Chapter One
The body lay in perfect repose on the Victorian fainting couch, looking more like a sleeping beauty than a victim. Detective Sarah Chen had seen enough death in her ten years with the Metropolitan Police's Special Cases Unit to know that natural death never looked this peaceful. Something was very, very wrong.
'No signs of struggle, no marks on the body, and yet...' She leaned closer, studying the victim's face. Charlotte Mills, aged 28, was found by her roommate this morning, apparently having passed away in her sleep. Her expression was serene, almost blissful, but her eyes - those were what caught Sarah's attention. Behind the closed lids, her eyes were moving rapidly, as if still deep in REM sleep.
"You see it too, don't you?" The voice came from behind her, rich and cultured with a slight Irish lilt. "She's still dreaming."
Sarah turned to find a tall man in an impeccably tailored charcoal suit standing in the doorway. He hadn't been there a moment ago, she was certain of it. His dark hair was streaked with silver at the temples, and his eyes were an unusual shade of amber that seemed to shift color in the light.
"This is a closed crime scene," she said firmly, her hand instinctively moving toward her weapon. "How did you get in here?"
He smiled, but it didn't reach those strange eyes. "Dr. Marcus Thorne," he said, pulling out a card that somehow both looked official and seemed to shimmer slightly. "I'm a consulting specialist with the Department's new Oneiric Phenomena Division."
"The what division?" Sarah frowned, taking the card. The moment her fingers touched it, she felt a slight electric tingle, and the letters seemed to rearrange themselves before her eyes.
"Dreams, Detective Chen. We investigate crimes involving dreams." He moved into the room with fluid grace, his attention fixed on the victim. "And this is the third one this month."
Sarah's mind raced. There had been two other deaths recently - both young women, both found peacefully dead in their sleep. She'd seen the reports but hadn't made the connection until now. "How do you know about those cases?"
"Because I've been tracking the killer for quite some time." Thorne knelt beside the body, his eyes now definitely more gold than amber. "He's what we call a Dream Collector - someone who has learned to enter and steal dreams. But this one has developed a taste for more than just dreams. He's taking souls."
Under normal circumstances, Sarah would have dismissed such talk as nonsense. But there was something about the scene, about the victim's still-moving eyes, about Thorne himself, that made the impossible seem suddenly plausible.
"If you're tracking him," she said carefully, "why haven't you caught him?"
Thorne's expression darkened. "Because he only appears in dreams. The physical world is my domain, but his... his is the realm of sleep. To catch him, we need someone who can walk between both worlds." He turned those unsettling eyes on her. "Someone like you."
"Me?" Sarah almost laughed, but the sound died in her throat as memories she'd long suppressed began to surface. The dreams that felt too real, the nights she'd awakened to find objects moved in her room, the way she sometimes knew things she couldn't possibly know...
"You've always known you were different, haven't you, Detective?" Thorne's voice was gentle now. "The dreams that come true, the hunches that turn out to be right, the way you can sometimes see how people died just by touching objects they owned..."
Sarah took an involuntary step back. "How do you know about that?"
"Because I've been looking for someone like you. A Natural - someone born with the ability to cross the threshold between waking and dreaming." He gestured to the victim. "Charlotte here won't be his last. There will be others, and their souls will remain trapped in an eternal dream unless we stop him."
Just then, the victim's hand twitched, her fingers moving as if writing something. Sarah moved closer, watching as invisible words were traced in the air. Thorne pulled out what looked like an antique monocle and held it up. Through its lens, golden letters shimmered in the air where Charlotte's fingers moved.
"Help me," Thorne read aloud. "He's coming for the others."
Sarah felt a chill run down her spine. She looked at the victim's peaceful face, at those restlessly moving eyes, and made a decision that would change her life forever.
"Tell me what I need to do."
Thorne's smile was grim. "First, you need to learn to control your abilities. Then..." he held up the monocle, through which Sarah could now see strange symbols glowing all around the room, "you need to learn to hunt in dreams."
Outside the Victorian townhouse, storm clouds gathered, and Sarah Chen, homicide detective and newly discovered dream walker, took her first step into a world where nightmares were real, and death was just another kind of sleep.
Chapter Two
The basement of the Natural History Museum was the last place Sarah expected to find the headquarters of a secret dream investigation unit. Yet here she was, following Thorne through a maze of storage rooms filled with artifacts that seemed to pulse with their own inner light.
"The mundane world only sees what it expects to see," Thorne explained, using an ornate key to unlock a heavy wooden door marked 'Private Collection.' "To them, this is just museum storage. To us, it's the largest collection of dream artifacts in the Western Hemisphere."
The room beyond defied physics. It stretched impossibly far, filled with glass cases containing everything from ancient masks to modern-looking devices. Floating orbs of soft light illuminated collections of bottled dreams - actual dreams, swirling like liquid mercury behind glass.
"Your badge, Detective," Thorne held out his hand. Sarah hesitated before handing over her police credentials. He placed it on a strange device that looked like a Victorian music box crossed with a computer. When he returned the badge, it felt different - heavier, somehow more real.
"Now you'll be able to access both worlds officially," he said. "Look at it again."
The badge had changed. Alongside her regular police credentials, new text had appeared: 'Special Inspector, Oneiric Investigations Division.' The letters seemed to shift between English and something older, something that made her eyes water if she looked too long.
"Before we can hunt the Dream Collector, you need to understand what you're dealing with." Thorne led her to a case containing what looked like a normal pillow. "Touch it."
Sarah reached out hesitantly. The moment her fingers made contact, the world tilted. She was suddenly standing in someone else's dream - a sunny beach, but the sky was green and the sand whispered secrets. She jerked her hand back, gasping.
"Good," Thorne nodded approvingly. "Most people can't pull back from their first dream artifact. You have natural barriers."
"What was that?" Sarah's heart was racing.
"A dream fragment from 1892. A young girl's last dream before the influenza took her." His voice softened. "We preserve them here. Dreams carry memories, emotions, sometimes even pieces of souls."
"And this Dream Collector... he takes entire souls?" Sarah remembered Charlotte Mills' peaceful face and restless eyes.
"He traps them in eternal dreams, feeding off their essence." Thorne moved to another case, this one containing what looked like a cracked mirror. "Each victim becomes part of his collection, their souls powering his abilities, letting him dreamwalk without natural talent like yours."
