Rogue Dungeon: Troll Nation (Chapters 34 - 36)

Chapter 34 

Moving Pieces

The handiness of portal travel made itself evident when rather than having to make the trek from the strange containment cell back to the citadel, Randy just reopened the shimmering violet tear in space and the three of them stepped through into the Keep’s throne room. 

The troubling revelations provided by the Ennus-Merkki ritual still weighed heavy on Roark’s mind—namely that his sister could possibly be alive—but he pushed those from his mind. He was letting his shock affect his judgment. The vision, whether it was true or false, didn’t change anything. He still couldn’t get back to Traisbin, and even if he could, he would never get close enough to Marek to kill him without taking out Lowen first.

And to do that, he first needed to kill Bad_Karma. Which meant he needed unwavering focus.

“Where has Roark been?” Kaz bellowed, ecstatic. “The griefing Trolls from the Keep said evil heroes abducted him.”

From behind Roark, PwnrBwner_OG snapped, “Hey, get the fuck off!”

Inky black smoke was still curling upward when Roark turned. Zyra had one of her cursed longknives to the High Combat Cleric’s throat and the other to his groin.

“What is this hero scum doing in our Keep?” the hooded Reaver hissed, her words as cold as the holding cells in the Chillend prison.

“Saving your shit,” PwnrBwner said. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

“He’s on our side now,” Roark said. “So is the Herald.”

“What Herald?”

At her side, Randy dropped his invisibility. Zyra backed up a step, dragging PwnrBwner with her to put the High Combat Cleric between her and the silver-winged Herald. Startled, Kaz drew his Legendary Meat Tenderizer and crept forward in a defensive stance.

Before blood could be spilled and his secret weapons sent for respawn, Roark said, “Put him down, Zyra. They’re working with us. As asinine as it sounds, I swear it’s true.”

Slowly, warily, the Knight Thursr and the Reaver lowered their weapons.

“You have ten seconds to explain,” Zyra growled. “Then I’m sending them both for respawn.”

“You can try,” PwnrBwner sneered. 

“We need them to kill Bad_Karma,” Roark said, stalking to the Dungeon Lord’s throne. “And however unlikely it may seem, after a long and difficult discussion, these two have come around to our cause against Lowen and the Vault of the Radiant Shield. You’ll just have to trust me on this one. Now, where’s Griff?” 

“In Averi City, digging for information on who might have you,” Zyra said.

Roark sat and used the Dungeon Lord’s Grimoire to send off a message to Griff letting him know he was back and to meet him in the Blacksmith shop. 

With that done, he checked the disbursement of building points for the Troll Nation. It would take some serious work, and he would have to temporarily strip down most of the second floor, shifting the natives to the third floor, but yes, he could do it. Closing off the level so that Bad_Karma wouldn’t be able to get free would be a challenge, but he could manage it with the portal plates, which the dungeon counted as access points. It would take some work and a significant amount of time in the smithy, however. 

He hopped off the throne and headed for the Blacksmith’s shop.

Zyra jogged to catch up with him. “Where are you going?”

“To prepare for Bad_Karma,” he said. “I made a mistake last time by confronting him. I acted like a hero, relying on my own raw physical strength and the might of my combat magic. But in all of those arenas, Karma has proven to be my superior.” He laughed. “I don’t know what sort of brain damage I must have sustained to try to take him on in a fair fight. I can’t beat him in a stadium filled with spectators, but I can most certainly defeat him inside the walls of my dungeon, where I have every underhanded trick and advantage I can lay my hands on.”

“You mean the plan is to cheat,” PwnrBwner said.

“Yes,” Roark said. “Obviously.”

He glanced over his shoulder, gaze falling on the Herald—Randy, his name was—who was keeping pace with him. “Do your Admin abilities allow you to see a hero’s active and passive abilities as well as what enchantments a hero has on their items and the items in their Inventory?”

“Ad-min?” Zyra repeated, puzzled.

“He’s a type of enforcer working for the Hearthworld gods,” Roark explained, eyes still fixed on Randy, waiting for an answer.

Randy blinked. “Uh… yeah, um, from in-game, I can see what enchantments are on a player’s gear, but only if I have a visual lock on him. To do it remotely, I would need to be at a terminal.”

