Sentenced to Troll 2 Read online

  Sentenced to Troll 2

  S. L. Rowland

  Other Books by S.L. Rowland

  Sentenced to Troll

  Pangea Online Book One: Death and Axes

  Pangea Online Book Two: Magic and Mayhem

  Vestiges

  Sentenced to Troll 2 Copyright © 2019 by S.L. Rowland

  SLRowland.com

  All Rights Reserved. This book may not be reproduced or used in any manner without the permission of the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Cover Art by EbookLaunch (ebooklaunch.com)

  Editing by LKJ Books (lkjbooks.com)

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  Dedication

  To Cindy Koepp, for all the perception potions you have given me along the way.

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Prologue

  “I’m going to kill him.” Jude sat in the corner of the Green Giant Inn. He wore boiled brown leather armor and cleaned his fingernails with a dagger. Funny how he was in a game, yet dirt and blood still crept underneath his nails just like in real life. This was some next-level shit, and it certainly beat prison.

  “You’re starting to sound like Glenn.” Michael had no need to clean his nails. As a paladin, the holy light seemed to follow him everywhere he went. Just one of the benefits of his chosen class. “And you know what happened to him. I’d leave this troll alone if I were you.”

  “I don’t get how you’re just cool with it. He attacked us without provocation.” Jude stabbed the dagger into the wooden table. “And yes, I know the meaning of word. It’s what happened. We cleared the dungeon and were walking back home when him and his little troll buddies ambushed us. They took our items, our levels, and killed two NPCS. And no punishment.” He leaned back against his chair, crossing his arms. “And now they want peace? I’ll give him a piece of something.”

  “You’ve got to know when to pick your fights,” Michael tried to reason. “We let our guard down, and we paid for it. This game is not that different from prison. Someone new comes in and they either fall in line or do what needs to be done to take a spot at the top. He made you his bitch.”

  “And what about you?” Jude picked up the dagger and twirled it around his hand.

  “I’m not the one sulking.”

  Jude stared at his reflection in the blade. Jude Duggan is nobody’s bitch.

  1. Vanaria

  Two sharp claws grip my tough blue skin as Limery perches on my shoulder. The small red imp looks at me with his bulbous yellow eyes. “Is we there yet, Chods?”

  Is this what having a kid is like?

  “For the thirtieth time, no, we are not there yet. I know you have a map like the rest of us. Pull it up and look for yourself.”

  Gord erupts in violent laughter, his gleaming nosering swaying back and forth. Limery takes flight from my shoulder, his leathery wings flapping like sails as he flutters toward the massive green troll.

  “Did you put him up to this?” I ask. For someone who hated me when I first showed up at the village, Gord has gotten pretty good at pressing my buttons for his own amusement.

  Ismora places a hand on my arm. “Let them have their fun. It has been a long time since we have had reason to joke.”

  I flash her a smile, knowing all too well what she says is true. It wasn’t that long ago that she lay on the floor of Jira’s hut, the wound from a cursed blade nearly taking her life. A life she wouldn’t respawn from like me. She still bears the scarred handprint on her throat from where Limery cauterized the wound with his fiery hands. The handprint is just one of many scars displayed against her hunter green skin, so new that it has not yet lost its luster.

  Between Ismora’s fighting skills, Gord’s brute strength, and Limery’s fire magic, we’ve got a pretty good party. Not to mention the horrors I can summon. The only thing we’re lacking is a healer, which is surprisingly hard to come by in this world. At least we have a fair supply of health potions that I helped brew before we left the village. Potion-making is one skill I have been able to build up nicely in the short time I’ve been here.

  We make our way across the sprawling golden plains to the south of Isle of Mythos, and I can’t help but think about the circumstances that led me here.

  Before I logged out from my thirty-day sentence, I sent the human king a letter on behalf of the forest trolls. At the time, I didn’t know if or when I’d be coming back to Isle of Mythos. With my sentence served, I was a free man. Yet here I am, because the system started crashing the moment I logged out. Something about me led the AI to think I was part of the system and it couldn’t function without me.

  If I log out, the system resets. Everyone I’ve met since coming here dies. How could I possibly sentence them to death when I have nothing waiting for me on the other side? Each and every one of them has a history, a personality, quirks that make them unique. They are more than just lines of code.

  This doesn’t feel like a game anymore. So, I chose to come back and save the lives of these characters instead of living my own life. They don’t know that, though, and I’ll be damned if I ever tell them.

  They call us heroes because we don’t truly die. Really, we’re just fully-immersed in this game world. We get respawns. They don’t. As far as they know, I’m on an adventure from another world, sent to protect and guide my fellow trolls.