Suddenly, the cracked mirror began to frost over. In its surface, Sarah saw Charlotte Mills' face, mouth open in a silent scream. Then another face appeared - another victim, she presumed - and another.
"He's showing off," Thorne growled. "He knows we're investigating."
The temperature in the room dropped dramatically. Frost patterns spread from the mirror to nearby cases, and Sarah heard what sounded like distant laughter.
"Well, well," a voice echoed through the room, seemingly coming from everywhere and nowhere. "A new player in the game. And such interesting dreams you have, Detective Chen."
Sarah felt something brush against her mind, like cold fingers trying to pry open a door. Instinctively, she slammed her mental barriers shut. The presence withdrew, but not before leaving behind an impression of amusement.
"He's already caught your scent," Thorne said grimly. He pulled out a small velvet bag and removed what looked like a dreamcatcher made of silver wire and black pearls. "Wear this when you sleep. It won't keep him out entirely, but it'll stop him from stealing your dreams while you're still learning to defend yourself."
As Sarah took the dreamcatcher, her fingers brushed Thorne's, and suddenly she was hit with a flash of his dreams - centuries of memories, battles fought in realms of sleep, and a profound sense of loss that made her gasp.
Thorne withdrew his hand quickly. "Your abilities are stronger than I thought. We'll need to work on your control."
"What are you?" Sarah asked directly. "You're not just some government consultant, are you?"
Before he could answer, an alarm began to sound throughout the facility. One of the dream bottles had turned black, its contents writhing like smoke.
"He's hunting again," Thorne said, already moving toward the exit. "Someone in the city has just entered their last dream. Are you ready for your first real case, Detective?"
Sarah touched her new badge, feeling its power hum under her fingers. "Do we have time to save them?"
"If we're lucky, we might catch him in the act. But remember - in dreams, he's incredibly powerful. One wrong move and you could lose your soul."
As they rushed from the dream archive, Sarah caught one last glimpse of the cracked mirror. In its surface, she saw her own reflection smile back at her with eyes that weren't quite her own.
The hunt was about to begin.
Chapter Two
The basement of the Natural History Museum was the last place Sarah expected to find the headquarters of a secret dream investigation unit. Yet here she was, following Thorne through a maze of storage rooms filled with artifacts that seemed to pulse with their own inner light.
"The mundane world only sees what it expects to see," Thorne explained, using an ornate key to unlock a heavy wooden door marked 'Private Collection.' "To them, this is just museum storage. To us, it's the largest collection of dream artifacts in the Western Hemisphere."
The room beyond defied physics. It stretched impossibly far, filled with glass cases containing everything from ancient masks to modern-looking devices. Floating orbs of soft light illuminated collections of bottled dreams - actual dreams, swirling like liquid mercury behind glass.
"Your badge, Detective," Thorne held out his hand. Sarah hesitated before handing over her police credentials. He placed it on a strange device that looked like a Victorian music box crossed with a computer. When he returned the badge, it felt different - heavier, somehow more real.
"Now you'll be able to access both worlds officially," he said. "Look at it again."
The badge had changed. Alongside her regular police credentials, new text had appeared: 'Special Inspector, Oneiric Investigations Division.' The letters seemed to shift between English and something older, something that made her eyes water if she looked too long.
"Before we can hunt the Dream Collector, you need to understand what you're dealing with." Thorne led her to a case containing what looked like a normal pillow. "Touch it."
Sarah reached out hesitantly. The moment her fingers made contact, the world tilted. She was suddenly standing in someone else's dream - a sunny beach, but the sky was green and the sand whispered secrets. She jerked her hand back, gasping.
"Good," Thorne nodded approvingly. "Most people can't pull back from their first dream artifact. You have natural barriers."
"What was that?" Sarah's heart was racing.
"A dream fragment from 1892. A young girl's last dream before the influenza took her." His voice softened. "We preserve them here. Dreams carry memories, emotions, sometimes even pieces of souls."
"And this Dream Collector... he takes entire souls?" Sarah remembered Charlotte Mills' peaceful face and restless eyes.
"He traps them in eternal dreams, feeding off their essence." Thorne moved to another case, this one containing what looked like a cracked mirror. "Each victim becomes part of his collection, their souls powering his abilities, letting him dreamwalk without natural talent like yours."
Suddenly, the cracked mirror began to frost over. In its surface, Sarah saw Charlotte Mills' face, mouth open in a silent scream. Then another face appeared - another victim, she presumed - and another.
"He's showing off," Thorne growled. "He knows we're investigating."
The temperature in the room dropped dramatically. Frost patterns spread from the mirror to nearby cases, and Sarah heard what sounded like distant laughter.
"Well, well," a voice echoed through the room, seemingly coming from everywhere and nowhere. "A new player in the game. And such interesting dreams you have, Detective Chen."
Sarah felt something brush against her mind, like cold fingers trying to pry open a door. Instinctively, she slammed her mental barriers shut. The presence withdrew, but not before leaving behind an impression of amusement.
"He's already caught your scent," Thorne said grimly. He pulled out a small velvet bag and removed what looked like a dreamcatcher made of silver wire and black pearls. "Wear this when you sleep. It won't keep him out entirely, but it'll stop him from stealing your dreams while you're still learning to defend yourself."
As Sarah took the dreamcatcher, her fingers brushed Thorne's, and suddenly she was hit with a flash of his dreams - centuries of memories, battles fought in realms of sleep, and a profound sense of loss that made her gasp.
Thorne withdrew his hand quickly. "Your abilities are stronger than I thought. We'll need to work on your control."
"What are you?" Sarah asked directly. "You're not just some government consultant, are you?"
Before he could answer, an alarm began to sound throughout the facility. One of the dream bottles had turned black, its contents writhing like smoke.
"He's hunting again," Thorne said, already moving toward the exit. "Someone in the city has just entered their last dream. Are you ready for your first real case, Detective?"
Sarah touched her new badge, feeling its power hum under her fingers. "Do we have time to save them?"
"If we're lucky, we might catch him in the act. But remember - in dreams, he's incredibly powerful. One wrong move and you could lose your soul."
As they rushed from the dream archive, Sarah caught one last glimpse of the cracked mirror. In its surface, she saw her own reflection smile back at her with eyes that weren't quite her own.
The hunt was about to begin.
Chapter Three
They arrived at St. Bartholomew's Hospital just as the emergency lights began to flash. Sarah followed Thorne through corridors that seemed to blur at the edges of her vision, her new badge somehow clearing their path without ever being shown.