“How long does it take you to get to one of these terminals?” Roark asked.

“About ten minutes out and back in.” Randy pointed over his shoulder as if alluding to one of these mysterious places. “Do you want me to…?”

“Yes,” Roark said with a nod. “I’ll need to know every natural ability he might be able to pull on as well as every potential enchantment he’ll have access to. I want a comprehensive list, understand?”

“How will knowing his abilities and enchantments help?” Zyra asked.

PwnrBwner snorted. “Is that a serious question?” He hooked a thumb at Roark. “This asshole TPKed me and my friends with a frikkin’ dungeon boss last week. I don’t know what he’s got planned, but if you don’t think he can swing it, you haven’t been watching long enough. Not that I’m complimenting you,” he finished, shooting a glare at Roark. 

Zyra’s hood swiveled toward the mouthy hero. Roark couldn’t see her icy glare, but he could feel the temperature in the room drop. 

“It’s my job to point out when he does something insane,” she told PwnrBwner. “It’s his job to make his idiocy work in spite of my skepticism.”

Randy shook his head. “They’re engaging in peer review? This is incredible.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be going somewhere?” Zyra’s voice dripped venom.

“Right. Sorry.” Randy stepped back. “I’ll be right back.”

He looked up as though praying to his devs, then disappeared.

Zyra pointed her longknife at where he’d been. “For the record, I don’t like any of this.”

PwnrBwner snorted. “Whoop-ti-do. We’re not hyped out of our socks about it, either, sister, but here we are. You need some killing done, you need us.”

The hooded Reaver took a menacing step toward him, but Kaz stepped between them, facing PwnrBwner with one huge sausage finger held high in query.

“Would the esteemed hero like to try a wonderful new invention called bacon?” the Mighty Gourmet asked.

PwnrBwner shot Zyra a grin and said, “Hell yeah, the hero would.”

With a grunt of disgust, Zyra crouched and disappeared into the shadows. Smoke curled in her wake.

“Come on,” Roark said to the High Combat Cleric. He turned and headed for the Troll Nation Marketplace. “We’ll be in the smithy, Kaz.”

The Knight Thursr nodded an affirmative before hurrying off toward the inn.

“So, what’s the plan, Cheaty McCheaterson?” PwnrBwner asked as he caught up to Roark. 

“To strip him of every possible benefit he has, putting us on equal footing. But to do that, I need him here in the dungeon, where I control the terrain.” Roark paused, drumming his fingers on his leather-clad leg. “How well do you know Bad_Karma?”

The hero shrugged. “I say hey when I see him around the guild, but we’re not feeling each other up and shit.”

Roark spent a moment processing the strange adage, then nodded.

“Can you get in touch with him?”

“Like PM him? Sure, but it’d be a month before it got through. I told you, the dude’s a popularity god.” PwnrBwner shrugged. “In Hearthworld, anyway. IRL, he’s probably eight hundred pounds and so fat he can’t climb the stairs out of his parents’ basement. With the number of hours he’s spent online, there’s no way he’s got a real life.”

Roark raised an eyebrow. “Has he spent more or less time ‘online’ than you?”

“Wow.” The High Combat Cleric snorted. “It’s like you don’t have a level cap on your asshattery.”

“I’m only making an observation. Randy said I couldn’t possibly have spent this much time in Hearthworld without logging out, and from what I’ve seen you’ve been in Hearthworld most of the time that I have.”

PwnrBwner rapped his knuckles on his breastplate. “I’ve got a life, okay? A freaking amazing one with an awesome job and a hot girlfriend. I only play as a hobby. Which is pretty lucky for you, since you can’t pull this PK off without me. So, one, you’re welcome, and two, what exactly is the plan?”

As they ducked inside the Blacksmith shop and went to Roark’s anvil, the hellish heat of the forge washing over them, he explained PwnrBwner’s part in Bad_Karma’s downfall. The High Combat Cleric listened intently, piping up once with a key piece of information Roark couldn’t have gotten without him.

“That’s brilliant,” Roark said sincerely.

“Well, yeah,” PwnrBwner said. “That’s what I’m here for.”

Randy reappeared while Roark was hammering out the newest addition to his portal plates.

