bones before losing consciousness.

  4

  The Mountain

  Ernest squinted in the bright sunlight as he opened his eyes. Lying on his back, he turned his head to one side and saw a mountain slope rising steeply. Turning to the other side, he saw white clouds floating in a blue sky.

  His temples pounded, and all his muscle
s were sore. Slowly getting to his feet, Ernest looked out over the same landscape the angel had shown them: a misty valley with hills rising on the far horizon.

  He stretched, holding his arms back and squeezing his shoulder blades together. With surprise, he noticed his back and arms felt a lot stronger and thicker. He looked down at his biceps and forearms; they were bigger. And he could see that he filled out his T-shirt more.

  “Ahem,” Ian made a sarcastic throat clearing sound.

  Ernest looked up and saw Ian walking, somewhat wobbly, towards him. Elvina was sitting on a rock staring at the valley with a bemused look.

  “Hey,” Ernest said. “I’m stronger … and more jacked.” He flexed his arm.

  Ian stood in front of him. “You’re a bit taller, too.”

  “Oh . . . You’re right,” Ernest whispered, looking at Ian, who was normally about an inch shorter. Now it was more like two. “Sweet.”

  “You chose the Barbarian Class, didn’t you?” Ian said. “I knew you would. You always choose the tanky characters.”

  “What did you choose?”

  “Mage.”

  “Nice.”

  “Uh, guys,” Elvina interrupted. “Are we not going to talk about the fact that we just saw an angel?”

  Ian turned and looked at Elvina thoughtfully while Ernest gazed at the rocky landscape around them. Nearby snow-capped peaks suggested they were on a significant mountain chain. The valley was beautiful, but completely unfamiliar. He couldn’t spot any cultivated land, or towns or highways anywhere.

  Much of the land was shrouded in mist, but it seemed to be grassy. It went on like that for some way to Ernest’s left, until it came to a large blue lake. Looking the other way, to his right, the grasslands turned into a leafy forest. Looking across to the other side of the valley far away, it appeared that an evergreen forest skirted a much lesser mountain chain. The glinting light still marked their destination.