"Room 307," Thorne said, his voice tight with urgency. "Young male, admitted for minor surgery, slipped into an unusual coma during recovery."
The patient, David Parker, age 23, lay perfectly still on his hospital bed, his eyes moving rapidly beneath closed lids. Just like Charlotte Mills. But this time, something was different - the air around him rippled like heat waves over hot asphalt.
"He's still in the process of taking him," Thorne said, pulling out what looked like an antique pocket watch. "We can follow if we're quick. Are you ready for your first dream dive?"
Sarah's heart pounded. "What do I need to do?"
"Take my hand. Focus on the patient. Let your consciousness slip between the moments of reality." Thorne's eyes began to glow that strange amber color. "And whatever you see in there, remember - dream logic is real logic in that world."
Sarah grasped Thorne's hand and looked at David Parker. The world tilted, twisted, and suddenly...
They were standing in a hospital corridor that wasn't quite right. The walls breathed slowly, the floor was made of flowing water that somehow supported their weight, and the ceiling was a swirling mass of constellation maps.
"His dreamscape," Thorne explained, his voice echoing strangely. "Every dreamer creates their own reality. Look."
Down the impossible corridor, a figure in a doctor's coat was leading David Parker by the hand. But the 'doctor' was wrong - his shadow moved independently, reaching out with grasping tendrils towards other dreams that floated past like soap bubbles.
"The Dream Collector," Sarah whispered.
As if hearing his name, the figure turned. Sarah's breath caught. His face was a beautiful mask of shifting features, never settling on one form, but his eyes... his eyes were endless pits of swirling dreams.
"Ah, the new dreamer," his voice was like silk over broken glass. "And my old friend Marcus. Still trying to police the dream worlds?"
Thorne stepped forward, and Sarah noticed his appearance had changed in the dream. His suit was now made of living shadows, and wings of dark light stretched from his shoulders. "Let him go, Collector. You've taken enough souls."
The Collector laughed, the sound causing the hospital walls to crack, leaking golden dream-light. "Taken? Oh, Marcus, you still don't understand. They give themselves to me. Show her, David."
The young man turned, and Sarah saw his eyes were glassy with bliss. "It's beautiful here," he said dreamily. "All my pain is gone. All my fears. He takes them all away."
"By taking everything you are," Sarah found herself saying. She took a step forward, instinctively reaching for her police badge. In the dream, it transformed into a shield of pure light. "David, this isn't real healing. It's theft."
The Collector's face rippled with anger. "You dare interrupt my collection?" The corridor began to twist, reality bending around them. "Let me show you what happens to those who interfere with my work."
Suddenly, the floor beneath Sarah liquefied completely. She started to sink, but instead of water, she was drowning in dreams - thousands of them, each containing a fragment of someone's stolen soul. She saw Charlotte Mills dancing endlessly in a ballroom of mirrors, saw other victims trapped in perfect moments that had become eternal prisons.
"Sarah!" Thorne's voice cut through the chaos. "Remember - dream logic! Make your own rules!"
Dream logic. Sarah closed her eyes, focusing on her years of police work, of protecting people, of solving puzzles. When she opened them, her badge-shield had transformed into a sword of pure thought.
With a cry, she slashed through the dream-flood. Reality reasserted itself - or at least, this dream's version of reality. She stood on solid ground again, facing the Collector.
"Impressive," he purred, but she sensed uncertainty in his voice. "You're stronger than the usual dreamers Marcus recruits. Perhaps we could make a deal..."
"No deals," Sarah said firmly. She could feel her power growing, reshaping the dream around them. "David, look at what he really is. Look with your heart, not your fears."
For a moment, David's eyes cleared. The Collector's beautiful mask slipped, revealing something ancient and hungry beneath. David screamed, pulling away from the creature's grasp.
The Collector snarled, his form shifting into something monstrous. "If I can't have him willingly..." Shadows exploded from his body, reaching for David.
What happened next seemed to unfold in slow motion. Thorne spread his dark wings, shielding David. Sarah's sword of thought became a net of light, trapping some of the shadows. But the Collector himself simply... stepped sideways, vanishing into a door that appeared in the air.
"Sweet dreams, detectives," his voice lingered behind. "We'll meet again soon. After all, Sarah, your dreams are particularly... appetizing."
The dreamscape began to dissolve. Sarah felt Thorne grab her arm, pulling her back through layers of reality. Then...
They were standing in the hospital room again. David Parker was awake, gasping, but alive and whole. A nurse was rushing in, responding to his sudden revival.
"We saved one," Thorne said quietly. "But he'll be angry now. And he'll come for you."
Sarah touched her badge, still feeling echoes of its dream-power. "Good," she said grimly. "Because I have some questions for him about Charlotte Mills. And about what you really are, Marcus Thorne."
Thorne's expression was unreadable. "All in time, Detective. For now, you need to rest. Tomorrow, your real training begins."
As they left the hospital, Sarah could have sworn she saw her shadow move independently, reaching for dreams that floated just beyond the edge of sight. The world would never look quite the same again.
Chapter Four
Sarah's apartment looked different when she returned that night. The shadows seemed deeper, more alive, and ordinary objects cast reflections that didn't quite match reality. The dreamcatcher Thorne had given her pulsed softly in her pocket, responding to the changed way she now saw the world.
She was exhausted but afraid to sleep. The Collector's words echoed in her mind: 'Your dreams are particularly appetizing.' Instead, she spread her case files across the coffee table - photographs of Charlotte Mills, the other victims, and now David Parker's medical records.
A soft chime from her badge interrupted her concentration. The metal had grown warm, and when she touched it, words appeared in that strange shifting script: 'Archive. Now. Emergency.'
The museum was different at night. Sarah's new badge led her through doors that hadn't existed during her first visit, down stairs that seemed to descend far deeper than the building's foundation should allow. She found Thorne in a circular room she hadn't seen before, surrounded by floating screens of light that showed various dreamscapes.
"We have a problem," he said without preamble. "The Collector's attack pattern has changed. Look."
The screens shifted, showing a map of the city overlaid with points of light. "Each light is a dreamer," Thorne explained. "The blue ones are normal dreams. The red..." He gestured, and several dots pulsed an angry crimson. "Those are nightmares being actively shaped by outside forces."
"He's attacking multiple targets at once?"