  That’s fine by me. The friends and adventures I’ve had here over the course of the month beat anything I ever experienced in real life. The only person I missed was Taryn. My best friend.

  Valery said she would find a way to get Taryn into the game. That was my only condition for staying immersed and saving the system they have poured years of time and effort into. She was willing to make the deal, because if I log out before they track down the source of this problem, the system will reboot. That means everything is wiped to square one.

  A week has passed, and I still haven’t heard anything. Considering it’s a top-secret rehabilitation project designed to reform violent felons, and created by the biggest name in esport gaming, I’m sure there’s tons of red tape for them to wade through. Without a way for me to contact them or log out on my own, I’m just waiting. Well, waiting and adventuring.

  What the hell did I write in that note?

  I still can’t recall. I remember putting on the Kingly Crown that I won defeating the specter king at Paltras Ruins. The +10 Charisma gave me that familiar high that always accompanies increased Charisma, telling me that anything was possible while simultaneously encouraging me to make bold and reckless decisions. And then I started writing. Before I knew it, the letter was finished, and when I took the crown off, I had a hard time recalling what I had written.

  Whatever it was, it worked, because the king responded, asking for a meeting with me, Chod, now known to most humans on the island as ‘Hero of the Forest Trolls.’

  Chief Rizza sent me—along with Gord, Ismora, and Limery—south to the castle at Vanaria. It’ll be their first time visiting anything more than a small town. Their first time in an actual human city. With Gord’s abrasive personality and hulking physique, I can only imagine the looks we’ll get. Not that I look much different aside from my blue skin, but at least I can act civilized. Plus, I don’t have a nose ring. Old people hate nose rings. I hope he’s on his best behavior for once.

  Our destination is Vanaria, the mighty castle where the human king rules over the southern half of the island. Geographically, it’s about as far away from Seascape, the dwarven kingdom in the north, as possible. Midway between the two is a giant mountain pass, the Greystone Mountains, and just below that, the forest where the trolls call home.

  Where I call home.

  I have no idea what to expect when we meet the king. Peace, hopefully. A truce to let us live our lives in peace. The trolls have earned it. Centuries of hatred have left their mark on the forest trolls. For too long, we have been viewed as monsters. It’s high time we be reinstated in the world as equals.

  The king would be a fool to provoke the trolls. If he wants us at the castle, he most certainly wants peace.

  There’s no doubt he’ll want to talk about Lynchton. Not that I did anything worthy of reprimand. I simply did what needed to be done, storming the town and spawn-camping Glenn, another player, ano
ther Hero, all the way to level one without hurting a single NPC. Just because Glenn holds the title of hero, it doesn’t mean he acts the part. He had it coming after everything he did to the trolls since he logged in. The man is a psychopath, and I’m glad I put him in his place before he could hurt anyone else.

  By the time we were finished, the entire town had seen him for what he truly was. A monster. I wonder what the townspeople did with him after witnessing his vitriolic madness. Locked him away, if they were smart.

  We still need to be vigilant as we come upon the castle. Even though we were invited, we still have a negative reputation amongst humans. Anyone who doesn’t know our business with the king could attack us on sight, and the last thing I want to do is kill someone because of a misunderstanding. I may be a barbarian, but I’m not a savage. I take no joy in killing innocents.

  Moving the needle from hated to untrusted with one town has done little to change our reputation on the large scale. Maybe the king can change that. His word is law after all, among humans, at least.

  A herd of bison stampedes across the prairie, leaving a trail of dust in their wake. Stopping to fight them would be some nice experience, but I’m anxious to meet the king and would rather make as few detours as possible.

  The crackle of fire draws my attention, and I turn just in time to see a fireball soaring across the sky towards the bison. It sizzles as it hits one of the slower creatures, leaving a scorch mark on its backside.

  Limery leans back and cackles.

  “Just make sure you catch up to us when you’re done,” I shout at Limery as he takes off in search of his prey.

  “I’ll follow him.” Ismora turns in his direction, the fading sun gleaming off her black hair that’s pulled into two ox-horn buns. “If he manages to defeat the beast, I’ll bring back the meat for dinner. My Boots of Swiftness will allow me to catch back up with ease.”

  Gord and I continue our march in silence as the sun draws closer to the horizon.

  “Do you think this king can be trusted?” His thunderous voice finally breaks the quiet.

  “I don’t know, but I feel it is our best option. If we spurn him, it only proves us to be the unreasonable savages they already despise us as.”

  I grip my staff a little tighter. Every time I think about the meeting with the king, my chest tightens. There is a lot riding on this meeting.

  Gord adjusts the massive black shield that hangs over his shoulder. The shield is engraved with a ram’s head, complete with massive curling horns. “And the chief, she has authorized you to negotiate with the king?” His eyes question me. Even though we have grown closer since our first meeting, he still has his doubts.

