Locked in Limbo 1: A LitRPG Dark Fantasy, page 1
Locked in Limbo 1
A LitRPG Dark Fantasy
Nicholas Steam
Copyright © 2023 Nicholas Steam
All rights reserved
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Chapter 1 – If You Can Read This, Then I am Already Dead
Chapter 2 – Damien Mitchell, Otherborn
Chapter 3 – Minecrafting
Chapter 4 – Resistance is Futile
Chapter 5 – The Woodcutter
Chapter 6 – Miners, United
Chapter 7 – Party
Chapter 8 – Eira
Chapter 9 – Mayor Fynn
Chapter 10 – The Conquest of Nythera
Chapter 11 – Of Leadership and Labor
Chapter 12 – The Cave of Hidden Stars
Chapter 13 – The Sword of Eldrida
Chapter 14 – Nythera Unlocked
Chapter 15 – New Roles
Chapter 16 – Fantasies and Blessings
Chapter 17 – Level 2
Chapter 18 – The Black Knight of Eldrida
Chapter 19 – New Paths
APPENDIX: MAJOR CAST
Also By Nicholas Steam
About the Author
Chapter 1 – If You Can Read This, Then I am Already Dead
FAILED TO LOAD SAVE DATA.
SAVE DATA IS CORRUPTED.
I opened my eyes and nearly fell as the world came into view. Disorientation struck, leaving me swimming in vertigo and my stomach heaving in protest. For an instant my mind threatened to check out.
I placed a hand upon rough stone to catch my balance. I’d just been going to meet up with my friends. In the middle of Portland.
How the fuck did I end up in the middle of the wilderness?
I stood upon a thickly forested hill, surrounded by old and weathered stones, their forms hinting of once belonging to something bigger – grander – their purpose lost from long ago destruction. Thick moss grew over everything. This would have at one time been a temple, perhaps a keep, now what still stood remained but a hint of what its true purpose had once been.
The air smelled of rain and moss, and the sound of birds singing drifted from the treetops.
I stumbled a few steps, my legs shaking weakly as though suddenly not used to walking, I blinked a few more times to clear the haze. The light hurt. I felt out of place here, as if I had stepped into a dream.
Okay, get it together, Damien, figure this shit out. Judging by the position of the sun, not quite at its zenith, it had to be around eleven in the morning. My last memory was of driving to meet my friends for a late lunch.
That meant I had lost almost an entire day.
If I had to guess – and I had to – I’d say that I was somewhere either in the Oregon or Washington wilderness, and the Pacific Northwest was a big fucking place.
The screech of a large bird came from somewhere off within the thick woods. I took a deep breath, feeling a strange sense of calm and dread.
I glanced around, scouring the area for any clue, any hint or sign, o give me a sense of place. No matter where I looked, I found nothing but the same unfamiliar surroundings.
Just forest in every direction, trees tall and ancient. Nothing else was visible – no sign of human habitation, no sign of a road or trail to follow.
It was then that I noticed the small stone near my feet. Inscribed upon it was one simple sentence – 'If you can read this, then I am already dead'.
I stared at the words, a chill running through my body. The stone was carved in a resemblance to my own handwriting, as though I’d left it here to find.
“What the actual fuck?”
Obviously I wasn’t dead. Somebody was messing with me. One of my friends, perhaps? Denny? Maybe Ron? Why would they create such an elaborate prank? If that was the case, one of them should leap out of the woods at any second and end it.
No, more likely, this was like the Hangover movies. I’d taken or drank something I shouldn’t have.
Which meant there would be other clues than just a damn rock.
I’m not dead.
I turned away from the stone. This place – wherever it was – felt ancient, as though it had been here for centuries.
Nobody leapt out. I truly felt completely alone.
Shuddering, I began to walk, desperate to find some sign of life, some proof that I was not alone.
It’s a dream. It has to be.
My vision blurred, and text flowed ephemerally in the air, as though I was reading the HUD within a VR game.
Damien Mitchell, Human >>ERROR<< Level 1
>>ERROR<<
Experience 0/1000
Strength 30, Dexterity 30, Toughness 30, Arcane 0
Health 60/60
SKILLS
>>ERROR<<
Then, it quickly disappeared again. I felt my face, searching for my VR goggles, to pull them off as I nearly fell from vertigo.
Definitely a dream. Or I’m trippin’…
I staggered through the ruins, using the stone for support. My legs were oddly wobbly, as though they weren’t quite right, as though just the simple act of walking had become almost unfamiliar, as though these weren’t my legs.
The rough surface of the stone felt all too real beneath my fingers. It grounded me. I wasn’t dreaming, just lost. Which didn’t explain the weird text. Either my brain was playing tricks on me, or something about the world was.
I wanted to close my eyes, to return to the dreamlike state of disbelief, but could not. I had to keep going to find answers.