"No." Thorne's expression was grim. "He's leaving traps. Dream-snares. Anyone who falls asleep in these areas risks being pulled into a constructed nightmare. He's trying to overwhelm our ability to respond."
Sarah studied the pattern of red dots. "They're forming a shape... a symbol?"
"A summoning circle." A new voice joined them. Sarah turned to see an elderly woman emerging from what appeared to be a door made of starlight. Her eyes were milk-white, but she moved with absolute certainty.
"Sarah, meet Dr. Eleanor Price, the Archive's keeper," Thorne said. "And yes, she's blind in the waking world, but in dreams..."
"I see everything," Eleanor finished. Her unseeing eyes fixed on Sarah with uncomfortable accuracy. "Including what our friend the Collector is truly planning. He's not just taking souls anymore. He's building toward something larger."
She gestured, and the room transformed around them. They were suddenly standing in what looked like a vast library, but the books were made of dreams, their pages flowing like liquid memory.
"Every dream ever archived is stored here," Eleanor explained. "Including the oldest nightmares of humanity. The Collector isn't just a thief - he's trying to wake something that should stay sleeping. Something we locked away centuries ago."
She pulled a book from the shelf, and its pages burst open, projecting a scene of ancient horror - a time when the boundary between dreams and reality was thinner, when nightmares could walk in daylight.
"The Last Nightmare," Thorne said softly. "We thought it was safely contained, but if he completes that summoning circle..."
A sudden tremor ran through the Archive. One of the red dots on the map had grown larger, pulsing violently.
"He's starting," Eleanor's voice was urgent. "Sarah, you need to see something before you face this." She pressed her fingers to Sarah's forehead, and suddenly...
She was in a memory. A younger Thorne stood with a woman who looked remarkably like Sarah herself, facing down a shadow that threatened to devour the world. The woman - another dream detective? - sacrificed herself to help seal away the nightmare.
"Your mother," Eleanor's voice echoed in her mind. "She was one of us. Her sacrifice helped lock away the Last Nightmare, but the Collector has never stopped trying to free it. And now he's found you - her daughter, with her power."
The vision ended abruptly as another tremor shook the Archive. More red dots were pulsing on the map.
"Why didn't you tell me?" Sarah demanded, turning to Thorne.
"Because I promised her I'd keep you away from this life," he replied, pain evident in his voice. "But now the Collector knows who you are, and we're running out of time."
"The summoning circle will be complete at the next new moon," Eleanor added. "Three days from now. If the Last Nightmare wakes..."
"Then we stop him before that happens," Sarah said firmly, though her mind was reeling from the revelations. "How do we break these dream-snares?"
"It's dangerous," Thorne warned. "Each one is a trap designed specifically for dream walkers. If you're caught..."
"Then you'll just have to watch my back," Sarah said. She touched her badge, feeling its power respond. "Where do we start?"
Eleanor smiled, her blind eyes somehow twinkling. "First, you need to understand what you truly inherited from your mother. It's time you learned about the true history of the dream walkers - and why the Collector fears your bloodline above all others."
As if in response to Eleanor's words, the books around them began to glow, their pages rustling with the weight of secrets about to be revealed. In the map above, the red dots pulsed like a countdown to catastrophe, and Sarah realized she had less than three days to master powers she never knew she had.
The true game was about to begin.
Kapitel 1 (1)
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KAPITEL 1
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Frost lagde sig på det bløde græs i den sydlige del af sit territorium, mens lyden af golems, der brød ud af jorden, gav genlyd i luften. Og mens han bagte under den varme sommersol, vandrede hans tanker hen til hvor lidt han havde udrettet i den foregående måned.
"Så meget for planer," sukkede Frost, mens en varm vind blæste hen over hans nøgne bryst.
"Hva'?" Fayeth kastede et blik på Frost, mens hun affyrede en pil mod det store stenmonster, der truede i det fjerne. "Hvad er det nu, Herald Frost?"
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Rustningen var næsten ubrugelig defensivt, men i den spillignende verden, han var blevet kaldt ind i, var forsvar kun én faktor at tage hensyn til. Mens forsvar og magisk resistens blev påvirket af rustning, kunne den også forbedre andre evner.
Fayeths lasede rustning forbedrede hendes præcision samt hendes evner som bueskytte betydeligt.
"Jeg beklager bare min manglende fremgang i landsbyen igen," smilede Frost, mens han gestikulerede i retning af golemmen. "Fokuser op, ellers er vi herude hele dagen."
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Men han var stadig taknemmelig.
Frost værdsatte den enorme kraft og den fantastiske fysik, han var blevet tildelt, selv om han hele tiden var utilfreds med sin manglende viden. Han havde aldrig indset, hvor meget af hans intelligens der kom fra hans evne til at slå svar op i en søgemaskine. Det var en frustrerende sandhed at erkende.
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"Pis, jeg ville nok have været nødt til at skære murstenene til," grinede Frost for sig selv, mens han nød den afslappende varme. Han skruede sin drikkedunk af og tog en drink, mens han forestillede sig, at han lavede mursten. "Hvordan fanden laver man overhovedet en mursten? Det er jo bare cement, der hældes i en form, ikke?"
Frosts eneste reelle mulighed var på en eller anden måde at tjene nok penge til at hyre håndværkere til at udføre arbejdet for ham. Til det formål var han glad for at acceptere den mærkelige monsterjagtkontrakt fra nabolandet Zira.
Prinsesse Fiora Leaucault, den nye guvernør i Zira's Blackwater-område, hyrede ham regelmæssigt til at fjerne monstre, da hun manglede en ordentlig monsterudryddelsesstyrke. Fiora betalte godt for hans hjælp, og turene gav ham mulighed for at få noget erfaring mod niveau 61. Som en ekstra bonus fik han lov til at beholde alle de sjældne materialer, han fandt på monstrene. I sidste ende føltes det næsten ikke engang som arbejde.
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Han anmodede om at få den lille landsby ved floden som en del af sit territorium, fordi elverne regelmæssigt handlede med menneskene der, og han mente, at det ville være godt at få dem med i folden. Han havde aldrig forudset, at han som deres nye hersker ville blive kaldt derhen konstant for at mægle i dumme stridigheder.
