Curselock: A Cursed LITRPG Adventure

Far from Leland, Glenny, and Carmon, Aunty P. stared blankly into a flickering fireplace. A look of worry crossed her brow and lacking posture, enough to make those in the room with her feel secure. If they knew her true feelings, then there would be little doubt in their eyes – she was as heartless as the rumors suggested.

In her hand she sipped from a porcelain cup, but even that was superficial. It was a mimed gesture, a façade to control the lacking minds sitting around her. In truth, Aunty P. hardly even noticed wetting her lips with fortified spiced wine, it simply wasn’t important.

The others most likely thought she was alone with her mind, worrying about her niece. But that simply was not true. No, Aunty P. knew exactly what was happening with Sybil and the Boneforged Monarch. In fact, everything was going just as planned, minus a few hiccups.

Spencer being beaten so quickly was the worst of it. The Witch, the Pathway Legacy, was far grander of an enemy than the intelligence exposed. But then again, attacking was always easier than defending. Luckily Spencer wasn’t fully beaten, he still had a way back into the game. But with his wife out of commission, he was splitting his attention between her unconscious body and the true prize.

Luckily his son was still near, which prompted him to work instead of crumbling completely.

Roy and Diana had sold their parts well, but with Spencer’s failure, Roy was taken out of the fight far too fast, which in turn removed Diana just as quickly. Luckily Spencer was able to collect the Berserker Legacy. Diana was, after all, a great ally to have. It would have been a shame if the rot ended her life today.

Aunty P. looked over at the bed holding the armless Diana – well, that wasn’t accurate. She didn’t actually look, she didn’t even move her head. A Legacy ability, one Aunty P. despised using for the fact it created long lasting headaches, was what allowed her to see. She could see anywhere within her sphere of influence, allowing her to keep tabs on all those she commanded.

Diana would heal, it would take time and plenty of rehabilitation. Rot did that, it was diabolical magic. The missing arm was, oddly enough, far easier to fix. Of course it would have to be back at the capital with the Inquisitor healers, but she would survive a few weeks without an arm.

Aunty P. moved her “eyes” just a bit, finding Lucia on the next cot over. Preliminary reports revealed that she had broken nearly every bone in her body falling from such a height. Such was the way of fliers, the risk of falling was always present. Aunty P. found the manner in which Lucia fell amazing.

Being shot out of the air was one thing, being shot out of the air because her own attack was redirected was another. Still, Aunty P. had to give her credit. She was the only one to have seen the Witch with her own eyes.

Lastly there was Jude, bound in ghostly chains thanks to Harlen. Unconscious, but not because he was injured, but because he was a danger to himself. Rage was a terrible double edged sword, but luckily Spencer was able to remove him from the battle before the worst could happen. Roy and Diana would have been quite distraught, possibly would have even resigned from the Inquisitors, if their son had died.

Thinking of Roy, Aunty P. changed her “sight” to the shield user. Trapped in a basement nine streets over from where Sybil initially entered the Reflection ruins, Roy was bound in enough wards and runes to contain a true monster.

Just who were they preparing for? Aunty P. asked herself before thinking about the best course of action. Did she tell Spencer Roy’s whereabouts? Or did she allow Spencer to curse himself? The former would bring Roy back into the battle, but the latter would make Spencer work harder to fix his mistake.

Aunty P. decided to maintain her silence.

Far from the royal campus where she sat mindlessly sipping wine and staring into a fire pit, Aunty P. watched Sybil and the Boneforged Monarch Converge. It was a beautiful sight, one that marked a future just as amazing for the Palemarrow Kingdom. She fell into herself, cheering silently while bathing in the Lordly power radiating from her niece. So much so that she almost missed what Leland and the Harbinger were discussing.

What the Harbinger and Witch wanted was less than important. Defending their attempts to interfere with the ritual was superficial at best. Another façade, but this time for all of the Palemarrow citizens. Who didn’t love a good story in which evil failed and the royal family triumphed?

Even if the Witch was somehow able to kidnap Sybil again, Aunty P. had a bead on her niece and would never allow her to exit her sight. Unless the Witch had the power to move Sybil halfway across the world, that was. But that level of power was just preposterous. No teleportation magic, barring a godly threshold, could move living beings such a distance.

The Harbinger was similarly inconsequential. Even if the Boneforged Monarch entertained the idea of communicating with someone other than a Palemarrow, it was hardly the Palemarrow’s responsibility to deal with the Undying Army. If the Undying Lord, and subsequently his army, were freed, that would be a true divine matter to fix.