I should sit still. Anyone looking for me had a better chance of finding me if I stayed in one spot. I’d only make it worse by wandering off.
As I stumbled forward, I searched the ruins for any sign that I wasn’t alone. The only thing I found was that broken stone – the confusing stone wanting me to believe I was dead.
I searched my memory for what I’d done last night and came up blank – at least any memory of what could explain this. It had been my birthday – 21! Except my last memory was going to meet Denny – not of partying.
Damn, I couldn’t even remember seeing him. I’d been going somewhere else first.
No, I’d gone out partying. I must’ve gotten too fucked up.
I laughed bitterly. What a great birthday.
A familiar scent, salty and riding the light breeze, came from my right. The smell of the ocean! Perhaps I wasn’t that far from home after all. The Oregon coast couldn’t be that far away.
Hope spurred me on, and I set off, desperate for any sign of life that might show me a way out of this nightmare. I was still alive. I was still alive, and if I could find my way out of this godforsaken place, I could find his way back home.
Okay, that gave me an idea. I must’ve gotten too drunk. Maybe stoned? We hadn’t been planning on partying in the wilderness though.
Maybe I’d been kidnapped!
“Hello?” I called out, hoping my friends were nearby.
No one answered.
I hesitated – if anyone was nearby, it made more sense to stay where I was than to wander away. Surely, they would have a better idea of where I was, at least they could remind me. Except... there were no signs of anyone, and the ground was surprisingly free of debris – no cigarette butts, no beer cans, no discarded condoms, nothing to hint that this was a place for parties.
And as far as I knew, Oregon didn’t have any ancient stone ruins.
My cell phone!
I reached for my pocket and cursed. “What the fuck? They stole my clothes?”
I wasn’t naked, I was dressed in... What the hell were these, anyway? Rags? The pants were simple and brown, almost like sweats, the blue shirt reminiscent of a tunic. My shoes, too, had been replaced by leather boots, simple, if not comfortable.
Somebody had robbed me, stolen my clothing (including my underwear), and redressed me.
“What the actual fuck?” I swore again. “Okay, don’t panic. Think this through. There’s got to be an obvious answer.”
Except nothing obvious popped up. Except for a disturbing thought that I didn’t want to face yet.
I stumbled upon a faint trail cutting through the rock and weeds, heading downhill. At least that was something, perhaps it would lead to a road, perhaps at least a campground.
The path led me through more ruins. At one time this place must have been massive... Now? Its destruction had taken with it its history, its purpose.
I shook my head, trying not to dwell on it. Time to focus on the here and now.
Through the dark woods came the sound of girlish laughter, bright and almost musical, hinting of blissful innocence.
I spun, searching for the source; it came from everywhere and nowhere. I could not tell.
Yet my chest swelled with hope. Somebody was out here!
“Hello?” I called out again, “Where are you?”
The woman, or girl, laughed again, mocking me.
“Do I amuse you?” I muttered under my breath.
I caught a h
I ran after her. As I climbed over what must have at one time been a stone column, I caught sight of a still lump lying off the path and half-hidden in the weeds. I froze, suddenly not willing to move. A cold chill ran up and down my spine as I took in the still form. The lump looked too much like a human body.
The urge to walk away was strong. Perhaps it was the isolation, a feeling of being too close to death, as though it might reach out for me.
My gut tightened as every instinct screamed for me to run. Against every instinct was a part of my brain that hated not knowing. I had to know for sure.
I approached the dark form; within ten feet I could tell without a doubt that it was a human corpse, though anyone who might have known the victim would have had a difficult time identifying the body. Something had torn the person up beyond recognition; much of its insides were now outside, and its blood had stained the weeds and bare earth darkly.
I shuddered. That could have been me. Had this been one of my friends, somebody I’d partied with? An animal had done this, a bear perhaps, or a mountain lion. I shuddered again as the image of a wild animal standing over my unconscious form flashed through my mind.
The scent of raw meat struck me, and of shit, and I lifted the collar of my shirt to cover my nose and mouth.
I had to know who this was. As much as I wanted to see a familiar face, I feared recognizing one of my friends. I cautiously approached the corpse, being careful not to step in the blood, as impossible as it was. I grabbed an unmauled shoulder and flipped it over.
I did not recognize what face remained. Pale eyes stared sightlessly back at me, and despite the damage, the expression of horror was undeniable.
I felt relief not recognizing him. It muted the fear. I could have been partying with this stranger last night, we might have shared a joke, maybe we shared a friend. Guilt tugged at me, survivor’s guilt, for being the lucky one, the one who’d survived the predator.
Search Corpse?
I nearly fell over from the new text option floating above the body.
“No!” I said out loud. The text immediately vanished.
I’d been drugged. I’d been drugged while playing a game, and now my mind was having difficulty focusing on the here and now.
And suddenly that laughter took on an almost unholy quality, like my being lost and this dead guy were part of some twisted psychopath’s game. But surely, the blonde girl could not have done this!