"Hvor meget længere skal vi være herude?" Renna klynkede, mens hun hoppede på Frost. Den lille grønøjede elver spændte sig om hans talje og greb kantinen fra hans hånd. Svedperler rullede ned ad hendes sexede nøgne midterparti, mens hun vippede hovedet tilbage og slugte vandet. Hun trak i sin grønne tube top og sprøjtede noget af vandet på sit korte grønne hår, inden hun rystede på hovedet som en hund. "Det er varmt udenfor, og jeg er træt."
"Indtil vi er færdige med træningen," sagde Frost, mens han stirrede på hendes slanke, solbrune krop, mens liderlige tanker fyldte hans sind. Især Renna syntes at være ekstremt godt brunet, og Frost kunne ikke lade være med at blive distraheret af hendes veldefinerede solbrændte linjer. "Du skal være i stand til at beskytte landsbyen."
"lMkejn d'ertÉ haqrV xviI _joQ diagw tCifl!f"M Renn,a KklyyMnkkÉende, meQns hupnl ltænedeZ sLizgz nGed xo&g lag&dveD MavrmenXeó mom. hwa&m. !HenHdOe*s _sGvbeAdigeB kgropS OpcriesseRde siVg umwod hRaém,H menws hpun RsliQkkede Ohyaém om' hallIsieQnx. f"*LZaKd os$ d^r,oprpe !taruæVncingyeOn i BdaSg ogQ wfindeP )etz d!epjl.igt sPkyggaefuldtÉ sterd hats xhtahvNeZ dnebt$ msjAovmt!"
Frost ville gerne tage imod hendes tilbud, men da elvetyven først kom i gang, stoppede hun ikke, før hun var klar til at besvime. Han havde ikke rigtig noget imod et liv med at spise, sove, lege og kneppe. Men han måtte sikre sig, at de kunne forsvare sig selv.
Der var seks lande på kontinentet Kal, og Pluma-territoriet lå klemt mellem de to største, Zira mod øst og Rilia mod vest. Zira var i bedste fald en modvillig allieret, og Rilia blev styret af en psykotisk krigsherre. Nord for dem begge lå Balar, et land, der tilbad krigsguden Tarr, og langs Balars vestlige og nordlige kanter lå det bjergrige land Alta.
Landene i syd var mindre end landene i nord, og deres vejr var tilsyneladende fantastisk. Niri bestod af en lille halvø og flere øer, der lå sydvest for Rilia, mens Seera var en stor skovregion, der lå direkte syd for Zira.
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"Kom tilbage, din lille kælling, eller vi kommer til at være her hele dagen!" brølede Ena, mens hun slog mod golem'en med sit ståldragtskjold.
Kapitel 1 (2)
Frost fortrød at have bedt den fantastiske blonde elver om at skifte fra præst til væbner, men ikke af moralske årsager. Han savnede hendes næsten gennemsigtige klerikerkjoler, og hendes pladebeskyttede rustning lod alt for meget tilbage til fantasien. I stedet for hendes smukke krops kurver var det eneste, han kunne beundre, en kæmpe jernklædte elver iført en åben hjelm med huller til hendes lange spidse ører.
Ena havde altid haft den opfattelse, at hun skulle vælge mellem at være kriger eller healer. Da Frost foreslog, at der måske fandtes en klasse, der kunne give hende evnen til både at beskytte elverne og pleje dem, kunne intet have afholdt den egenrådige elver fra at forsøge at låse den op.
Frost havde ingen anelse om, hvorvidt paladin overhovedet eksisterede som klasse i Nivara, men Ena arbejdede utrætteligt på at finde ud af det. Hun havde allerede lært helbredende og defensiv magi som præst, nu lærte hun at beskytte sine venner i kamp som væbner.
"zKoumÉ, hero*vedrÉ,m nNu!R" Etna rDåFbte *rasernde.S ^",El,lerz VjTe!g RsmiaGdrerl RdÉiYtI FfkoÉrbandÉede hoved$ inqdg!r"U
"Hold op med at råbe!" Renna rullede med øjnene, mens hun hoppede af Frost og skyndte sig tilbage mod golem'en. "Jeg kommer, din indestængte spidsrod!"
"Jeg er ikke opstemt!" sagde Ena, mens hun smadrede ind i golemens ben. Den cerulean-øjede elver skød Renna et ondskabsfuldt blik, mens hun bakkede tilbage for at forberede endnu et skjoldslag.
"Åh," grinede Fayeth, mens hun affyrede en pil, der prellede af på golemens hoved. "Det er du helt sikkert."
"DXet rerr jeg iPkkec!" br(øleBdeC EénPaF,h ymens Rhbende&sM kskójoóldd ramtue lklippremFon,stenret. a"Det bern RfoWr(di djet Oer méiXgV, )der gøÉr OablQtw dMet. yhåbrdbeL arbreNjdWe!"
"Erissa er den, der holder ham lammet, så du kan blive ved med at løbe ind i ham," drillede Fayeth. "Jeg vil sige, at det er hende, der gør det meste af arbejdet."
"Jeg gør virkelig ikke meget," sagde Erissa forsigtigt, mens hun tog en slurk vand fra kantinen. Den azurblåhårede præstinde svedte gennem sin kåbe, og Frost kunne perfekt se den blåøjede elves undertøj. Hun rødmede og dækkede sine blonde tealfarvede trusser til, da hun opdagede, at han stirrede på hendes bagdel. "Herald Frost!"
"Hvad?" Frost grinede, mens han beundrede hendes undertøj. Der var ingen mulighed for, at Erissa ikke vidste, hvad hun gjorde. Den forførende elver vidste, hvad hun gjorde, da hun valgte at bære utugtigt undertøj under sine præstelige klæder. Hendes blå blondetrusser dækkede knap nok hendes røv, og hendes matchende korset forstærkede hendes i forvejen fyldige bryst betydeligt. Det matchende strømpebånd og de tilhørende leggings var bare prikken over i'et på en i forvejen voluptøs kage. "Det er jo ikke sådan, at jeg ikke har set dig nøgen."
"Dvet Xerd ikke udeit^ sa'm,mGe!P"T Vsagndpex Erii*s^s(a,N (mzemns MhUuFn kaiLgg^e$de zv$æmkY mi HfPoKr!legeanhed.
Selv om han ikke havde gjort store fremskridt med landsbyen, havde han gjort en del fremskridt med elverne. Deres træning gik fint fremad takket være, at han skabte partisystemer, der gjorde det muligt for dem at opdyrke erfaring på en sikker måde. Selv om det forekom ham indlysende at danne grupper med tanks og støtteklasser.