“Bad_Karma has everything,” the Arboreal Herald declared. “I mean, virtually everything. He’s got half a dozen different passive resistances, some crazy buffs at his disposal, and some of the rarest items in the game, which seem like they cover just about every possible contingency any player might face.” Already in the meager few seconds he’d been in the smithy, sweat cascaded down his temples and dripped into his silver eyes. He swiped it away with the back of his bracers. “And even if he doesn’t have the items equipped, he has a host of other items stowed in his Inventory—thanks to the fact that he has nearly a three-thousand-pound carrying capacity, which is borderline preposterous. And that’s not even counting his alts. Here’s a complete list.”

The Admin pulled an elaborate scroll from the air and handed it over to Roark. 

Roark grimaced as he read over the list, quickly scanning the description of each ability. 

“You weren’t joking, were you, mate?” he mumbled. “This tosser really does have just about everything under the sun. Even has water breathing equipped.” He thought back to the Boots of Water Breathing he’d earned weeks ago—the enchantment had seemed rather worthless at the time, though he’d been so hungry to increase his Enchanting, he’d learned the rather simple spell anyway. He did notice one particular point that offered a small glimmer of hope: -25% Resistance Against Normal Weapons. 

Bad_Karma, it seemed, did have a weakness after all—just not one that anyone would ever expect.

The hero was nearly immune to magical weapons and completely invulnerable to poisons of all types, but normal, run-of-the-mill steel would hurt him. In a way, it was perfect really. After all, any hero low enough to use a normal weapon would never stand a chance against a hero like Karma, and any hero or mob powerful enough to actually challenge him would never think to use an unenchanted weapon. But Roark could fill the entire dungeon with regular, yet deadly weapons at will. Yes, he could make this work, though the hours he’d have to spend in the forge were going to be nigh legendary.

A puff of smoke went up to reveal Zyra perched on the workbench, leaning back and bracing herself on her arms. “I don’t know what exactly you’re planning, Roark, but it could all be ruined if he shows up with reinforcements. Have you even thought of that?”

“Doubtful,” Roark replied, pulling a bulky plate away and inspecting his handiwork. “Bad_Karma doesn’t seem like the kind of man to share credit with anyone. It would wound his pride to ask for help of any sort. Though I have been wrong about him before, so I have a backup plan.” He tapped the plate. “That’s where this comes in,” Roark said, moving the unfinished plate to the workbench and laying it beside her hip. She didn’t scoot over to give him more room. 

“Only heroes over level 49 will be transported into the room,” she read. 

“And since he’s the only hero in Hearthworld at level 50,” Roark replied with a grin, “he’s the only one that will be able to access the room.”

“No matter who he brings as backup, they’ll pass over without being affected.” Randy’s eyes shone with admiration as he inspected the plate. “It’s genius.”

“Sure, it’s bloody brilliant considering how well your first fight with Bad_Karma went. And that was with Ick support casting on your side.” Zyra pulled a sack of coins from her Inventory and tested its weight. “I think I’ll find Kaz and see if he feels like going double or nothing. I could use a new set of Titration Pipes for my shop.”

Roark glanced up from the plate, locking on the place he was certain her purple and green eyes sat hidden in the shadows of her hood. “This is only the first step, Zyra. Like I said, I have a plan. How about you make your wager with me this time. If you win, I’ll buy you all the Titration Pipes and Alchemy equipment you desire.”

“And if that isn’t what I truly desire from you?” she asked, her dusky voice sending chills down his spine.

Roark could feel the intensity of her gaze boring into him.

“Then hope I win,” he said with a smirk.

“Oh, gag me!” PwnrBwner broke in.

Zyra perked up visibly and said over Roark’s shoulder, “Thought you’d never ask. I just invented a lovely poison called Screaming Silence that’s perfect for you. I haven’t tested it on anyone yet, but the effect is supposed to be immediate and incredibly painful.”

“Anything but more of this”—the High Combat Cleric pointed back and forth between Roark and Zyra—“whatever the crap this is.”

“All right,” Roark snapped, leaving the workbench and selecting a set of black Peerless Leather Armor, Gloves, and Boots from the armory chest in the corner. “You’re both equally annoying. Can we get on with the matter at hand?”

