Murk's Rapture: A Fantasy LitRPG Adventure, page 1
Contents
Chapter 1: Celestial
Chapter 2: Reduction
Chapter 3: Booths
Chapter 4: Urban Hunt
Chapter 5: Wonderfully Bad News
Chapter 6: In Bad Spirits
Chapter 7: It Takes Skills to Get This Book
Chapter 8: The Ki to Success
Chapter 9: This is My Town
Chapter 10: Skill books take time
Chapter 11: Quality Advice is Expensive
Chapter 12: A Visit from an Orc
Chapter 13: Food for Thought
Chapter 14: A Higher Class Party
Chapter 15: Delving for Cole
Chapter 16: Murk’s Bounty
Chapter 17: You Get What You Get
Chapter 18: And You Don’t Throw A Fit
Chapter 19: Painful Plans
Chapter 20: Delving Deep
Chapter 21: Murk’s Rapture
Chapter 22: The Dreki Crown
Chapter 23: Spoils of War
Chapter 24: Actions Have Consequences
Chapter 25: Redfin Manners
Chapter 26: Cole out of Ashes
Chapter 27: Community Values
Chapter 28: Free Wheels
Chapter 29: Enchanted Fashion
Chapter 30: Death is just a part of Life
Murk’s Rapture
A Fantasy LitRPG Adventure
By Adam Sampson
This book is dedicated to my wonderful grandmother Pamela. She is fantastic in every way, and I am grateful to be part of her family.
Copyright © 2021 Adam Sampson
All rights reserved.
Chapter 1: Celestial
If someone asked Alistair why he was hustling across the city at dusk, he would lie. He had a few different lies already thought up, depending on who was asking. His wife said he was a terrible liar and he hoped he wouldn’t meet anyone he knew. He kept the hood of his cloak up so no one would recognize him. Thankfully, the cold wind meant that he didn’t look out of place wearing the garment.
A quick glance around showed that he was close to the city square. His hand went to the handle of the shortsword on his hip to keep the sword from hitting his legs as he hurried along. He had left the residential district behind and he was crossing through the business district. Shop after shop lined the road, packed tightly together, often with apartments above them. Here and there was a flicker of candlelight or the steady glow of magelight. Most of the ground-floor construction was made of stone, the founding of the city of Arcadia replete with stone mages. Over time, the city had grown, and the city had begun to pride itself on its woodworking. Most second and third stories were made out of timber, with elaborate relief carvings on the wood siding. Not every building had a third story, but most of them did. This part of town had slate roofs that shone in the sunlight. The slate they used had tiny bits of quartz that would catch the light. Alistair didn’t live in the city, but he was pretty sure most of the apartments were pretty boring inside. At least in this part of town, anyway.
His steps clacked gently across the stone road. The road was well maintained. This close to the city center, earth mages regularly came by and fixed cracks and ruts. During the middle of the day the traffic was thunderous, but it was much quieter now. Since it was only dusk the city wasn’t asleep yet, although there was hardly any foot traffic in this part of Arcadia since the shops had closed an hour ago.
Glancing up at the glowing mana clock tower, he decided he needed to pick up the pace. He was passing through the empty city square now, and that meant he still had half the city to get across. He took to jogging when no one could see him, and walking briskly when people were around. He knew that if he missed her, it would be months before he had another chance.
Finally, he turned the corner of a side street and saw his destination. There she was, standing on the western bulwark with the setting sun behind her. Crowded on the ground in a circle around her was the reason Alistair was embarrassed to be here. Teenagers. Super fans of the Celestial Elf Idril, to be specific. They all had romantic ideas about what it was like to be a tier three like her. They would buy her gifts, solely for the chance to talk to her, which Alistair thought was pathetic.
Stopping on the farthest edge of the crowd, Alistair leaned up against a nearby building and watched her. Idril laughed and pushed back her companion on the wall, a human that had obviously invested in strength and was covered in bulging muscles.
Alistair wondered about her motivations. They gave her plenty of gifts of course, but as a tier three she could easily make enough to buy herself much better gifts. Maybe it was the fame, the adoration. He never wanted fame, but he guessed that some people liked that kind of thing.
Alistair understood why the teenagers were here; the elf was very beautiful and charismatic. But that wasn’t why he was here.
He came here because of her class. She was a tier-three Celestial, the only one in the city. And on the days that she planned on leaving town, she organized these little events.
Almost all tier two classes had some sort of movement skills. As far as Alistair knew, the Celestial class was unique in that it granted wings. Enormous, shining white wings. The elf unfurled them now, hanging low to build suspense. Then, when the crowd was quiet, she snapped them out to their fullest span, at least twice as wide as she was tall. It was awe-inspiring, seeing massive white wings that reflected the dying light onto the crowd. After she posed for a moment, she leapt high into the air and circled the crowd once, close enough that they felt the beat of her wings. Then she sped off, flying west into the setting sun.
Alistair sighed as the winged elf soared over the wall and out of sight. Every time he saw those beautiful wings he thought about what could have been. Before too long, he forced himself to turn around and walked away. He didn’t want to be seen with this crowd. His friends would never let him live it down. Forty-year-olds shouldn’t act like moonstruck brownies.
