Level Up: The blurb
Desmond wants more than anything to get out of his shop, the Cavalonne Armory, and explore the world—to see what more is out there. But he can’t. Because his character is limited to simply walking around his shop behind the counter. Also, he only has three dialogue options. But when Lyrin, the Kingdom Hero notorious for leaving quests unanswered and looting citizens for gold, accidentally spills an intelligence booster on Desmond, the mind-prison that binds him to his shop disappears. And Desmond accidentally kills Lyrin.
Determined to be a better hero than Lyrin, he begins taking up the many unanswered quests on the town notice board that Lyrin left untouched. It’s not long before Lyrin respawns and returns to Cavalonne to exact his revenge, and when he does, he destroys Desmond’s shop—his respawn point. Without it, Desmond can’t come back if he’s killed. And he’s lost count of how many times he’s already died in his life.
Just barely escaping Lyrin’s revenge, Desmond finds another quest that Lyrin refused to complete, and as he accepts it, the earth rips apart in a cataclysmic rift. Mogrim the Terrible, King of Dragons, is on the verge of resurrection, and the world is splitting apart because of it. Desmond bands together with Eleanor, the blacksmith’s daughter, and they follow the quest to stop the return of Mogrim the Terrible, breaking the mind-prisons of everyone they can along the way. It might not be enough, though, for Desmond and his party are about to be double-crossed. And if they fail to stop Mogrim from returning, the world will be destroyed in a final cataclysm and the dragon will reign in terror over any who survives.
Determined to be a better hero than Lyrin, he begins taking up the many unanswered quests on the town notice board that Lyrin left untouched. It’s not long before Lyrin respawns and returns to Cavalonne to exact his revenge, and when he does, he destroys Desmond’s shop—his respawn point. Without it, Desmond can’t come back if he’s killed. And he’s lost count of how many times he’s already died in his life.
Just barely escaping Lyrin’s revenge, Desmond finds another quest that Lyrin refused to complete, and as he accepts it, the earth rips apart in a cataclysmic rift. Mogrim the Terrible, King of Dragons, is on the verge of resurrection, and the world is splitting apart because of it. Desmond bands together with Eleanor, the blacksmith’s daughter, and they follow the quest to stop the return of Mogrim the Terrible, breaking the mind-prisons of everyone they can along the way. It might not be enough, though, for Desmond and his party are about to be double-crossed. And if they fail to stop Mogrim from returning, the world will be destroyed in a final cataclysm and the dragon will reign in terror over any who survives.
Level Up: Sample chapter
Every kingdom needs a hero.
Lyrin was ours.
Lyrin was ours.
I backed against the far wall as Lyrin, the hero of High Tower, arced the Fabled Sword over his head and smashed it into one of three pots in my shop.
The pot burst, and a gold coin clinked on the ground.
Lyrin added it to his pack.
I wanted to tell him to stop—stop smashing my pots—stop invading my home!
He only ever visited my shop to rob me or sell me another dozen wolf pelts.
I didn’t even need wolf pelts. Yet . . . I somehow continued to pay eleven gold coins for each new pelt he offered me—coins that only appeared in my inventory the moment he sold me one.
Gold was weird that way.
Lyrin smashed another pot.
No coins.
I tried to ask him not to rob me like he had so many times before. But when I opened my mouth, “How can I help you today?” came out instead.
Lyrin ignored me.
I tried again.
“Welcome to the Cavalonne armory.”
Say it! I yelled inside my head. Tell him he’s no kingdom hero. He’s a thief. And a bully.
But ordinary shopkeeper’s assistants like me only had three speech options.
“Can I interest you in arrows, bombs, or a small shield?” I said, exhausting the last of my dialogue.
It wasn’t enough. Lyrin ignored me.
He usually came to my shop when his health was nearly empty, and he needed quick gold to buy a few hearts. If only I could carry one of the shields I sold, maybe then he wouldn’t try to rob me. Perhaps he’d be afraid that I’d somehow extinguish the half-heart blinking above his head. Lyrin wouldn’t risk fighting Brawler Wolves with only half a heart after all . . . only helpless shopkeepers.
I watched the one remaining pot—begging it to hold two coins. There were only ever three coins in my shop at a given time. They were either in the pots, in my pocket, or both.
I never knew which.
And neither did Lyrin.
Please. Just leave me alone, I tried to say. “How can I help you today?” I said instead.
Lyrin smashed my last pot.
I listened for the clinking of two gold coins. But only one hit the ground as the pot shards blinked and disappeared.
He added the coin to his pack and turned around.
In that moment, we both knew the third and final coin was in my pocket.
He looked at me and raised the Fabled Sword.
I wanted to run. Run away from my shop. Run away from the town. Run away from Lyrin.
But I was a shopkeeper’s assistant. I could walk around my shop and around the counter. Nowhere else.
Lyrin approached.
I walked as fast as my 0-dexterity shopkeeper’s assistant legs would allow.
But he moved farther in two strides than I did in ten.
Worthless legs . . . I thought to myself. Move faster.