“Sure, if you guys can stop eye-sexting each other for a few seconds,” PwnrBwner said. He hooked a thumb at the Arboreal Herald. “You’re making Randy uncomfortable.”

Randy held up his hands, his cheeks coloring brighter red than the heat of the forge could account for. “I’m not—I mean, as long as she’s not just some preprogrammed—uh, that is… If I still thought you were a modder, I would’ve been really upset with you using her for…” He shook his head. “You know what, never mind. I’m not uncomfortable. That’s the point.”

Shaking his head, Roark turned toward the door. He would need to use the Enchanting Table in his study for the next bit of work. Before he could leave, however, a Changeling apprentice scurried in, leading Griff into the forge, followed by a bacon-bearing Kaz. 

“Aw, hells yes, it’s bacon time.” PwnrBwner went straight for the Mighty Gourmet’s proffered platter and began scarfing down the crispy rashers. He sighed in appreciation. “Damn, dude.”

Kaz beamed. “It is the most delicious meat that Kaz has learned of so far. He cannot see why Gry Feliri and Jordan Bamsey did not include whole chapters on it.”

The weapons trainer skirted around them, eyeing PwnrBwner suspiciously with his one good eye, and joined Roark at the workbench. “You were lookin’ for me, Griefer?”

Roark nodded. “I have a plan to take down Bad_Karma, but it’s going to require a lot of moving pieces to come together at once.” He pulled a portal scroll and handed it to Griff. “And I need you to go back to Frostrime. Pwnr, you know your part. Zyra, I had a question for you. Is there any chance to craft a poison that isn’t actually a poison? You mentioned earlier a substance called Clotwart, which might temporarily counteract his immunity. Instead of mixing that with a poison, would it somehow be possible to add it to a healing potion of sorts?”

The hooded Reaver froze, her body unnaturally rigid. “He’s immune to poison, but Clotwart technically isn’t a poison. It’s an additive. He’ll reject the Clotwart inside a poison, but inside a Health potion?” She shook her head. “It’s a bit of a long shot, but it’s possible. It’ll take some time, but I’ll get working on it now.” Her voice sounded sharp and deadly as a razor blade.

“Brilliant,” Roark said with a genuine smile. “Now, Randy, any chance you know how to work a forge?” 

The Herald dipped his head. “Fifteenth level Blacksmith actually, and a level 10 Enchanter.” 

“Perfect,” Roark replied. He pulled out a variety of blueprints. “Then I need you to get working immediately. I’ll need about thirty of these, and all primed for curses—so only use the best metal and the best gemstones.” 

He handed them over and headed for the door.

“Sure,” Randy said, confusion filling his face as he shuffled through the blueprints. “But what are you going to do?”

Roark stopped mid-stride.

“Me? I need to get the second floor prepped for our guest, and then I need to see a man about a Selkie.”

 

Chapter 35

Bro_Fo Bait

Scott Bayani found Bro_Fo and the poor saps his big brother Bad_Karma had paid to finish the power-leveling job in the One-Eyed Unicorn. It hadn’t taken a lot of detective work to find them; Karma and the OGs in the guild had actually made a deal a while back with the owner, and now everybody in good standing with their guild got a discount on drinks and food from the Unicorn. Not potions, though. Even Karma’s influence had its limits.

Scott scanned their little group as he walked over. Looked like TankieMcTankerson and BarryCuda the Blackguard Rogue had stuck it out so far to level 19 with the little asswipe. Mark_Proper_the_Third was long gone, proving what Scott always suspected—that Mark was the only one in that group with half a brain.

“Fancy meeting you all here,” Scott said, yanking out a chair and sitting by Tankie uninvited. “How’d that raid on the citadel go?”

BarryCuda made a fart sound and gave him a thumbs-down.

“Because these losers couldn’t keep up with me,” Bro_Fo sneered. “I lost like four levels and my Ultimate Carry Greaves.”

“I told you it transported you to a different level than us,” Tankie said, tapping her thumbnail against her beer stein. “There wasn’t any keeping up involved.”

“Okay, sure,” Bro_Fo said in that snotty little brat teenage voice that made Scott want to knock his helmet off his head.

“Hang on,” Scott said. “You guys didn’t go in the front way, did you? That’s suicide.”

