House Rules: a LitRPG novel: Metagamer Chronicles, #2

By Xavier P. Hunter

Games were made to be broken.

Gary Burns has been kidnapped, thrown in a dungeon, and tortured for information. Worst of all, he's been separated from his friends, so no one even knows where to look for him. Cut off from his support network, Gary uses the only tools at his disposal: a silver tongue and an insider's knowledge of the game world that's second to none.

With a makeshift party of former foes, Gary must not only escape his captor but plan for payback. Because nothing passes the time in a dank, lightless prison cell like plotting revenge. And when your adversary is a centuries-old lich with the might of an army at his disposal, death is a starting point, not a victory.

House Rules puts the RPG into LitRPG, taking the ever-growing GameLit genre back to its tabletop roots. If you miss the rattle of dice and gaming at a table with your friends, the Metagamer Chronicles are what you've been craving. Fans of Dungeons and Dragons and old TSR novels will love House Rules.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Magical Scrivener Press
• Release date: Jul 21, 2018
• ISBN: 9781643550015

Book preview

1

Gary gasped as the universe spat him out in a dank, torch-lit dungeon.

Fuck yeah, Zane exclaimed. Love that shit. He clapped Gary on the back jovially. One of these days, I’ll be able to cast that myself.

This was too much, too quick. Just a moment ago, Zane had been hinting that he was aware of the real world. Then next, he took a hard heel turn and swooped in with…

Teleportation item. Charged. Single-use. No… no true teleportation in this world. Must have been a Recall spell, a one-way return trip.

It must have been a gift from the mysterious master he’d mentioned. Someone was more aware of the barrier between worlds than was healthy for a dispossessed overgod. Gary suspected that it wasn’t Veritex who’d blabbed about it. He was the god of Justice and Truth, not gossip or selling out secrets for gold.

What’ve you done? Gary demanded. Even if he had a rough sketch, it never hurt to hear the excuses and the cover story. Fingering the neck of his guitar, he wondered if he could charm Zane before the wizard called for help or managed to stop him personally.

Then again, as a wizard, Zane probably had a strong Will defense. Gary smirked at the idea of his friend having real willpower. This was the same guy who gave money to every homeless person who asked and had helped move more couches than anyone without a pickup truck ever should.

You think this is a joke? Zane asked. Haha. Kidnapped you and threw you in a dungeon to be tortured for information about an alternate dimension. Real knee-slapper.

Gary’s insides squirmed. Tortured? Suddenly, the idea of Zane being one of the bad guys hardened like concrete in his mind. He backed away, not caring which direction down the corridor was the exit. All he needed was separation. He’d rely on charm and magic to get him past whoever he ran into.

When Zane snapped his fingers, two armored figures rounded the corner and headed for him. He’d have to force or trick his way past if he wanted to escape in that direction.

Slinging his guitar around as he hustled, Gary strummed the first notes of John Lennon’s Imagine. He couldn’t imagine a better vehicle for all getting along, living and letting live.

He saw the ghostly dice roll overlaid atop his vision.

d20: 8 + (Music +10) + (Guitar +2) = 20

Fascinate: Test Willpower against Music check

The armored figures didn’t slow. Gary cursed his luck that both would resist.

Then he noticed something.

The armor was ill fitting in the extreme. Plates hung at odd angles. Their gate was unnatural. Helmets cocked awkwardly. It was almost as if a pair of armor racks had been sent to track him down and dragged their armor with them.

Blunt damage only, Zane ordered.

Gary considered stopping, turning around, and taking his chances with Zane. Unfortunately, there was only the option of fighting one of his best friends. Just as Marty and Darryl retained some semblance of their Earthly selves even in character, so did Zane. Could Gary bring himself to fight Zane with the ferocity he might need to prevail?

Probably not, he was forced to admit.

Instead, Gary put his head down and made a break for it. Whatever was inside those suits of armor was going to have to grapple him or subdue him if they wanted to prevent his escape.

Gauntleted hands drew broadswords in eerie unison. Gary could only hope that they took Zane’s order as a cue to use the flats of the blades.

Shielding his head with both arms as he attempted to bull past the suits of armor, Gary knew that there was no game rule at work to make the gesture meaningful in any statistical way. Hit points were hit points, but he’d rather lose them from his forearms than be spitting out teeth on the dungeon floor.

A rattle of macabre wooden wind chimes sounded from within the armor as the two skeletal knights swung their weapons. Gary realized at that moment why his charm had failed to take effect.

He was a bard combating mindless undead.

Damage Taken: 6 (blunt)

Damage Taken: 8 (blunt)

Gary stumbled but plowed past. God, with his horrible Constitution score, 14 points of damage had to have been most of his total. Still, he had movement left after the readied attack and kept going, rounding a corner…

Only to find another squad of four more of the skeletons waiting for him, weapons already drawn.

Zane approached from behind as Gary skidded to a halt, knowing his armor was no worthy gamble on escape. You should have bargained, Gary. Your bardic tricks only work on the weak-minded. The strong-willed and the mindless are all you’ll find around here. Duke Althius doesn’t suffer fools.