Det var ikke første gang, Frost havde det sådan. Videnshullerne i verden overraskede ham jævnligt, og det mest iøjnefaldende eksempel var, hvor ineffektivt elverne brugte magi.
For eksempel paralyze-besværgelsen. Så længe målet havde en lavere mental kapacitet end brugeren, ville målet blive frosset. Det var en af de første trylleformularer, som en præst lærte, hvilket gjorde det utroligt, at de aldrig tænkte på at bruge den i kamp.
"lDjet vZirLksedeR Pigewnn!"t RE$rissDa$ hDoqp$peude qbBeZgepjsUtrebtv, dkaX .dqeni ^nuyPuRdkvlæ.kGkxeadex MgWobleRmF wsktodm Asét_ivlTle. DNenf .var l)eDv'elR fem^txen éog Eriscsad Rh&avndeS dsAucVcesI med^ aGtI laMmme de,nz ppåB trods Yaf aFt .deNnw var laaveRre$ mlevIel. aSlelYvomA Zgolem'eYnW hBavd^e hføjH ^fyPsisk ,moUdzs&ta(n)dUs.kxrVaft doPgf næasten FiymmQunHivtIet sovKerF foGrT klsingevåFbecn,F ZvAarK dend usqt^ofrt seRtz ^foVrQsRv'arszløBsq modv Obe!svGærygGexlésVern. "TJe^g ^kJan& xikNke tvrUo vdeTt! zDéeHn seLrL GenpdnCuK haøYje(re nQiiveaqu_ eDnd Ideny asifdYste!"
Magi lignede kampfærdigheder, bortset fra at Frost i stedet for at lære at bruge et våben lærte han at læse runer. For at lære præsternes besværgelser brugte han nogle evnepoint til at niveauere Runic Mastery: Divine til fire, hvilket gjorde det muligt for ham at lære grundlæggende besværgelser fra Lysandras spellbooks. De letteste besværgelser var 30-40 runer lange, så han satte stor pris på at have besværgelsesbøger som reference.
Alternativet til tryllebøger var at bruge måneder eller år på at eksperimentere, indtil han fandt den rigtige kombination af runer. Frost kunne slet ikke forestille sig, hvor lang tid det måtte have taget Lysandra at samle alle sine besværgelser. Hvilket kun gjorde det endnu mere ærgerligt, at hun aldrig havde tænkt på at bruge paralyze mod monstre med lav mental kraft.
"Du gør et godt stykke arbejde," sagde Frost, mens han rejste sig op og strakte sig, inden han gik over til den saligt klædte præstinde. Han grinede og gav den blåhårede skønhed et støttende klap på bagdelen.
"bHeFrOalgdW yFkrzosst!" ErDiJsQsbaB gWrindevde. $"uDzu ivvecd,M at Hdet* dCiVstsraAhe_rgegr jmXitg*!"X
Den azurblåøjede kleriker var tidligere bueskytte, men takket være hans omstrukturering af jagtselskaberne kunne Erissa skifte til kleriker. Selv om hun aldrig havde meget talent som bueskytte, var hun en fantastisk kleriker, og på kun to uger havde hun vundet to niveauer. Hvilket var utroligt, når man tænker på, at det tidligere havde taget den fireogtyveårige elver år at nå niveau syv.
"Ena," sagde Frost, da den pansrede blonde elver trådte hen til den enorme golem. "Sørg for at slå med skjoldet mindst ti gange, før du begynder at ramme ham. Alt over ti..."
"Jeg er ikke dum!" sagde Ena vredt, mens hun begyndte at løbe ind i golem'en med sit skjold. Selv om det så latterligt ud fra en udefrakommende observatør, gav hvert rush hende en god mængde erfaring i skjoldbash-evnen, men hvert gentaget slag efter ti led under et faldende afkast. "Og hvorfor er jeg den eneste, der gør noget igen?"
"HjarH du YtavgKeyt !nagern,de lekt,iobneru azf yVppe'rMstepOræDsftuiSndqend?B" RennaY Ldruirlilede,J IdMukJkede Gopr bbag' guokleYm'_enj o.g )sTtAak ham fPle*re& DganógeI. HpeGndée$s Ihu^gD gjor*dpe Mi!kkTe ^megqen^ .sCkaxde,S Xm(enu !t&ykvezn ufik eIné SgNoBd hmæpngdLeK eIrfarcing Bi Tdotlnk.eevJnsehny mesdT hUverXts rsPlaCgw.é P"RDtu må khellveréeM pKashseL cpå,T nexlplzeórgs bClGiVver 'du en ensofm _udtGøUrre&t ^ga!mdmBel .k,æLlliQnXg ól(iSg.esomv hegnude!"i
"Jeg er kun femogtredive år!" Ena knækkede, mens hun smadrede golem'en endnu en gang.
"Og du har stadig ikke været sammen med en mand," sagde Renna hånligt. "Stakkels indestængte Ena! Måske hvis du for en gangs skyld spurgte pænt, kunne Herald Frost hjælpe dig med det."
Kapitel 1 (3)
"Jeg sagde jo, at jeg ikke vil have ham!" Ena brølede, mens hun slog golem'en så hårdt, at Frost troede, den ville falde om. "Jeg vil møde en sød alf, der sætter pris på mig! Ikke et menneske, der knepper alle, der lader ham gøre det!"
"Alle andre end dig," drillede Fayeth, mens hun affyrede en spærreild af pile. Frost nikkede anerkendende til den smukke blonde bueskytte, mens hun spidsede endnu en pil.
"Og det er derfor, du ender som gammel og udtørret ligesom Lysandra," grinede Renna og huggede golemmen et par gange mere, inden hun skyndte sig væk.
"JeZg hwaderF sjeLr alle !såS émegJeFtv!"B råbteé !EhnZay,O mRensP hUunv iskidfJt&edwe ktilp siOnS spFidIseY sctTåQlpkAølvle.ó
"Hold op med at drille hende," grinede Frost, da den grønhårede tyv løb hen til ham for at få en ny tår vand. Frost lod legende sin hånd glide hen over den solbrune elves sveddækkede midterparti, mens hun drak af sin drikkedunk. "Hvilket niveau er din dolkegenskab nu?"
"Seks," svarede Renna, mens hun legende lod sin frie hånd køre op og ned ad hans bryst. "Men jeg er virkelig tæt på at få nogle flere point i den!"