I hated dying. It was incredibly annoying. It felt different from time to time, but usually, it was like being stuffed into a too-small barrel and rolled down a bumpy hill. It was disorienting, jarring, and nauseating. And each time I respawned after a death, three things happened: first, my head pounded with a headache that felt like broken rocks were rattling around inside it. Second, my vision wobbled as if I were still rolling down that hill in my barrel. And third, my stomach felt like it was filled with wriggling snakes, and all I wanted to do was hunch over and puke.
But shopkeeper’s assistants don’t get to puke. Or even hunch over.
Nope.
Instead, I just had to stand there like nothing bad ever even happened while smiling at the jerk who’d just killed me and welcoming him—once again—to my shop.
Dying was the worst.
But with nowhere else to run, I faced the Fabled Sword as it swept through my chest.
Ouch.
My half-heart disappeared, and the nausea crumpled my stomach into a wad almost immediately.
Then came the headache.
And then the bouncy, spinney vision.
I tried to cry out, but I was frozen in place—unable to speak, move, or even blink. Apparently, tortured wailing wasn’t part of my restricted shopkeeper’s assistant dialogue.
Maybe if I could scream or cry, or curse, or something, the kingdom hero might think twice at what he kept doing to me. But a Non-Hero-Non-Quest-Non-Dialogue Character like myself was apparently just another pot on the wall.
I blinked once.
Twice.
A third time.
I never even heard the gold coin from my pocket touch the ground. And then I was gone.
The pot burst, and a gold coin clinked on the ground.
Lyrin added it to his pack.
I wanted to tell him to stop—stop smashing my pots—stop invading my home!
He only ever visited my shop to rob me or sell me another dozen wolf pelts.
I didn’t even need wolf pelts. Yet . . . I somehow continued to pay eleven gold coins for each new pelt he offered me—coins that only appeared in my inventory the moment he sold me one.
Gold was weird that way.
Lyrin smashed another pot.
No coins.
I tried to ask him not to rob me like he had so many times before. But when I opened my mouth, “How can I help you today?” came out instead.
Lyrin ignored me.
I tried again.
“Welcome to the Cavalonne armory.”
Say it! I yelled inside my head. Tell him he’s no kingdom hero. He’s a thief. And a bully.
But ordinary shopkeeper’s assistants like me only had three speech options.
“Can I interest you in arrows, bombs, or a small shield?” I said, exhausting the last of my dialogue.
It wasn’t enough. Lyrin ignored me.
He usually came to my shop when his health was nearly empty, and he needed quick gold to buy a few hearts. If only I could carry one of the shields I sold, maybe then he wouldn’t try to rob me. Perhaps he’d be afraid that I’d somehow extinguish the half-heart blinking above his head. Lyrin wouldn’t risk fighting Brawler Wolves with only half a heart after all . . . only helpless shopkeepers.
I watched the one remaining pot—begging it to hold two coins. There were only ever three coins in my shop at a given time. They were either in the pots, in my pocket, or both.
I never knew which.
And neither did Lyrin.
Please. Just leave me alone, I tried to say. “How can I help you today?” I said instead.
Lyrin smashed my last pot.
I listened for the clinking of two gold coins. But only one hit the ground as the pot shards blinked and disappeared.
He added the coin to his pack and turned around.
In that moment, we both knew the third and final coin was in my pocket.
He looked at me and raised the Fabled Sword.
I wanted to run. Run away from my shop. Run away from the town. Run away from Lyrin.
But I was a shopkeeper’s assistant. I could walk around my shop and around the counter. Nowhere else.
Lyrin approached.
I walked as fast as my 0-dexterity shopkeeper’s assistant legs would allow.
But he moved farther in two strides than I did in ten.
Worthless legs . . . I thought to myself. Move faster.
I hated dying. It was incredibly annoying. It felt different from time to time, but usually, it was like being stuffed into a too-small barrel and rolled down a bumpy hill. It was disorienting, jarring, and nauseating. And each time I respawned after a death, three things happened: first, my head pounded with a headache that felt like broken rocks were rattling around inside it. Second, my vision wobbled as if I were still rolling down that hill in my barrel. And third, my stomach felt like it was filled with wriggling snakes, and all I wanted to do was hunch over and puke.
But shopkeeper’s assistants don’t get to puke. Or even hunch over.
Nope.
Instead, I just had to stand there like nothing bad ever even happened while smiling at the jerk who’d just killed me and welcoming him—once again—to my shop.
Dying was the worst.
But with nowhere else to run, I faced the Fabled Sword as it swept through my chest.
Ouch.
My half-heart disappeared, and the nausea crumpled my stomach into a wad almost immediately.
Then came the headache.
And then the bouncy, spinney vision.
I tried to cry out, but I was frozen in place—unable to speak, move, or even blink. Apparently, tortured wailing wasn’t part of my restricted shopkeeper’s assistant dialogue.
Maybe if I could scream or cry, or curse, or something, the kingdom hero might think twice at what he kept doing to me. But a Non-Hero-Non-Quest-Non-Dialogue Character like myself was apparently just another pot on the wall.
I blinked once.
Twice.
A third time.
I never even heard the gold coin from my pocket touch the ground. And then I was gone.