The Dark Lord Bert 2 Page 2

  Jess shrank back into her seat when she spied the murder in Todd’s eyes as the accusation twisted the game master’s features.

  “Cheating?” Todd thrust a finger at the vellum mat on the table, which represented the game world. “Every rule is enforced by that. I literally cannot cheat. So what is it exactly that you think I cheated on?”

  “The goblin,” Robert snarled, his expression feral. “He altered my character sheet. That’s bullshit. You can’t alter someone’s alignment on the fly without some sort of spell or ability. Again, cheating.”

  Now it was Todd who looked uncomfortable. He sank back into his chair, and set the d20 on the table behind the screen. Its glow faded the moment it left contact with his skin.

  “Yeah, I don’t know about that, man.” Todd looked Robert squarely in the eye, and shrugged. He leaned back in his chair, which creaked ominously. “I have no idea how the goblin did that, and it terrifies me. I didn’t create Bert, and I certainly didn’t give a critter the ability to become the dark lord. But I also don’t know all of how the die works. My dad didn’t exactly leave a manual, and if I ask him that means admitting we have it. He’d take it back, I’d get grounded, you’d get mindwiped, and when that was over we’d have to go back to regular 5E. I mean, it isn’t bad, but does anyone think using your imagination is cooler than being transported to a real magical world?”

  Everyone shook their heads, Jess included. She looked down at Kit’s character sheet. They couldn’t lose this. Kit had become too important to her. When she played Kit she mattered. She had power and respect, from some people at least. It was so different than her everyday life, where no one noticed she was alive.

  Robert adopted the exact kind of devious expression she’d have expected his character to wear. Weaselly, to the core. “Have you considered turning the die over? I mean, it’s clearly a lot of work to structure the world, and you know I love that stuff. I could clean up all the bad puns. Just let me hit the reset button.” His covetous eye shifted to the d20, and he leaned a bit closer.

  “No.”

  Todd reached for the die, but Robert was faster. His greasy fist snatched up the jade die, and he leaned back into the chair. “Why don’t we have the group vote? That seems like a—”

  Todd leapt from his chair, and came down on Robert like a sparrow attacking an eagle. Todd darted in, his much scrawnier arms vainly attempting to push Robert’s bulk aside so he could pry the die from his palm.

  “Guys!” Jess called, rising to her feet. “We’re here to play, not fight. Robert, stop being a jerk. Give Todd the die.”

  Todd finally got a finger around the glowing d20, and with a titanic grunt pried it from Robert’s greasy fingers, which were too slippery to prevent it.

  That same grease made the die difficult to grasp, and Todd accidentally flung it into the air. The golden numbers shimmered as the die tumbled end over end, its spinning sides growing ever closer to the mat.

  “Noooooooooooo!” Todd roared, as time seemed to slow.

  Jess’s eyes widened as she realized the implications. The die was falling toward the game mat on the table. Todd had been very, very clear that must never, ever happen, though he’d never said why.

  The die touched the surface of the mat, and an explosion of emerald light blinded her. She blinked away spots, and when her vision cleared the die was gone.

  A low wail emanated from Todd, like air escaping from a balloon. “We are so screwed.”

  1

  Magic Lesson

  Bert awoke on a bright, sunny morning, amidst a sea of blankets and pillows, on a four-poster bed that had been designed for a very large human and six of his closest friends.

  Or one Boberton.

  The demo dog had continued to grow for months now, and was so massive that he could pass for a pony. A fat pony…with two heads, red skin…and a flatulence problem.

  Flatulence was a new word. Bert had been picking up quite a lot of those now that he possessed the Dark Lord trope. So long as he stayed away from Paradise, Bert was very smart indeed.

  He hopped to his feet, and patted Boberton’s warm bulk. “Wake up, boy. Time for breakfast.”

  Lefty’s eyes blinked blearily open, though Righty remained stubbornly asleep. Bert shimmied down off his bed down to the thick carpet below. He’d had that brought in to cover the dank stone floors, which were quite cold on his little feet.