  “Within reason. I have a seat on the council and have been granted special privileges for our mission.” I can negotiate for peace as long as it benefits the village.

  “I still don’t understand why the chief didn’t come herself,” he booms.

  That’s the real issue. The chief is the leader of the village, someone Gord greatly admires. He believes she should be squaring off with the king.

  “Because if something goes wrong, if this proves to be a trap, then I’m the only one who will not truly die.” The words say what I don’t. If this is indeed a trap, then Gord, Ismora, and Limery aren’t going home.

  I can’t allow that to happen. I didn’t come back here just to let them die. This has to be a peaceful mission.

  As we carry on, the plains transform into rolling hills scattered with billowy trees covered in pink and white flowers. The wind wages war against the trees, speckling the landscape in a fantastical array of petals while simultaneously covering us in fragrant confetti.

  My jaw drops when we reach the crest of the hill and Vanaria comes into view. Beside me, Gord can’t hide his wonder. Even from so far away, the city is magnificent. The keep in the center shimmers with a pearlescent sheen, with towers that rise high into the sky and disappear among the clouds. Whatever material it is constructed from gleams even in the fading daylight. Even after growing up in New York City, where skyscrapers are a way of life, the magnitude of the castle astounds me. Hundreds, if not thousands, of homes and buildings are packed between the curtain wall and inner walls. I wouldn’t be surprised if half the island’s population resides here.

  Obsidian walls protect the city, gleaming with a dark fervor that dares anyone to challenge their protective power. Fires from the guard towers posted every few hundred feet reflect off its surface, and soldiers clad in white and blue patrol the parapets in between.

  So this is how the other half lives.

  The flap of Limery’s wings bring me back from my astonishment just in time to hear Ismora’s own gasp of admiration.

  “It’s beautiful,” she gawks, but I can also see the uncertainty in her eyes.

  I can only imagine what it must be like for them. A month ago, they had never left the forest, and now they are looking at a castle that’s more like a work of art than a fortress. Just like all the small-town actors who came to New York to make it big, only to be swallowed by the city and eaten alive.

  “Let’s camp for the night and we will enter the city first thing in the morning.”

  We find a wooded area to make camp, having a dinner of roasted bison. Even though our passive ability Savage allows us to eat raw meat, it tastes so much better cooked over an open flame.

  Limery tucks himself beneath my arms and Camouflage kicks in, concealing us from prying eyes while we sleep.

  As I slowly drift to sleep, I can’t help but think of what kind of king could live in a castle so opulent. How could someone like that ever understand the plight of the trolls?

  Did I make a mistake by coming here? There are five tribes of trolls. I should have at least tried to band them together first. The seaside trolls turned me down, but that didn’t mean the others would. If I’d known that this was Vanaria, I would have tried.

  I led the forest trolls against an attacking town, against a psychopath, not this. We aren’t prepared for this.

  2. All the King's Men

  The eyes of the guards bore into us as we approach the gate. High above the obsidian wall, arrows and crossbows point in our direction. None of them have fired, which tells me that they are expecting us at the very least. I take a deep breath and soldier on.

  “Just keep calm.” I try to sound confident, but the truth is that I’m just as nervous as they are. My guts rumble in that familiar way that would always come before class presentations. I never showed how nervous I was, but on the inside, it was turmoil.

  Regardless of the invite, this is hostile territory. Men and trolls have been at war for thousands of years.

  Gord adjusts his massive shield, and Ismora straightens her back. Nervous movements. Limery silently holds tight to my shoulder. I wait for him to say something, anything to relieve the tension, but it doesn’t come. He’s more worldly than any of us, and his silence only makes my heart race faster.

  The portcullis is open and a handful of armed guards wearing blue capes stand beneath the entrance to the city, checking passers as they enter. Carts loaded with wood, produce, and other necessary items for a big city grind against the cobblestone road. None of the humans have spoken to us as we walk, but I hear whispers, and they’ve all given us a wide berth.

  “Trolls, in the city—”

  “Stand back, son. We don’t know what they are capable of.”

  “Why are the guards not attacking?”

  “I never thought they’d be so big, and that blue one—”

  For this being a meeting for peace, I am strangely on edge. I feel for the mana that runs through my body and it comforts me a little knowing I can summon my horrors at a moment’s notice if something goes down. These people have no idea what we are truly capable of.

  A farmer checking in a wagon loaded with produce tries to speed up his inspection when we get too close for his liking. The guards watch us with suspicion, always one hand on their weapons.

  One guard steps forward. He has a blue plume sticking out of his silver helmet that the others do not. His armor glitters in the morning light, and his cloak is spotless. Whoever he is, he lives well.