But this also meant that I might not be alone! My friends could be here! And if we could find each other, there was safety in numbers.
“Damn,” said a voice from further down the trail, “They said we’d find somebody up here one day. Looks like they were right.”
I jumped to my feet, perhaps a little guiltily, as though fearful they might think that I killed this man. I wiped my hands upon my pants as though to wipe away the feel of the corpse.
It wasn’t one man, but five, all wearing metal breastplates with a red hue to the metal. The armor had the intricate design of a lion engraved upon the breast. The red tint on the metal armor gave an impression of danger and power. They looked like medieval soldiers, even armed with well-used swords.
Their leader was tall and broad-shouldered, with a strong jaw, piercing eyes, and a confident and commanding presence. He carried himself with authority and leadership; not a man to be trifled with. A red cape flowed behind him as he walked. His boots, made of black leather, were polished to a high shine. A broadsword hung at his side, the hilt made of gold with a ruby set on it. He held a polished helmet tucked in the crook of his arm.
“He don’t look like much,” another muttered. I swear he sounded disappointed.
Before I could reply, a soldier staring at the corpse said, “Captain, another one.”
“I see that. Looks like one of the miners.”
“Think he did that?” he asked, gesturing at me.
The captain scowled, looking me up and down. “This man couldn’t kick a dog without twisting his ankle, could he? His clothes aren't even soiled. Look at him, he’s a bloody peon.”
“A peon?” I asked, finding my voice. I reached out to touch the soldier’s armor. “Are you guys for real?”
“And a simple one,” he continued, slapping my hand away, “No, this is the Beast of Arvandor again. Bring him, Mayor Fynn can decide what to do with him. If he’s the one, I’m disappointed. I expected someone more impressive.”
As the soldiers took a step toward me, I stepped back, raising my hands. They drew their swords as though I might put up a fight.
“Wait,” I said, “I don’t even know where I am. What’s happening?”
Had I wandered into a renaissance festival? Had I weirdly time traveled to medieval Europe? As they approached, I was suddenly overcome with the urge to run.
Before I could, however, a soldier seized my arm with his free hand and jerked me into the center of them. I found myself escorted away.
“Wait, what about the body?” I asked.
The captain ignored me.
One of the soldiers answered. “That guy? He’s just a peon. Wolves will eat him maybe. Best we don’t encounter what killed him, aye? Nobody's faced the Beast of Arvandor and lived to tell about it.”
“Full moon last night,” another said, glancing at me out of the corner of his eye. He did not look as convinced that I hadn’t done it. “You aren’t from Nythera. Where you from?”
“Portland.”
“Never heard of Port Land.”
“I have,” said another, “It’s a bigger town up the coast, isn’t it?”
“There’s no Port Land,” the captain interrupted. He spit, his scowl intensifying. “No more talk.”
They were messing with me, unless time travel really was a thing, though I would have expected to encounter native indigenous Americans over these guys. If I was here because of time travel, I wasn’t so sure that they matched anything from what I knew of Oregon history. They didn’t sound English either, though they spoke English. They had no accent that I was familiar with.
Or… I could accept the reality that I was in a simulation.
As they led me from the ruins, again came that laughter.
The soldiers paused, staring around, their hands uneasily tightening upon their blades.
“You hear that too, right?” I asked.
“Fucking fairies,” the captain snarled, “Appears we found you just in time.”
“What does that mean?” I asked. When he didn’t answer, I turned to the soldiers. “What does he mean?”
A soldier made a gesture, like a ward, across his chest. “Can’t trust bloody fairies, they’ll glamour you and lead you away, never to be seen again.”
After that, we walked in silence, steadily descending out of the wooded hills. I did not hear the laughter again. The way they spoke of fairies left me feeling unsettled, like there might have been something unnatural in the wilderness with me. I quickly dismissed the foolish thought; I didn’t believe in fairies. Except... that corpse... and that laughter... It didn’t matter that I didn’t believe. I was happy to be found. And maybe these guys would help me find my way home.
Soon the wilderness gave way to farmland, with small groves of trees sporadic across the valley, and beyond that, a small village. Off to our right, which I assumed was to the west, I caught sight of a vast ocean. It could have been the Pacific. Then again, maybe not. I had begun to doubt this world being my own, and that thought amplified my feeling of isolation and fear.
Which was ludicrous.
“Where are we?” I asked.
“Nythera,” the captain replied, not looking my way.
The name meant nothing to me and was unlike any place in the world that I’d ever seen, and I’d been up and down the coast from northern Washington down to San Francisco. There were no planes, no roads, no sign of cars, no telephone lines, no sign of anything modern.
Though I didn’t want to believe it, a little voice in the back of my head taunted me. This was not my time, perhaps not even my world.
Chapter 2 – Damien Mitchell, Otherborn