"Så fortsæt bare," smilede Frost og gav hendes atletiske røv et legende klem.
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"Vil du belønne mig, hvis jeg stiger i niveau?" spurgte Renna, mens hun forførende pressede sin magre krop mod ham.
"Det får vi se," grinede Frost, mens den spydige elver skyndte sig tilbage mod golemmen.
Elverne levelede hurtigt, men med deres nuværende hastighed ville der stadig gå et stykke tid, før de kunne beskytte sig selv. Desværre var der ikke rigtig nogen måde at fremskynde det på, medmindre de begyndte at jage endnu kraftigere monstre.
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Med hensyn til evighedsniveauer kunne de enten være virkelig lette at opnå eller virkelig svære, afhængigt af evnen. Hvis det var en opgave, der let kunne gentages, og som ikke var tidskrævende, var det let at få evnepoint til at opnå et niveau. Hvis det var noget som at afvæbne en modstander, var det en del sværere, da de fleste monstre ikke bar våben.
"Idiot," brummede Frost for sig selv, mens han forsøgte ikke at tænke på sine dumme fejltagelser.
Han fortrød dybt, at han brugte sine gratis evnepoint på så mange let nivellerede kampfærdigheder. Bare det at tænke på, hvordan han havde spildt femoghalvtreds evnepoint på at levele sværdkunst, gav ham lyst til at rejse tilbage i tiden og sparke sig selv lige i skidtet.
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I den sidste måned havde han fået næsten halvfjerds begrænsede point i sværdkunst, mens han jagtede monstre på højt niveau i Zira. Det var ikke engang medregnet de andre begrænsede point, han havde fået i undvigelse, blokering, bueskydning, præcision og alle de andre kampfærdigheder. Han havde spildt over fem hundrede gratis evnepoint på evner, der var lette at få niveauet op. Bare det at tænke på det gjorde ham rasende på sig selv.
"Ja!" sagde Renna, mens hun stak på golem'en. "Næsten færdig!"
"Du ved godt, at du forkæler hende," sagde Fayeth roligt, mens hun affyrede en pil i golemens øje, der påførte massiv skade. Den barmfagre blonde bueskytte elskede den nye gruppe, da hun kunne læne sig tilbage og affyre pile i stedet for at blive jagtet rundt af de monstre, hun angreb. "Jeg har fået flere niveauer end Renna, og du belønner mig aldrig."
"JMebg h.ark oppynjået IfQlaerZe niveafuWeUrq en*dP dUigJ,"j xkLnpurÉredCe EnUa^, men&s hunn svlog påS gomlemmv'enn ,méedY WsTin VsSt_åZlkølale$.& HvWe*rvt& krjaIfMtig sUviqngd 'mOemd& RhXendesj vvåbke.n tóoIg SeqndmnuN den Yenorkm KkZltumpn qumdj a,f ssteVnP-goliDautenw. t"XOg XjjegK Thayr skiftOeNt 'klassem! Okgy SjYeg ,bxe.sHkytter kd_ig!r O,g jeg eNr fnødVt( til at bOæAre dLeYnne xpkl.a!debSeskGytztkedQep r_usRtnuiZnJgz, mens jeg ba'gHeérp Ni soclXeVn!"b
"Ena," drillede Fayeth, mens hun tørrede sveden af sine øjne. "Siger du, at du vil have, at herolden skal belønne dig?"
"Aldrig!" Ena knækkede, mens hun udløste en byge af rasende angreb på den forsvarsløse golem.
"Løgner," grinede Renna ondskabsfuldt, mens hun brutalt svingede sine dolke mod det lamme stenmonster. "Du vil have ham så meget! Hver gang du bliver fuld, prøver du at slæbe ham med ind i dit soveværelse!"
"QD*ePtf Hvilz jJegq iJkkje)!"G zEna's steImBme knGækkReGdeg, JdiaP hunJ $råwbtxe.C
"Hold op med at drille hende," grinede Frost, mens Ena slog på den lamslåede golem. Han havde næsten ondt af monsteret, da Ena ubarmhjertigt tæskede ham. Hun var helt sikkert blevet meget stærkere, siden de havde startet deres eksperiment, men de var stadig langt fra at finde ud af, om paladin var en tilgængelig klasse.
Forudsætningerne for grundlæggende klasser som fighter og squire var almindeligt kendt, mens avancerede klasser som unholy knight og spellblade blev behandlet som forretningshemmeligheder. Det betød, at hvis han ville låse op for nye klasser, måtte han eksperimentere.
Frost var stadig en fighter, men han lærte paralyze, barrier og et par andre guddommelige magiske trylleformularer. Derefter tilføjede han nogle point i plate armor og låste op for holy knight som klasse, selv om han hadede den. Den kampstil var bare ikke noget for ham.
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Hver gang han fandt ud af noget, skrev han det ned i en af de mange dagbøger, han førte, og til sidst havde han tænkt sig at bruge det, han lærte, til at lave en læreplan for landsbyens børn.
Kapitel 1 (4)
"Wow!" sagde Fayeth, da Ena knuste en stor del af golem'en. "Du er blevet rigtig god til at slå!"
"Du får det til at lyde som om, jeg er en brutal," snerrede Ena, mens hun slog golemmen ned. "Jeg er en uskyldig ... hellig ... jomfru!"
Frost så på, da elverne afsluttede deres angreb, og golemmen smuldrede. Han gik over og brugte en høstkrystal til at skille de to døde golems ad i deres bestanddele og samlede alle de værdigenstande op, der dukkede op.
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"Pralhals," pustede Renna misundeligt. "Du stiger kun hurtigt i niveau, fordi du kan bruge paralyze."
"Det er virkelig utroligt," grinede Fayeth. "Jeg er overrasket over, at ypperstepræstinden ikke har tænkt på at bruge paralyze på denne måde, når man tænker på, hvor ofte hun bruger det på os."
"Det ved jeg," sukkede Frost. Han spurgte faktisk Lysandra, hvorfor hun ikke brugte det på den måde, hvis han nu skulle have overset noget. Det viste sig, at det bare aldrig var faldet hende ind at bruge paralyze på den måde. Hvis hun brugte det på en fjende, var det normalt for at hun kunne løbe væk. "Til hendes forsvar, så er der heller ikke andre der har tænkt på det."