  Boberton plopped down beside him, then followed as Bert left his chambers and headed for the tomb’s pantry. It had been empty when he arrived, unless you counted spiders, but was now full of all sorts of wondrous food. More than any person could ever eat.

  Well, maybe not quite that much. His increased intellect let him very quickly calculate that he could survive for nine hundred and seventy-eight days with the larder’s current contents. Most of his servants were dead, so they didn’t eat much.

  “Boberton, want beef or chicken?” Bert prompted, smiling up at his best friend.

  The massive dog gingerly stepped over Bert, his stubby tail wagging furiously as he approached the big red bowl with Boberton’s Bowl emblazoned on the side. Another great word, emblazoned. He still loved it.

  Bert waddled over to a pair of open bags of monster chow, and stopped in front of the one with a cow emblem. The tail wagging slowed. Bert moved to the bag with chicken. The wagging increased.

  Bert dragged the bag over, and dumped a generous helping in Boberton’s bowl. Lefty nudged Righty, who blinked awake, and immediately joined him in devouring the brown pasty monster chow.

  Now that his dog was taken care of, Bert headed back into the pantry. He retrieved a loaf of bread, and a small bottle of jelly, then moved to sit down next to Boberton.

  Bert unscrewed the jelly, then shoved his fist inside to scoop out as much as he could. He plopped the ball of jelly into his mouth, and held it there, then ripped a hunk of bread loose, which was difficult with slippery hands.

  He jammed the bread into his mouth, and began to chew happily. It was grape jelly. His favorite.

  They ate in silence until both had finished, then Bert mounted a tall stool so he could wash his hands in the basin. He dried them on the towel, and then made a leap towards Boberton.

  He caught the dog’s side, but still struggled to climb the leathery hide. Lefty’s broad head craned around underneath him, and supported Bert and his wiggling legs. The dog pushed him up onto his broad back, atop the little saddle Bert had made for him. Boberton refused to ever take it off, even when bathing, which only ever happened accidentally.

  As soon as Bert was in the saddle Boberton was off. The demo dog knew the route just as well as Bert, and rushed up a wide stone hallway that led through the tomb.

  That tomb was much brighter than it had been, with colorful tapestries added to the walls, and little flower pots that Bert had bought down at the market. He’d removed all the skulls, which had taken forever, because there were skulls everywhere. Perhaps they’d been on sale.

  Boberton raced down the corridor, bounding around corners without a care. He made unerringly for the wide stone stairs that climbed into the tower where Bert had his daily lessons.

  His dog ate up the distance even faster than the chow, and before Bert knew it they skidded to a halt outside of the wide oaken door that led into the very throne room where he’d faced the Dark Lord White.

  Boberton dipped his shoulder down like a royal horse might, and Bert slid down his leg with a whoop as he shot down to the ground. He’d always enjoyed slides, ever since he’d been a tiny goblin with just half a hit point.

  “Ah, Dark Lord.” A wizened old man shuffled forward, his musty white robes reeking of pipe smoke. The man was always smoking. Perhaps all wizards did. “Are you prepared for your sorcery lesson?”

  “Yes.” Bert waggled his fingers and toes to prepare himself for the magic. Everyone knew spells needed waggly fingers. “Bert ready.”

  Bumbledork smiled from under those bushy eyebrows, which a part
of Bert longed to trim. If only he could go back to his quarters and get his shears.

  “What spell would you like to learn, great lord?” Bumbledork bowed low, then froze. “Ah…make it a simple one. I think my back just gave. I can’t straighten up.”

  Bert blinked up at his new mentor in alarm. How old did one have to be before basic body parts gave out? Could they be replaced? Bert was thinking too linearly, he realized. Too much like a goblin, and not enough like a dark lord.

  He peered beyond the room at the fabric of the game, at the magic underlying everything. There was Bumbledork’s character sheet, as expected. On that sheet lay a new entry in red. The bad-back-itis condition.

  Bert erased it.

  “Oh—.” Bumbledork straightened back to his full height. “Why, I feel…many times better. Like I did decades ago, when I battled wizard-Hitler. Barely overcame his mustache. Was touch and go.”