So the only true danger was if the Harbinger or Witch decided to simply kill Sybil. It would be incredibly foolish, but such was the way of those branded by social limitations. Fools, Harbingers, Witches, each yearned for more power or influence, but all were easily killed at the end of the day. Especially when a Lord was directly involved.

The Boneforged Monarch would utterly obliterate either the Witch or Harbinger if they so much as thought of killing Sybil.

…that was, until Leland changed the field of play.

“My name is Leland, and I am a Harbinger of the Calamity.”

Aunty P. heard the words from far, far away. They cut into her ears like a traitor dismantling years of planning. She knew the boy hid some secret, but being a Harbinger? That simply was not expected.

The tattoo, a crow… was it an illusion? Aunty P. had long identified all Vile Lords and their marks, memorizing each swirl of ink or characterized Legacy.

She “looked” at Harlen, who was floating silently next to Jude. The King of the Reflections had spoken to Leland in an almost awe inspired manner when he and Leland first met. What did he call the boy? “Son of the Calamity?” A title she had never heard, not in any meaningful way, at least.

For a moment Aunty P. hesitated. How to proceed? The question was like hot lead on a feather pillow. Sybil was suddenly in much more danger, or at least, much more unforeseen danger. As was Lucia and Spencer. She still needed Spencer, but that ship might be about to sail for his cooperation.

Aunty P. knew what she needed to do. Pragmatically, at least. Sybil came first, the Palemarrow Kingdom came first.

She removed a small device from her pocket, a small rock that looked like nothing more than a stone picked from the bank of a pond. The enchantments encrusted into it were incredibly small, nigh invisible. It was a safety measure, one meant to provide deniability if it ever fell into the wrong hands.

All Inquisitors had one when working with a Crown family member, allowing for one-way communication at any distance.

Aunty P. held the rock to her lips, whispering her command, “Kill Leland Silver, retrieve Carmon Red.”

Isobel, better known as the “Huntress,” sat atop a bell tower, watching the battle rage below. Her orders were quaint, especially for her prowess in defeating enemies far more powerful than the average adventurer. She was a hunter, one that preyed on those foolish enough to think themselves unkillable.

But her orders were absolute, to “sit and observe.” Even as people were dying, she wasn’t allowed to help. At first, Isobel thought of disobeying and helping evacuate… but then three boys stuck around, and for some reason it felt more prudent to watch over them.

Lucia was gone first, then Roy, then Diana. Spencer’s magical presence had disappeared as well, but for some reason Leland and Glenny didn’t leave when they had the chance.

Whatever heroic notion Leland and Glenny were blinding themselves with pushed their inexperienced weak bodies into the fray, to a point that Isobel thought she couldn’t rescue them. It surprised her when Leland started talking to the Harbinger, but then again, he was the smart one and probably saw that his chances of surviving were near impossible. At least, not if he were to try to fight his way out.

Reasoning with a Harbinger was sure to fail, however, or at least Isobel thought. But it was a few short words that made the Harbinger stop dead in his tracks.

“My name is Leland, and I am a Harbinger of the Calamity.”

And then Isobel saw it. The purple halo that hung above Leland’s head. The same ring of magic, albeit a different color, as the ring above the Harbinger’s head.

Bits and pieces snapped into place, events from Shoutwell and Liontrunk suddenly became far more clear. Isobel cursed at herself when she realized just what had happened in that mountain village near Frostford. It was a battle between two Harbingers, the Toy Maker and Leland. But… then again, the Lord of Nature’s Champion worked with Leland. They cleared a nest of vile-touched scorpions.

Isobel groaned. Leland had been an enemy all along— she defended him to the High Inquisitor. How foolish could she have been? How—

In her pocket, a small indiscriminate rock heated up like a stove in winter. She quickly scrambled to hear the orders it contained, hoisting it to her ear.

“Kill Leland Silver, retrieve Carmon Red.”

That put an end to all of Isobel’s thoughts. For a short instant, she was lost. Orders, Inquisitors, the murder of a young man, just a boy really, in front of one of his best friends, and his parents who were no doubt scrambling to rescue him.

That didn’t sit right.

Even if he was a Harbinger.

Mechanically, she tapped the rock in a pattern signaling “orders received,” then she paused. From her vantage point, the air was much colder than that of the streets below. She was bundled up quite well, though, her old ratty cloak proving to be quite the article of warmth.

Her hand let go of the rock, allowing it to fall to the rooftops below. For a moment she petted the matted fabric of what was once a full-on coat. What was once a gift from her loved ones, one of the few things left from when her family was alive.

Her eyes traced the falling rock’s flight, identifying the spot where it came to rest. As she looked away, back to Leland and Glenny trapped under a dome about to break, the rock fell out of her memory.

She leaped, hurdling herself through the air.