Tankie glanced sidelong at him. “There’s only one way in.”

“If that’s true, then what way did I just go in?” Scott said. “Because I walked right into the final floor and fought the boss without having to go through all the teleportation and Troll cheating bullshit.”

“Sounds like you were dreaming,” Tankie said, going back to her beer.

“The hell I was. Check this shit out.” He PMed her a screenshot of himself and Roark locked in some epic-looking combat. The timestamp in the corner showed it as only three hours earlier. “I’d have hooked up with you guys earlier, but I had to wait to respawn. The dickface pulled some lame auto-targeting weapon on me at the last second.”

“Auto-targeting?” Bro_Fo leaned in.

“Yeah,” Scott said. “He’s supposed to be the dungeon boss, so he made himself a piece of badass loot to boss it with. It’s a total cheat, though. The kind of item that would automatically make like anybody the best player in Hearthworld.”

Scott watched the wheels turn in the little brat’s head. He was thinking how when a dungeon boss died, they dropped all their loot, and how a guy who had to pay people to help him power-level could go from loser to best player on the server if he just so happened to pick said overpowered loot up.

“Guys,” Bro_Fo said. “I want to go back to the Cruel Citadel. You can show us the back way in, right, Pwnr?”

“Yeah, sure, but there’s no way us three are gonna be able to kill this boss alone,” Scott said.

“I can message Yakonoclast, Frond, and Country_n_Vestern and have them meet us there. We might need… nah…” Bro_Fo shook his head, and Scott could tell he was trying to keep the party small so he wouldn’t potentially lose the auto-targeting weapon to somebody stronger than him. “No, six of you guys will have to be enough.”

“Well, all right,” Scott said, “but it has to be in the next hour or so. I’ve got to work all weekend, so I won’t be back online until Monday.”

It was almost too easy. Bro_Fo stood up, his chair scraping along the wooden floor.

“Let’s go,” he said, eyes shining with greed. He looked around their table. “Does anybody have a portal scroll?”

BarryCuda slammed his forehead down on the table.

Tankie sighed. “I do. But we’re going to need a shitton of Health potions. I’m not going back in there without a stock.”

“Like it matters,” BarryCuda said, his voice muffled against the tabletop.

Scott had to hide his smirk. Barry was right, it wouldn’t matter.

“We’ll get some on the way,” Bro_Fo snapped, his voice cracking with urgency. “Come on, move your asses or you’re not getting those five large Drake promised you.”

“Hey man, I’m not going anywhere unless I get paid up front,” Scott said. After his walkout earlier, it would be suspicious if he didn’t have any objections.

“The fuck you’re not.” Bro_Fo leaned down in Scott’s face, bracing both hands on the table. “If I tell Bad_Karma that you refused to do what I say, he’ll throw you out of the guild. Just see how much hate spam you get then. Oh yeah, and all the PvP you take from my seed followers. Hope you like respawning, loser, because it’ll be all you do in Hearthworld from now on.”

Scott’s lip curled up in a contemptuous snarl he didn’t have to fake. As if he needed another reason to hate this little shit.

“Fine,” he growled. “Whatever. It’s bullshit, but whatever. Let’s just go get your stupid Health potions so we can kill this asshole Griefer already.”

They followed him out of the tavern and through the streets to the marketplace. It took about ten minutes altogether to get everybody stocked on third-tier Health potions. Then they made their way to the fountain court, already lit up with shimmering violet portals. The other three members of their party met them on the eastern side of the fountain, where the spray reached the farthest because of the breeze. 

Scott could feel the misting droplets speckling his cheeks, cool and comforting. This was about to be very, very fun.

If Mark_Proper_the_Third had been with them, Scott might’ve almost felt bad about leading them into the trap because Mark was a good guy and he’d gone along with the first raid on the Cruel Citadel when Scott had been out for Roark’s blood. But when Scott had sent the notice out for guild members to help him crush the Griefer, Karma had done a hard pass and jerkwad sycophants like Tankie and BarryCuda had passed, too, because suddenly a good ol’ fashioned dungeon raid wasn’t cool enough anymore. If Karma had gone—or any of his high-level hangers-on—Scott could’ve slapped Roark down.

