Torpenhow Dreams, Level 1: We Are All but Reflections of How Others See Us

By Luke Parry

Be careful what you wish for.

Feeling progressively more and more disillusioned with his actual reality, Will revels in escapism. Of course, he never expected to wake up one day and find that he had actually been summoned to another world!

Essentially shanghaied into performing an absurdly difficult task that would have perfectly suited one of the fantasy epics that he used to love reading, Will is in trouble.

After all, the common sense of his old world doesn’t really apply in a reality where magic, beastfolk-type demi-humans, and literal monsters are considered just a part of everyday life.

If he doesn’t get up to speed fast, and find some people he can trust as he flounders around crippled by his sense of inadequacy, he’s going to end up deader than dial-up.

Still, if this is an epic fantasy story, and he is supposed to be a hero, he must be a main protagonist ... so ... no matter the odds, if he doesn’t give up, everything should turn out fine ... Unfortunately, convincing himself of that is an epic task all of its own.

With the fate of a world literally cracking apart at the seams hanging in the balance, it’s going to take skill, grit, and a whole lot of luck to succeed ... but one out of three isn’t so bad when starting out, right?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tellwell Talent
• Release date: Mar 15, 2022
• ISBN: 9781922703774

Luke Parry

It's unclear whether he is a doctor moonlighting at being an author, or an author moonlighting at being a doctor, but Luke has been a dedicated bookworm (and incorrigible dreamer) for most of his life. Escapist fantasy has always held a certain appeal, and in recent years he has developed a voracious appetite for the isekai genre (in all its permutations). That said, whilst he might daydream about being 'summoned to another world', he is realistic enough to understand that his life expectancy would be approximately that of a botfly that found its way into an operating room, if something crazy like that actually happened. He shares a house in the nation's capital with a bearded dragon, and a tank full of tropical fish.

Book preview

Torpenhow Dreams

Level 1

We are all but reflections of

how others see us

Luke Parry

This is an IndieMosh book

brought to you by MoshPit Publishing

an imprint of Mosher’s Business Support Pty Ltd

PO Box 4363

Penrith NSW 2750

https://www.indiemosh.com.au/

Copyright 2022 © Luke Parry

All rights reserved

Licence Notes

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No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted by any person or entity, in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, scanning or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the author and publisher.

Disclaimer

This story is entirely a work of fiction.

No character in this story is taken from real life. Any resemblance to any person or persons living or dead is accidental and unintentional.

The author, their agents and publishers cannot be held responsible for any claim otherwise and take no responsibility for any such coincidence.

PROLOGUE

The sound of combat, the frenetic rhythm of metal clanging against metal, punctuated by the snarls, roars, and grunts of some large beast (all of which had an odd double-harmonic) echoed across the peaceful valley, sending numerous panicked birds soaring.

If there had been anyone around to listen, and overcome with curiosity they had been brave (or foolish) enough to track the noise to its source, they would have chanced upon a tableaux that would have seemed straight out of a storybook: An enormous two-headed troll, built like a rugby full-back, with thick scaly green skin, sharp teeth, and enormous iron-like nails, was locked in deadly combat with a foe as fair as it was foul – a well-muscled human male with close-cropped blonde hair, sparkling blue eyes, and a jaw that you could crack coconuts upon.

Whilst the troll was clad in little more than a loincloth, and fought with naught but its teeth and talons, relying instead upon its vast strength and superlative regenerative abilities, the man was clad in full plate armour polished to a mirror-like sheen, and fought with a massive flamberge that appeared to have been crafted from liquid quicksilver, poured out and frozen into shape.

Surprisingly, although the troll had several feet and probably a few hundred pounds on the man, they were fairly evenly matched – with the flamberge, the man had equivalent reach to the troll, and was able to meet it strike for strike, turning aside the flurry of blows from its iron-like claws. The occasional glancing hit did get through, but the man’s thick armour absorbed the impact, whilst the numerous shallow cuts that the troll sustained healed rapidly.

Growing increasingly frustrated, the troll battered away at the flamberge with both sets of talons, then leaned forward over the sword and tried to bite the man, who simply laughed, let go of his sword with one hand, and punched the troll in the mouth with a gauntleted fist, shattering one of its fangs, and causing it to reel backwards in pain.

Smiling cockily, the man struck a confident pose, readjusting his grip on his ridiculously large sword.

Beast! There is no way that you could possibly defeat me! No mere warrior stands before you; it is I, the destined Hero, Sir Harold! Know that your defeat is but a momentary pit-stop upon my journey to continued greatness! If you are very lucky, you might even make it into a line or two in one of the many bardic sagas about me!

Still cradling its injured mouth with its left hand, the troll punched out with its right, and was rewarded with a slash down its arm, which sprayed viscous green blood. Bellowing in pain and anger, the troll lashed out in a fury … but this time, it targeted Harold’s sword, rather than the man himself, ripping the huge blade from Harold’s hands.

Although it lost a couple of fingers in the process, it probably thought that to be a reasonable sacrifice for a now-assured victory … but it was puzzled when it noticed that Harold was looking at it calmly, with a sneer on his face.

Hah! Like such a simple trick could defeat me!

Harold snapped his fingers, and the flamberge suddenly turned into a thick, gloopy liquid, which oozed all over the troll’s taloned hands and arms, slowing its movements.

Harold clapped his hands together, then pulled them apart. As he did so, a vortex of white light appeared between them, and a new sword, practically identical to the lost flamberge, smoothly slid forth from within the vortex.

Aww yeah! Long and hard, just the way I like it!

With a chuckle, Harold charged forward before the troll had a chance to recover, and slashed it across the abdomen, spilling steaming, slippery entrails across the ground. However, even a wound like that, which would have been a virtual death blow for any normal human, was only a minor inconvenience for a creature like the troll.