The undead minions closed in slowly, inexorably, weapons at the ready.

Zane, you don’t have to—

My name is Aster Hellcrack! Duke Althius may not normally suffer fools, but today he’s making an exception for you.

The armored skeletons closed in. Gary was out of time.

Damage Taken: 5 (blunt)

And that was all for Gary’s hit point total.

In the final split second, he did a flash of arithmetic.

Less than 19 total hit points. I am such shit for a 6th level character…

2

When Gary regained consciousness, he was dressed in his own clothes, minus footwear. That was where the good news ended.

The stone-walled cell was dark and cold, the only illumination coming from torches whose flickering light carried down the hall beyond the bars. He was hungry, thirsty, felt like he’d been on the bumper cars without a vehicle, and was a prisoner of an upper-tier villain who wasn’t part of the main campaign.

I panicked, he muttered. Got used to being a bard. Should have nuked those skellies.

Even as he told himself that, there was no guarantee he’d have gotten far with that approach. His Thunderstrike could manage 4d6+2 lightning damage. If those weren’t stock skeletons—and Duke Althius likely wouldn’t have assigned fodder to a dungeon for high-value prisoners—he was unlikely to one-shot any of them.

With just two spells in his arsenal—and Sonic Boom being better suited to stunning, also useless against undead—his options for fighting his way out were limited.

But for the time being, at least, his magecraft was his own secret. His friends thought he was single-classed as a bard, and now Zane believed that as well—or at least Aster believed it. Whether there was a Zane beneath that Aster remained to be seen.

The torchlight flickered. A cold wind brought a shiver that shook Gary to his soul. A scuffling of lifeless, booted feet had Gary scurrying for the deepest shadow of his barren cell. There wasn’t even a cot to hide beneath. The room’s only furnishings—if they could even be called that—were iron sconces for chaining prisoners to various walls or the ceiling. There was no place to hide.

Gary knew him in an instant. Duke Althius matched his description to the letter. He was tall and gaunt, entirely skeletal except for a few flaps of stray skin hanging from his skull. The blue flares within his otherwise empty eye sockets fixed on Gary as he stopped on the far side of the bars. The lich’s attire suited his noble station, fine cut and of current style. Gary knew the duke’s crest without having light to make it out; he’d sketched the skeletal hand inscribed with a stack of gold coins in his campaign notebook.

Greetings, prisoner, Duke Althius intoned, his voice hollow and toneless. He sounded as if someone had put a speaker at the bottom of a well. I am—

Duke Althius of Abrax, Gary blurted past his fear. If he had any hope here, he had to match wits with this creature. If he could intimidate a dragon with knowledge he couldn’t possibly possess, maybe the same tactic could work on this undead abomination as well. Yeah. I know all about you.

Do you, now? Duke Althius asked in reply. Gary had been wrong. The voice wasn’t toneless. The lich managed to convey a rising note of amusement. How wonderful. They say it takes a man a lifetime to know himself. I’ve had several, and I still find certain aspects a puzzle. You will answer questions I’ve had for longer than I care to contemplate.

This whole universe is a sham, Gary replied. You’re a scrap of notebook paper—two actually. You should feel honored. You spilled onto a second sheet because of your spell list. But that’s all you are. You’re a figment of my overactive imagination and obsessive record-keeping.

Incredible, Duke Althius replied with a bemused shake of his skeletal head. Aster has outdone himself. You’re going to be a font of information. If you so choose, you may take his place as my second in command as I conquer the world.

Gary scoffed. Right. Classic villain move. Pit the underlings against one another.

The lich’s laughter echoed as he threw his head back. You underestimate me. I would never give up Aster’s assistance. You would merely surpass him. The young wizard is clever and wise beyond his paltry years—

You obviously don’t know him that well.

But he can’t compete with the divine knowledge in that head of yours. He understands his place. King of a quarter of the world… I think our Aster can content himself with the leavings. As for you, I will be asking a vast number of questions.

The answer is fuck off, Gary replied bravely. He’d probably been hit a few too many times in the head to think clearly. Why wasn’t he just agreeing to help take over the world? With the lich’s backing, it sounded plausible. Better an ally to evil than a martyr for the good guys.

The lich grabbed the bars of the cell in both hands. Oh, I could get you to say anything I like. You’d tell me everything as one of my undead puppets.

Gary’s stomach clenched.

But Aster suggested that your situation may be unique. I was forced to agree with his logic. Your divine link would likely be destroyed if your life ended.

Then we’re at an impasse. Let me go, and maybe I’ll give you something worth your while.

The lich chuckled. I am in no rush. Here’s what you may expect from my hospitality. Beginning tomorrow, your bones will be broken daily. The minions assigned to perform the task will not respond to you in any way; they will be unthinking machines enacting my will. You will be left limp and in agony on that very floor. At dusk, one of my thinking minions will return to heal you so you may rest the night. You may eat anything that wanders into your cell—rats and spiders seem commonplace—and rainwater leaks in.