As he walked away he was buffeted by the wind of a passing vehicle. The musclebound human from earlier was riding a pedicart. A rare vehicle, this cart utilized a system of gears to convert the raw strength of its rider into impressive speed. The pedicart was able to cross the city in a matter of minutes. It was also obscenely expensive.
Alistair turned down a side street so that he wouldn’t be in the way anymore. He’d thought about not showing up tonight to see the elf. Certainly the less stressful option. But he couldn’t help himself. Twenty years ago, he had chosen his classes, Light Mage and Combat Healer, specifically so that he would have a chance at the Celestial class evolution at tier two. He had dreamt of flying through the air with enormous white wings. But that dream had long since died. He was now stuck at the top of tier one, his classes unable to advance beyond level twenty-five. Watching the elf fly off was his concession to his longing for what could have been.
He simply could not afford what it would cost to break into tier two. Besides, he and his wife had both decided that their adventuring days were behind them. It was better to be a living laborer than a dead adventurer. He had a fulfilling life, a great wife, and a kid that would be graduating from school soon.
Now far enough from the crowd, Alistair turned south and meandered down to his next stop. He was meeting his friends at their usual Thursday night hangout. Down south, past the banking district, past the lumber yards, and almost to the bad part of town.
Alistair smiled as he looked at the entrance to the underground fighting ring. Nondescript door with a slot for the bouncer to look through, situated behind a second class inn, and a name like Murk Pit. It was silly how far they went to pretend that it was illegal. He knew for a fact that they paid their taxes like everyone else. Still, it did make the experience a bit more fun.
He said the password to the bouncer and walked down the stairs. Twenty feet underground the stairs leveled out to a wide room, with the focal point a pit where the fights would be held later. The room had been cut into the bedrock, with slim pillars throughout the room. There was a bar on each side of the room with small tables laid out around the pit. Alistair was always impressed by how they made the expensive mage lights dotting the exterior walls seem cheap and slapdash. The mage lights were much more expensive than a regular lamp, but he appreciated that they didn’t use open flames in a basement with poor circulation.
Standing on opposite sides of the pit were the two combatants that would start the fights later. This gave the patrons the chance to check out the unknowns and place their bets beforehand.
He motioned to a young man walking between the tables and said, “What are the odds today?”
The bookie responded, “Which fight?”
Exasperated, Alistair waved at the pit and said, “This one.”
“Odds on Jack 3 to 1. Don’t have a name for the challenger yet, they will introduce him later.”
Jack Johnson was a fighter Alistair recognized. He had been a regular on the first card for the last few months. Alistair wasn’t surprised the odds were in his favor: he usually ended up winning his matches. Dark skinned and tall, Jack had two things going for him. He had an innate quickness to him, and stamina to outlast most of his opponents. He wasn’t schema blessed but was often mistaken for someone who was.
The challenger was mostly hidden in a large cloak, the hood pulled up. Alistair could tell that he was male, probably human. Acting on a hunch, he activated his inspect skill. It w as a bit rude to inspect people, but pretty easy to do without getting caught.
After a second, a screen popped up that only he could see.
Unknown Human
Dirt Mage lvl 8
Ki 0
Mana 30
Health 90
Stamina 40
He smiled to himself, his guess was correct, the challenger was schema blessed. Dirt mages were usually considered to be the worst of the earth mages, but he was certain to have some added stats that Jack wouldn’t have. Eight levels in Dirt Mage and the stat points that came with them would put you above all but the most elite naturals.
A couple of young men in front of him were echoing his thoughts as they whispered to each other, “Hey look, the new guy has earth magic. At three to one, we could earn a lot when he beats Jack.”
“Shit, you are right. How much do you have on you?”
Alistair was about to call a bookie over to place a bet on the new guy too when he thought to wonder why they knew about the earth magic. They could have done the same thing he did, but neither of them had that stare into space look someone got when they read messages from schema.
Looking closer at the new challenger, he saw what had tipped them off. The challenger had trails of dust following him as he paced back and forth. It was subtle, but there.
Then it clicked. This was all a misdirection. The new guy was acting all mysterious in his big cloak, which only made people stare at him more. It took mana to make dust swirl around like that, which a serious fighter would never do. No one wastes mana right before a big fight. They wanted you to think you had figured out a secret no one else knew so you would bet big on the new guy.
Confident he had figured it out, Alistair put twenty bronze on the reigning champ, Jack. The young men in front of him snickered as he placed the bet. Alistair found himself hoping that the little shits had bet the last of their money on the wrong guy.
Shaking his head to get that uncharitable thought out, Alistair walked to the bar to get a drink. He knew there were plenty of good kids out there, but the older he got, more of the annoying little pissants seemed to crop up. He didn’t consider himself old, but his fortieth birthday last month said otherwise.