Bellowing in rage and pain, it lunged forward again, deliberately skewering itself upon the flamberge, so that it could enwrap Harold in a crushing bear hug. Harold grimaced in pain, then sneered.

Not good enough, beast!

The flamberge’s blade exploded like a shaped charge, blowing a hole clean through the troll, and knocking it back. It swayed for a moment, then collapsed to the ground, apparently dead.

Harold snorted.

Well, thanks for the workout, but if that’s all you’ve got, I think that it is time to end this little farce.

Casually, he moved to stand over the troll’s heads, and clapped his hands together, ready to summon another blade.

Suddenly, the troll’s eyes flickered open. With a snarl, it grabbed one of Harold’s legs and dragged him to the ground, interrupting his ability activation.

Caught off-guard, Harold frantically activated a different ability, causing dagger-like blades to sprout from the tips of the gauntleted fingers of his right hand. The troll’s response was immediate: Grabbing Harold right proximal humerus as tightly as it could, it yanked with terrifying strength, borne of desperation.

There was a horrible wet tearing noise, and Harold’s entire right arm pin-wheeled off to one side, trailing a fountain of blood behind it.

Such a shock would have caused a lesser man to instantly lose consciousness, but Harold, brimming with supreme self-confidence (or possibly just outright pig-headed stubbornness) stayed focused, although he was pale as a sheet, and sweating profusely.

N-no! This is inconceivable! I am the chosen Hero of this story! No crude beast could possibly spell the end of my saga!

He truly continued to believe that, right up until the troll’s jaws closed around his skull, crushing the life from him.

After that, the troll feasted; it had lost a lot of energy in that fight, and it was famished …

-- | --- | --

Several hours later, the troll finished disposing of the left-overs from its last meal. Despite the initial pain, it had been surprisingly satisfying – there had been an awful lot of lean meat to go around, the bones had been nice and chewy, and the marrow had been utterly delicious.

All that was left of the ‘chosen Hero’ Harold was some blood-stained scraps of clothing, his bent and twisted armour, and scattered fragments of bone. Even the contents of his pack had been rifled through and tossed haphazardly across the ground – the pack itself, being made of leather, was currently marinating in the troll’s distended abdomen.

Eventually, the by-now incredibly sated troll, who was really starting to feel like a post-prandial nap, moved over to the base of a nearby oak tree, and fell asleep.

Shortly thereafter, motes of white light, reminiscent of lazily drifting fireflies, rose up from the shattered fragments of bone, coalescing into the outline of a humanoid figure, which seemed to waver in a non-existent breeze, before collapsing in upon itself. The tumbling motes of light then flew towards Harold’s gauntlets … and were absorbed. The dirt, blood, and other unmentionable fluids coating the gauntlets flaked away, like a thin coating of icing sugar blown off a cake by the faintest of zephyrs.

At that, a six-inch-diameter hand mirror, which had, strangely, escaped the rampant destruction, glowed faintly, extruded six beetle-like, silvery legs from its frame, and scuttled over to the gauntlets.

A soft voice, no more than an echo upon the wind, then spoke:

Damn. I really thought that this time, I had found a winning candidate. I guess I will have to try a different tactic; failure is not an option …

The mirror’s glow intensified as it moved to touch the gauntlets. However, rather than bumping into them, the gauntlets passed through the mirror as if it was the surface of a tiny pool, and just … disappeared.

The mirror continued to glow brighter and brighter, becoming incandescent as the sun, incidentally waking the troll from its food coma. The troll staggered to its feet, and prepared to flee; in its mind, bright light meant heat, which in turn meant fire … one of the few things that it truly feared.

Suddenly, there was a shattering noise, combined with a muffled crunch; the light contracted inwards to a point, then exploded outwards. When the after-images had cleared, a forty-foot-diameter hemispherical crater was all that remained. Of the troll, Harold, and the mirror, absolutely nothing was left to suggest that they had ever been there …

CHAPTER 1:

Be careful what you wish for

What a day.

Sighing, Will dropped his house keys off in the bowl just inside the front door, and went to the bathroom to splash some water on his face to try and perk himself up. The person staring back at him from the mirror could charitably be called on the average side of plain, with short brown hair, green eyes, pallid skin that rarely saw direct sunlight, and heavy bags under his eyes that didn’t help matters either.

I don’t look much better than some of my patients …

Smiling wryly, he headed off to his study, and collapsed gratefully into his comfortable desk chair, waiting for his computer to boot up.

He knew that, logically, he shouldn’t have anything to complain about – he was in his late 20’s, healthy, relatively fit, had a steady job as a house officer at the local hospital, and was well on the way to paying off his mortgage … but he could not shake the feeling that it was all a sham.

True, he was good at delivering bad news to patients, and explaining complicated issues in simple language, putting people at ease, but honestly believed that he didn’t deserve his position, feeling like a fraud who had ‘failed upwards’ throughout life.

Imposter Syndrome, I believe they call it …

Will logged on, and started trawling through the message boards.

Once upon a time, he had had a surprisingly large number of IRL friends, particularly at university, but over time they had all more or less drifted apart, separated by divergent interests, distance, and lack of spare time. The last of those in particular was the main reason that Will himself had not really made any new friends since – at the end of a long, emotionally-draining day at work, the last thing that he wanted to do was to go out again, investing some of his minimal free time in things that probably would not last.

Instead, he escaped into the virtual world.

Over the years, he had tried his hand at a number of MMORPGs, but he invariably gravitated back to the digital adaptations of the old-school ‘pen and paper’ RPGs, where the only limits truly were one’s own imagination … but even they usually required other ‘fellow travellers’ to make the games work, which eventually caused him to drift back to MMORPGs, where