  Bert rarely listened to the wizard’s life lessons or history. They were terribly boring, and usually depressing.

  “Bert want to learn clean spell.” Bert rose to his tiptoes, and noted that behind him Boberton’s tail had begun to wag furiously. “Kit use on Bert. She clean off glitter and muck. Bert want to be able to clean things.”

  “Of course, great lord.” Bumbledork bowed, then straightened gingerly as the expected pain did not come. “The spell is simple. Our magic system is quite infantile, you see. You merely say what you want to do, in most cases. But then we translate it into Latin to make it sound more ominous and magical.” He extended a hand and pointed at a book on the shelf. “Animate!”

  The book flapped its way into the air. Bert gaped up at the tome in wonder. He could use the book as a sort of…flying mount. With a belt to strap himself to it, and maybe some little wings…he could fly.

  The book turned and flapped out the window like a living thing, soaring off into the fading twilight.

  Bumbledork bent closer to Bert, and dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Had we been in any other company I would have said Animatus. Animate works. Heck, you could just say get up, and the book would have. It’s all in the intent, son. That’s the secret.”

  “What Latin for clean?” Bert rocked back and forth on his heels, unable to contain the anticipation.

  “Munde,” the wizard intoned in a deep menacing voice, and his hands began to glow. He lowered his voice again. “It means tidy up.”

  “Munde!” Bert yelled. He expected magic to be hard, but ever since he’d gotten the dark lord trope things had just sort of…gotten easier. His palm lit up, and Bert’s eyes widened as he turned to Boberton. “Come here, boy!”

  Boberton trotted over. Righty had gone back to sleep, but Lefty wagged his tail furiously as Bert ran his hand along the dog’s paw. Dirt and grime fell away, disappearing from the dog’s leathery hide in a little poof. The spell worked! He never needed to bathe again.

  Bert raised his hand to one armpit, and then the other. Then he jammed his hands down his loincloth and sort of swirled it around to make sure he got all the bits and pieces. “Fastest shower Bert ever take. Bert love magic!”

  A rumble came from behind him, and he turned toward the window to ascertain the source of the thunder. Ascertain was a wonderful word. To his shock a giant green rock tumbled through the sky, with scary flames wreathing it as the object left a trail in its wake, like a comet.

  Bert sprinted full tilt toward the wall, and leapt as high as he could. He caught the tapestry, which hadn’t just been for decoration, and shimmied up the cloth to the window sill for a better view.

  Every day after his lessons he climbed up here to peer down at his city, and out at the world at large. In the distance the green rock tumbled closer and closer to the ground, past the Moist Mountains and into Keeble Forest, full of towering pine trees.

  It impacted with a tremendous explosion of light, which quickly faded. Bert blinked away spots, and wondered what he’d just witnessed.

  2

  Oh, Crap

  Jess shrank down into her seat and wished she were anywhere else. She didn’t fully understand the implications of the die falling into the game world, but she needed to.

  “Todd?” she ventured, when he didn’t speak. The skinny teen huddled behind the GM screen cradling his head in his hands, long dark hair screening his face. Kit made her tone as calming as she could manage, given the rising fear. “Todd, you never told us why the die touching the mat was bad. What’s going to happen?”

  Todd looked up, his eyes red and swollen, more from allergies than tears, she hoped. He licked his lips, and calmly related the answer. “The die is a sort of control mechanism, but the real magic is the mat. That’s where the world is stored. If the die falls in, the magic becomes unstable, and eventually it will blow up.”

  Todd rose to his feet, and began folding up his GM screen, as if relating the weather. “The explosion won’t hurt anything in the real world, but it will be visible astrally. Every mage in California will know it happened, and when they investigate….”

  “Your dad,” Jess whispered. “He’ll get disbarred. Maybe even arrested.”

  “Probably. This will be worse than the Jimanju incident.”

  “Then we have to fix this.” She straightened in her chair. “Maybe we can go in and get the die back somehow.”