You think that’ll get me to talk? Gary demanded. Hell, suggesting it was probably enough to get him to talk. What could he give the lich that truly mattered? Wasn’t all of Pellar just a lark? Wasn’t it imaginary?

And yet, Gary had been here for months with no sign of going back.

Duke Althius chuckled. I don’t plan on asking any questions. In fact, I don’t expect we’ll be seeing one another for quite some time. In a month or two, I may inquire as to your progress. You’re young, human. You have decades left to suffer before I need to worry about your life ending accidentally through age.

My friends will come for me! Gary boasted. That sounded all heroic and whatnot. But he remembered that the heroes never arrived before the prisoner got tortured.

The lich’s laughter echoed down the corridors as he departed.

3

The ceiling dripped filthy water at a rate of one drop ever six or eight seconds. Gary lay on the uneven stone floor letting the drops fall into his open mouth. It had taken all his energy to maneuver into a spot where he could intercept the dripping stream. He’d lain there for hours, broken, in agony that had become a background haze to his miserable existence.

Player Name: Gary Burns Character Name: Gary Burns

Level/Path: Bard 1,2,3B, 4A, 5B, Wizard 9E XP: 18,106/32,000 Race: Unknown

STR: 7(4) DEX: 9(2) CON: 8(3) INT: 22 WIS: 17 CHA: 18

To Hit: +3 Weapon: none

Armor Rating: 9 Armor: None

Path Powers: Inspire (+2), Lullaby, Fascinate, Historian, Befuddle, Master Elemental Spell, Greater Arcane Spell, Spell Power +2

Skills: Persuade (+10), Music (+10), Study/Search (+12)

Tricks: Fast Talk, Disguise Casting

Profession: Cook (+3)

At first, he’d counted the days, convinced at every turn that his friends were on the way. Convinced he’d hear Sira promising to heal his bones and Beldrak volunteering to carry him to safety. Braeleigh would fuss over him while Zeeto made fun of his shabby appearance.

But then, he’d lost track of time. The count of days became muddled. An utter lack of natural light was to blame, as was the sneaking suspicion that his beatings weren’t on a regular schedule. Once the nagging idea crept in that one session with the… thing… that came to snap him like a bag of dry twigs didn’t represent a day, counting time seemed like complicity in his own torment.

Without the days to count, Gary’s fantasies took a dark turn. He imagined his friends continuing on their adventures without him. They’d looked briefly, run out of leads, and shrugged Gary off as a lost cause. Each of them felt sad in their own pathetic, self-indulgent way as he suffered in excruciating pain somewhere beneath the city of Abrax, only a week or so from Durrotek.

Sira said a few prayers for him when they arrived in a town with a temple to Seevius. Zeeto referred to anyone fucking up as pulling a Gary and laughed at them. Braeleigh eventually made a bold enough pass at Beldrak that the dopey paladin caught on.

The barred door to Gary’s cell opened with an appropriately ominous creak. Lady Marci sauntered in, hips swaying, heeled boots clacking on the stone after she’d snuck down the hall to come upon him unawares. The vampiress dangled an apple just inches from Gary’s mouth.

Wakey, wakey, my little breaky human, she teased. I brought a treat.

Gary strained, but the apple was out of reach. His fractured spine had no strength to lift his head. Stabbing pain met his attempt. Can’t, he admitted with a gasp.

Marci lowered the apple until the peel brushed his lips, then tugged it away when Gary tried to bite. She repeated the trick twice more before Gary shut his eyes and refused to play along.

Doesn’t this taste so much better than spiders? Marci asked, her voice like honey despite the revulsion Gary felt in her presence. She poked him in the belly. "You wouldn’t be so hungry if you could catch rats."

Go to hell. The words were on the tip of Gary’s tongue when he stopped himself. He wasn’t some badass POW refusing to give up his comrades in arms. He was a bard being kept for information far more valuable than mere military intel.

I’ll starve, he said.

d20: 14 + (Persuade +10) + (Feeling Terrible -2) = 22

Marci loomed over him. Gary’s eyes traced up her boots, past the patch of ghostly white skin to the hem of her dress and onward to the scowling visage peering down over the tops of her breasts. You would, wouldn’t you? You poor little bastard. Life sucks, doesn’t it.

Mostly just lately, Gary replied, attempting a joke.

I’m not allowed to give you the apple, you know, Marci stately plainly. I’m just to heal you for tomorrow’s session.

Don’t strain yourself caring.

Marci snarled and planted a boot heel on Gary’s chest. Broken ribs shrieked in agony. "I don’t care, worm-food. You’re entertainment and a job, nothing more."

Bite me.

In your dreams, Marci replied. But I’ve got other duties, so I might as well get fixing you over with.

The vampiress crouched over him. She clutched his throat and squeezed. Gary tried not to fight it, but she was choking him even as she chanted a vulgar prayer to Garrim to prolong Gary’s life and suffering. He understood every word of it despite Marci using an obscure