Well, in about thirty minutes, they could all suck on it. Karma most of all, but definitely Tankie and BarryCuda, too.

“Everybody ready?” Tankie asked.

BarryCuda pulled his weapons and shook his head.

“Popping off.” Tankie cast the portal scroll, adding another tear in space to the several existing ones scattered all around them. She stood back and indicated the violet shimmer with both hands, like one of those prize ladies from that old game, except in heavy plate mail rather than a skintight evening dress.

Bro_Fo jumped through first, and Scott followed close behind, pretending to want to protect him and make back that five-G paycheck he’d forfeited when he left them the first time.

Cold air rushed around them, ruffling their hair and chilling them pleasantly. Scott stepped out of the portal and into the graveyard along the west wall of the Cruel Citadel’s aboveground ruins. [Shambling Revenants] roved between the tombstones, moaning low in their throats while Scott grabbed his Unique Mace of Elemental Culmination and went to work. Blue lightning arced between its razor-sharp flanges as he put down Shambling Revenant after Shambling Revenant. The Griefer hadn’t mentioned slaughtering a graveyard full of low-level mobs, but Scott didn’t mind making the judgment call himself.

One by one, the rest of the raid team filtered through the portal and joined the fight. Pretty soon, they had killed everything in the graveyard.

“Come on, it’s this way,” Scott said, leading them to the yawning mouth of a mausoleum. Its stone door had been knocked off its hinges sometime in the distant past, way back when the devs were still building the place from the one-zero up.

Bro_Fo kept right on his heels the whole way, even as Scott ducked into the near pitch-black darkness of the mausoleum.

“Yep, this is it,” Scott said, pretending to reach for something on the wall, just in case that little shit had dark vision or something.

Click!

“What the hell?” A torch appeared in Bro_Fo’s right hand as he tugged at the metal collar around his throat with his left. “Is this some kind of trap?”

“Yeah,” Scott said. “Duh.”

As he said it, Bro_Fo pulled his Fulgurite Sword and tried to rush Scott. But the collar yanked him back, sitting him down on the dust and cobweb-covered floor with a thud.

“That’s not going to work, mate,” Roark the Griefer said, appearing as Randy dropped the concealment. He held up the Lightning Rod. “For as long as you’ve got that collar on, this decides where you go, and right now the answer is ‘not far.’”

“It’s a trap!” Bro_Fo bellowed out the door for his hired guild mercs. “Kill everybody, guys! Strafe this place!”

Shouts and the sound of combat filtered in from outside. Lights flashed fire-orange, ice-blue, and a nasty yellow as spells were cast. Then, just as fast as it had started, everything went silent.

That Troll assassin hottie came into the mausoleum followed by a horde of big ugly tank Trolls and little scrawny spell caster types. She dropped an armload of severed heads on the floor. Yakonoclast, Tankie, Frond, Country_n_Vestern, and BarryCuda. They rolled right up to Bro_Fo’s feet. He eeped and jumped back a step before the collar jerked him back.

“How you like my new guild, assface?” Scott could feel the big, shit-eating grin as it stretched across his face. “Now, let’s talk about who you can call to actually get you out of this mess.”

Chapter 36

Karma’s a Bitch

“All right, kiddies,” Drake Carmichael, aka Bad_Karma, said as he waded through the tidal slime of Bloodleech Grotto. “We’re out here on the northeastern coast of Hearthworld, about five klicks outside of Wargentine Shores, about to go after the”—he checked his active quests for the name—“Ancient Claddagh of the Fleeing Light. It’s supposed to be with some deeb named Ishri the Cunning. One assumes ol’ Ishri’s the chief of this lovely abode, and there’s a whole storyline about him once being a man whose beloved committed suicide. It’s all very Romeo and Juliet, but you peeps can look that up in the WikiLore on your own time if you’re into backstory. Me, I’m into one-shotting some bosses.”

Down in the corner of his HUD, Drake could check the number of viewers watching his livestream via seedFeed. He glanced at it surreptitiously as he ducked under a stalactite glowing green with Filthy Nitre. Ticking up over twelve thousand. Not even close to the number of followers he had, but give the diehards a minute to get the notification that he was live and his numbers would soar.