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"Okay," Frost kastede et blik på gruppen af sveddryppende kvinder, der drak vand, og fandt sig selv næsten hypnotiseret, da de glitrede under den varme sommersol. Frost rystede på hovedet og pegede på den store mørke sten i midten af marken. "Er I klar til den store? Den sidste, og så tager vi tilbage til landsbyen."
"Klar!" Renna sagde begejstret. "Jeg vil hjem!"
"Også mig!" sagde Erissa, mens hun hældte resten af sin drikkedunk ud på sit hoved. Vandet dryppede yderligere ned og gennemblødte hendes i forvejen gennemsigtige kåbe, da Renna spøgefuldt skubbede den blåhårede præstinde. "Hvad?"
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"Jeg kan ikke gøre for det," Erissa rødmede. "Det er varmt udenfor!"
"Lad os bare få det her overstået," sagde Ena modvilligt, mens hun hældte vand over hendes hoved. Hun dobbelttjekkede læderharnisket, der holdt hendes pladekuppel oppe, og tog sit skjold op. "Det er sgu for varmt ude til det her."
"Men du er så sexet, når du er helt svedig," sagde Fayeth legende og prikkede på Ena's rustning. "Og det er så ophidsende at se dig være så rå. Er det ikke rigtigt, Herald Frost?"
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"Hold kæft!" Ena knækkede. "Jeg er ligeglad med, hvad du synes!"
"Det var ikke det, du sagde forleden aften," drillede Fayeth.
"Jeg sagde hold kæft!" Ena rødmede, mens hun trampede foran gruppen. Hun sparkede til den enorme kampesten, der sad midt på marken, og jorden rumlede, da golemmen sprang ud af jorden.
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"Pis," sagde Frost, mens han scannede den enorme golem. Han fik straks adgang til sin indre grimoire og mærkede en bølge, da han kastede besværgelsen. "Paralyze!"
Golemkongen stoppede kort før han trampede på Ena, da den spidsørede blondine gemte sig under sit skjold. Frost havde tredive niveauer på den stenede bastard, så mens golemkongen på niveau tredive nemt kunne modstå Erissa, havde den ingen chance mod ham.
"Har du tænkt dig at ligge der hele dagen Ena?" Frost jokede nervøst, da Ena kravlede op på benene. Han indså, at han nok skulle have været mere opmærksom. "Har du brug for at jeg skal træde ind og lære dig at svinge den tingest?"
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"Så," Frost kastede igen paralysering på den massive golem, mens elverne begyndte at pille ved dens helbred. Han tog en dagbog frem og åbnede golem-siden, hvor han listede de forskellige typer, deres niveauer og deres spawn-hastighed. Han var næsten færdig med at undersøge hele sit område. "Så to procent spawn rate for kongen lyder det rigtigt?"
"Det virker rigtigt," svarede Fayeth mellem to skud. "Men et niveau tredive er dobbelt så højt som alt andet her omkring. Det er virkelig farligt."
"Ja," sagde Frost i enighed. "Det er derfor, vi laver undersøgelserne. Men det burde være fint, hvis gruppen har et højt nok niveau, eller hvis Lysandra er med dem."
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"Okay," sagde Frost og trak et udsmykket langsværd af stål, som han havde plyndret fra de otte dræbere i Blackwater efter at have dræbt dem. De havde en del fine våben at vælge imellem, men Frost faldt næsten altid tilbage på sværd. "Af vejen."
Frost styrtede fremad, mens verden blev langsommere omkring ham. For at være mere præcis, blev hans bevidsthed om sine omgivelser øget, mens han forberedte sig på at forsvare eller imødegå angreb fra alle retninger. Det var uhyggeligt, hvor naturlig følelsen var, eftersom han aldrig rigtig havde gjort andet end at lægge nogle evnepoint i sværdkamp for at gøre sig fortjent til det.
Da han nåede frem til golem'en, skar han lodret fra jorden og opefter og skar gennem monsteret lige så let som han ville skære gennem selve luften. Golemkongen smuldrede øjeblikkeligt til en bunke sten, og Frost tog sin høstkrystal frem. Han aktiverede den lille ædelsten, der øjeblikkeligt adskilte kongen i tre bunker af materiale og lagde alt i sin inventory undtagen en levende rød ædelsten.
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Kapitel 1 (5)
"Må jeg se?" spurgte Renna, mens hun forsøgte at tage ædelstenen ud af hans hånd. "Jeg vil bare se på den!"
"Fint," sagde Frost og kastede den til hende, mens han gik tilbage til de græssende heste. "Du må dog ikke miste den."
"Det vil jeg ikke," sagde Renna og stirrede på ædelstenen. Erissa, Fayeth og Ena omringede hende alle, mens de gav den videre. Da de var færdige med at beundre ædelstenen, jagtede elverne efter Frost. "Vent på os!"
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Witch var en ondskabsfuld rød hoppe, som ikke ville lade nogen under niveau syv rideevne stige på hende. Han regnede med, at hendes dårlige attitude skyldtes hendes mindre størrelse, da de fleste af de dyr, de havde opstaldet, var større end hende.
"Herald Frost," grinede Renna spidsfindigt, mens hun greb ned i sin hests sadeltaske og tog en flaske spiritus frem. "Skal vi komme tidligt i gang?"
"Seriøst?" Frost spurgte, da Renna kastede flasken til ham. Nisserne bryggede tre forskellige typer frugtagtig alkohol. Den første var en svag sangria-agtig drink. Den anden var en mere almindelig frugtvin. Men den sidste var dybest set en frugtbrandy. Renna kastede brandyen til ham. "Det er ikke engang spisetid."
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"Det er en kort tur," smilede Fayeth anerkendende. "Og det er kun lidt tidligt."
"Jeg vil gerne have noget," sagde Erissa begejstret. "Jeg er virkelig tørstig."
"Det hjælper ikke på din tørst," sagde Ena dømmende. "Det vil bare bringe dig i problemer."
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"Slap af, Ena," sagde Fayeth, mens hun forsigtigt klappede den cerulean-øjede alf på kinden. "Det bliver kun en lille fest, da vi alle alligevel skal tidligt i seng. Herolden skal trods alt giftes i morgen."
"Fint," sagde Ena, mens hun modvilligt tog en flaske fra Fayeth. "Men vi er nødt til at komme tidligt i seng."
"Naturligvis," nikkede Frost i enighed, mens elverne ventede på, at han skulle drikke. "Jeg prøver ikke at komme i problemer."
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