  “That’s a great idea,” Robert mocked, rolling his eyes as his chair groaned beneath him. “Oh, wait, no, it isn’t. If we go into the game world we become our characters, and can’t remember the real world. We won’t know about the die, or that we need to get it out.”

  Jess glared at Robert. Why was he always so patronizing? Well, maybe she could channel a little bit of the well actually trope. She didn’t have to put up with his crap. “You’re forgetting something important. Any character you build will be a conniving power hungry weasel, and will steal anything not nailed down, and most of the stuff that is. If we put you in that game world what’s the first thing your character will do when he hears about that d20?”

  Robert squirmed in the metal folding chair, meeting her glare pound for pound. “Well, if you strip away the character assassination, you’re right. My new character would probably pursue the die, if for no other reason than to keep it safe from people who might abuse the power.”

  “People like you,” Max muttered under his breath. Jess was proud of the ten-year-old. He was already more mature than Robert.

  “It’s a moot point.” Todd stuffed the GM screen in his backpack, and began scooping books in next. “In about fifteen to twenty seconds you guys are going to get sucked into the game world, like it or not. And, because the game started without me making any changes….” Todd’s gaze fixed on Robert, and the murder was back. “It means that your characters were all automatically approved. Robert gets to play his Pwn class, and the rest of you will have to deal with it.”

  “I’m sure we’ll still have fun.” Barb seemed unfazed by the crisis, which didn’t surprise Jess.

  It wasn’t that Barb didn’t take things seriously. It was just that she was a lot like the characters she played. Barb didn’t need long complex answers. She needed to know what they were doing and optionally why they were doing it, and that was it.

  Jess wished she could blindly and happily put her trust in someone like Robert, but she’d seen where that led.

  The game mat began to glow softly in a way Jess had come to eagerly anticipate. That glow washed through the room, the pleasant warmth of a bath after a long day, and then suddenly she was elsewhere.

  Kit stood in a familiar glade, ringed by redwoods. A clear path led up a wide trail covered in soft pine needles. She experienced a moment of vertigo as she tried to remember what she’d just been doing.

  Part of her realized this was a game, and that the real world was being obscured from her. She stifled that part, as she always did. Kit loved nothing so much as immersing herself in this world, and that was exactly what she was going to do.

  She turne
d to her party, and several new faces greeted her. The first was a good deal shorter than she’d expected, almost Bert-sized. The gnome monk wore a white gi, with a simple black belt tied loosely around the waist. A mop of bright blue hair grew like an untended hedge, obscuring the tiny man’s features.

  As she studied the gnome the magic took hold, and she could feel information pouring into her head. Nutpuncher was a renowned gnome monk from the distant city of Dildozer, and also a close friend of Crotchshot, come to investigate his disappearance.

  Behind the gnome loomed a handsome elf with dark skin and platinum hair. He wore the robes of a wizard, and raised a perfect eyebrow as he glared down at the gnome. The dark elf straightened a golden clasp around his rich magical cloak, which held a ruby trope Kit was unfamiliar with. “You are a disgrace. How can you even see through that mess of hair? It probably gives you a penalty to perception. If it doesn’t it should.”

  The voice chilled her to the core, as it was a perfect rendition of White, despite her knowing damned well that the necromancer had been killed during their last adventure. This must be his new character.

  She took a moment to study the dark elf, unsurprised that he’d chosen that race, which no sane GM would ever authorize. As she winced at his smug expression information filled her mind.

  White—apparently he happened to have the same exact name as his previous character—was a renowned wizard, a respected necromancer, immortal, and lord of his own kingdom. Also, a random fact she could do without, he had 79 wives. Eww.

  Kit turned to the last member of their party, who stood a little apart from the others, and did a double take when she had to crane her neck to peer up at the towering half-ogre. Monster races were never allowed, because they offered far more stats and abilities than normal races.

  Kit’s own race, shapeshifter, was borderline and she’d had to argue long and hard, and make pancakes one summer afternoon to get the GM to agree. Wait, pancakes for who? The game had already begun to obscure the real world.