Even as he thought this, the ones column started reeling, then the tens and hundreds, driving to twenty thousand at a headlong rush. They rounded a hundred grand a few seconds later. Drake grinned. He was soloing tonight, like he did every Thursday, and his fans loved that. If he didn’t hit a solid mil before he logged off, he’d eat his Lifeblood Billhooked Polearm. Heck, give it another five minutes and his followers would probably crash the feed like they did last month when he hit up that world-first new release Rogs of the Great Plains expansion pack dungeon.

“It’s Thursday night, kiddies, and you know what that means,” Drake said, giving his polearm a twirl. “Karma’s going solo. That’s right, nobody but you, me, and What’s-His-Nuts, the bloodleech guy. Ishri.”

He paused at the mouth of an open room. Inside a trio of low-level [Face Suckers] were waiting for a player to come in and draw their aggro.

“Looks like we’ve got mobs up ahead. Nothing too big yet. What’d’ya say we just wade right in there and—”

The Live Call ping sounded in his ear and a little thumbnail of Darren’s face appeared in the upper right corner of Drake’s vision along with the tag [Bro_Fo]. The smile froze on Drake’s face. That little dickbrain! He knew Drake was livestreaming right now. He was totally trying to mooch off Bad_Karma’s viewers, again.

Darren was only two years younger than Drake, but the little wad was always copying him and following him around. He’d even followed Drake into Hearthworld and set up his whole gaming account because he couldn’t be bothered to find a personality of his own.

He should hang up on Darren and teach him a hard lesson. But… on the other hand… if Darren had found something really, supremely cool or rare, Bad_Karma’s viewers would go apeshit over that. He really should check just to rule it out.

Drake selected the thumbnail, and it jumped up to cover half his screen.

“What’s up, you crazy Bro_Fo?” he asked with false good cheer.

But Darren wasn’t tricked out in his coolest gear and ready for his closeup. He was scowling into the camera in some half-lit stone room, arms crossed over a Threadbare Shirt.

“Dude, I got jumped by that a-hole from your guild, PwnrBwner, and some jerk Troll named Roark the Griefer who says he fought you in the arena yesterday. These assholes are working together apparently. I would’ve killed ’em both, but they snuck up behind me, took out my party, and locked me into this weird respawn-binding necklace.” Darren thumbed a metal band sitting just under his angled Adam’s apple. “So, I guess this is a hostage situation.”

Down in the viewer corner of the HUD, the numbers were spinning like crazy. Word must be spreading that Bad_Karma’s little bro had gotten himself kidnapped.

Drake squinted into his own camera. “What do they want?”

“This Troll is the one who died like a little bitch when you laid the smackdown on him, remember?”

“Yeah.”

From somewhere off camera, Drake heard a grating laugh. “You did die like a little bitch. I saw the replay footage over on the Highlights board.”

“Get stuffed, mate,” an accented voice replied.

Onscreen, Darren said, “He wants a rematch with you. One on one. And he wants you to stream it for everyone to see. They said if you don’t come face him, they’ll start griefing my main, and I can’t get away because of this stupid freaking bind necklace—it’s some kinda bullshit mod thing, I guess.” That whine that drove Drake crazy was starting to creep into his brother’s voice. “So you coming or what?”

As soon as Darren asked, Drake’s viewer numbers slowed to a crawl. They stopped right at 999,999.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Drake said under his breath. It was like they were waiting for him to answer. In his private mode, he flashed over to the H-boards real quick. The whole place was lit up with posts like “KARMA VS GRIEFER ROUND 2 ZOMGGGG!!!!” and “Get around @Bad_Karma’s livestream rtfn! He’s going after the modder!”

This could put him through the roof on followers. And truth be told, he was more than a little cheesed off that somebody would have the balls to go after his little brother—the little brother of the best player on the whole freaking server. It was like… disrespectful or some crap.

“Karma?” Darren whined.

“Yeah,” Drake said, glaring. “Yeah, bro, I’m coming. You tell that Troll to listen up. Can you hear me, Griefer?” He pointed his finger at where he thought the middle of the camera was for maximum dramatic effect. “You best beware, buddy-boy, because in Hearthworld, Karma ain’t a bitch. In Hearthworld, you’re Karma’s bitch.”