Of course, since Alistair was schema blessed, he could expect to live over one hundred even if he never got above tier one. If he got to tier two or three he could live much, much longer. So from that perspective, he wasn’t even middle-aged yet. Not that most of the people in this joint would agree with that. Almost all of them were under thirty. He realized that maybe he was getting too old for this place. Maybe he should pick a different activity. What was it that old people spent their time on? Sipping glow wine, having house parties, talking about the latest illusion cube. He honestly didn’t know, maybe he needed to make some older friends and find out. One of these days.
In the meantime, he found the friends he had hoped to meet. They were all smiths at the same smithy he worked at. Six of them crowded around a table, drinking and talking over each other.
“I am telling you. That little dust witch is going to go down. You need to bet on Jack. Oh hey Alistair.”
“Hey everybody. He is right, you know, it is a set up. The Dust Mage is going to lose.”
“See! I told you!”
“Nah man, I inspected him earlier, the dirt jockey has 90 hp. He can outlast anything Jack can throw at him.”
Alistair frowned. Normals always got health points wrong. You couldn’t define someone’s health with a single set of numbers. Schema blessed had health points, sure, but that only made them stronger. A hundred health points would make their skin tougher, bones twice as strong, but an eyeball that was twice as strong was still weak to a sword stab.
The real benefit to health points is that they would absorb into an injured body part and speed the healing dramatically. But the idea that a schema blessed with zero health points would die was just ridiculous. Normal humans walked around without a single health point their whole lives after all.
He had long since given up on convincing them of the truth, too many popular stories extolled the importance of a number. None of them were schema blessed, so he didn’t have anyone to back him up.
They all argued about who to bet on as people filtered into the underground arena. Alistair was the oldest in the bunch, but he enjoyed their energy.
A few minutes before the betting ended, the challenger threw off his cloak and was announced as Redhawk. Alistair smirked, that name was a bit on the nose. Redmond Grayhawk was a famous earth mage from the orc wars. They really wanted people to bet on the new guy. It just cemented his decision to bet on Jack.
The fight opened up with them circling each other, each fighter testing the defenses of the other with feints. Jack was the first to go on the offensive and attacked in a flurry of strikes. Redhawk deflected one strike and countered the other with a fist covered in hard packed dirt. The magic skill gave his punch extra power and left a cloud of dust on impact.
Jack was forced to keep his distance so he wouldn’t get blinded by the dust. But that was what the dirt mage wanted. He sent spell after spell at Jack composed of his element, essentially dirt clods. Each had the force of an arrow, bruising with each hit.
The crowd roared as Jack was forced farther back. But when he was far enough back, Jack was able to dodge most of the shots. Realizing this, Redhawk tried to close the distance, but Jack kept running back, avoiding the dirt clods. The crowd jeered at him for running away, but after a minute, his strategy paid off.
A level eight dirt mage only had so much mana and had blown most of it on shots that hadn’t hit Jack. Now Redhawk didn’t have the mana to defend himself.
Switching from defense to offense, Jack charged at the spent mage. He wound up for an exaggerated punch, but kicked his knee at the last moment instead. Alistair laughed at the fancy misdirection. Jack was showing off.
Redhawk stumbled back from the hit. He didn’t fall though, and came back at Jack with a dirt covered fist. His fist swung faster and hit harder when it was charged up like that, but it only traveled in a straight line. Jack took advantage of that weakness and ducked under the strike, counter attacking with a body blow. While Redhawk was still reeling from the solid hit to his torso, Jack followed up with a powerful blow to his nose, breaking it. Alistair could tell Redhawk wasn’t used to brawls like this; he didn’t keep moving after he got hit. Jack was able to get another kick in before Redhawk finally moved back.
It didn’t do him any good though, Jack soon had him up against the pit wall. He landed blow after blow on the weakened mage. Redhawk didn’t fight back; he just tried to protect his face with his forearms. Jack backed up a step and swept his legs, sending Redhawk to the ground. The fight was pretty much over at this point, but Jack wasn’t done. Taking a brief look at the crowd, he stepped into a vicious kick, breaking an arm. Redhawk’s anguished cry signaled the end of the fight. Despite most of them losing money on the fight, the crowd cheered as Jack raised his bloody fists.
Alistair winced. That arm break was cruel; the fight was already over by then. He expected better of Jack. The healers were walking into the arena now. Alistair knew that the dedicated healers working below could easily heal cuts and bruises, but broken bones cost much more. Redhawk had to choose between paying extra for healing and waiting out the injury.
Since Redhawk was schema blessed, he had health points that allowed him to heal much faster. Even a broken arm could be healed in a few weeks instead of a few months. But if he didn’t have the healers fix it for him, that was two weeks that he would be unable to work.
Two healers, wearing the traditional red tunic and white sash of the Morbius order, started helping the fighters. People often said that the tunic is red so you can’t see the blood stains on it. But all the healers he knew were actually very fastidious, not allowing any blood to get on them. One had even told him that there was sickness in blood, but he was not sure if he believed that. The healer tending to Jack was already done, only bruises needed healing, so he walked over to help his partner.
Together they slowly healed Redhawk, white auras washing through him as they slowly healed him. The audience jeered at him, as if it was his fault that it was taking so long. The healers of Morbius always took a while, and it wasn’t his fault his arm got broken.
