Curselock: A Cursed LITRPG Adventure

Waiting in line at the shipyard of a new city was something Leland hoped he would never have to do again. At least, if he hadn’t explored the city beforehand. Noir Stone was massive! Sprawling and rich with history and culture, no shop was quite the same, no landmark was forgettable.

People walked shoulder to shoulder in some places, sharing the city with any and all from vastly different walks of life. While humans were still the dominant race around, that didn’t stop envoys or clans from around the world from venturing this far.

Dwarves were the easiest to notice, their thick beards and rough accents giving them away just like the iconic gills and scales of many of the water-bound species. Naga and siren were used interchangeably for those that lived underwater, but no one would be caught dead calling a naga a “siren” and a siren a “naga” to their face

Leland didn’t know why they were on the surface instead of in their underwater cities. Trade was the most obvious answer, but also tutelage and schooling for the younger few. Magic was something of an open secret in the city and Leland felt sure that the sheer variety of spell work, designs, and research brough many into these lands.

Well, except for the fact that all magic was outlawed in city limits.

Of course people ignored that fact and had open duels in the courtyards with massive betting pools, and they all ran when the guard arrived. Down dark alleys, magical surgeries and secretive rituals were prescribed by scam artists and dark mystics. Whether their magics did as advertised was mostly unknown, but gold flowed like water in the dark.

The highlight of the city was no doubt the tour into the “stone” that the city was named after. Neither hill nor mountain, the stone was said to have crashed from the heavens and changed the landscape. The ocean rerouted to their new beaches, the trees and fauna died then were reborn, metals not previously found in these areas became bountiful, and monsters generally stayed away.

Or at least, that was what ancient history said.

Still, Leland wanted to tour the chiseled cave system through the stone and purchase a few of the magnetic rocks that were excavated out of it.

But no. He had to wait in line. With Isobel… hopefully there would be some time before the ship’s departure.

Boats and tree-thick masts lined the harbor, their blanket-like sails bound and rolled closed. Made of all wood, most ships that traveled the rough seas were alchemically treated or created using magic. The ship he and Isobel were looking to board was no different.

The Wave Slicer was recommended to them by one of the various harbor masters. The ship, seaweed green and large enough to hold a full caravan, departed to Shoutwell as a first stop on its bi-monthly voyage. The ship’s captain, a man known only as “Gull,” was said to be a Legacy of the Builder – an artisan specialized Legacy.

If rumors were to be believed, then Gull had built his own boat out of literal seaweed and sand.

“I wonder if those rumors are true,” Leland said to Isobel, trying to make any sort of conversation.

She eyed him for a moment before saying, “If he is truly a Legacy of the Builder, then I would believe it.”

“Why say that?”

“Legacies of the Builder always make grandiose things out of random materials. Take, for example, Palemarrow Castle. A castle made of a dead Lord’s bones? Who ever would have thought that was a good idea? A Legacy of the Builder, that’s who.”

Leland blinked a few times. “A Legacy of the Builder created the castle?”

Isobel sighed. “That’s what you got out of this conversation? That someone built a building? Not that Legacies of the Builder are quite special?”

He shrugged. “I mean, I guess. But like, why didn’t I know about this?”

“Because Legacies of the Builder only make one grand project ever. The castle, this ship we are going to board, they are the only things their creators are ever going to make worth awe.”

“That still—”

“And they usually are killed after,” Isobel said, already knowing his question. “Their purpose has been served and now they are just useless craftsmen with in-depth knowledge of their creations. Where the secret passages are, the sizeof cannons needed to break the hull. Stuff like that. They are liabilities after they create their grand design, so most don’t, ever. Or they make statues or some other thing no one would care about.”

Leland understood. “And they ask for their names not to be spread, so their lives aren’t ruined after.”

“That or they are killed, yes.”

“Sounds like a horrible life,” he muttered.

Isobel nodded, turning forward. “Some Legacies are like that. Some Lords know this and purposefully take as few Legacies as possible or as safely as possible. And sometimes the Lords don’t care and offer incredibly dangerous rare Legacies to children who are considered ‘adults.’”

Leland didn’t respond, he didn’t have to. He understood, more than most, about topics like that. His parents were Inquisitors as well, and many, many of their cases they could not talk about. He had always thought they were just trying to protect him from the horrors of the real world, but now? Now he realized that they may have been protecting the people actually involved.

If people were hunted for having rare and “good” Legacies, what did that mean for him when others found out he could contract any Lord?

It was just another thing he had to think about, he guessed.

An hour and a half later, Leland and Isobel were at the front of the line. After a moment of a language issue, the teller spoke in Galform, “Hello. Where would you like to sail?”

“Shoutwell. Two passengers. No baggage,” Isobel answered in turn, like she had dozens of times over the years.

“That would be the Wave Slicer, captained by Gull,” she flipped through a large leather bound booklet, finding the correct manifest. “Cabin or hammock?”

“Two cabins.”

“That will be extra.”

“Fine.”

“Then sixty gold chunks apiece.”

Isobel grumbled something about the prices and asked, “What about a protection discount?”

The teller leaned to the side, eyeing Leland. “For one?”

“For two.”

“Credibility?”

Glancing at Leland, Isobel said, “Fine. Just one. What do you need?”

“Guild licenses of any kind, government identification plate, recommendation by any credible sailor.”

She deliberated and decided not to identify herself. “Never mind. Sixty apiece.” She plopped down a large sack of gold. “Weight, not chunks.”

The teller nodded and moved over a scale.

A few minutes later, as Isobel and Leland were walking away, she said, “You are paying me back.”

Leland smirked. “Just add it to my tab.”

They left the harbor and entered the residential district. It was up a few layers, closer to the midsection of the stone, past the lower markets but well before the upper echelons. They got lunch at a stall selling meat wrapped in a bread-thing at some point. Leland didn’t know what it was or what it was called, but it sure was delicious.

It was an overcast day, the breeze from the cool ocean and the altitude of the city mixed quite poorly with one another. Rain threatened to leak from the sky, a slight drizzle already weeping with the wind. People rushed around, doing their duties as fast as they could all the while glancing at the sky. There was no better motivator than rain.

Leland enjoyed watching the people. There was no battle, no crisis to avert. There was only life. Beautiful, peaceful life.

As Isobel haggled the price for a poncho – since Sybil had been teleported home with her ratty cloak – a woman and her child spoke with a fruit seller a few paces away. Further down a man swept the front of his inn. On the other side of a street an elderly dwarf whittled a block of wood into a spoon. By the alley, a man stood staring at the sky. Behind him was a… dead body.

“Uh, Isobel?” Leland whispered, stepping down the street.

She glanced away from the old woman giving her a hard time for the poncho. She saw the body. “Don’t go over there. Don’t get involved.”

The old woman looked over then screeched, yelling for the guard and causing more eyes to look over.

Leland waved off Isobel’s attempts to stop him as he continued forward. The dead body wasn’t what he was looking at, well partially at least. He glanced down the alley, finding no threats, then stopped. The man staring into the sky was almost an exact copy of the body laying on the ground, the only difference was no one but Leland could see him.

“Hello?” he asked the lost soul. “Can you hear me?”

Behind him, Isobel frowned and subtly shifted into the growing crowd. There were only half a dozen, but shouts were heard down the street for the guard to hurry. She fell into obscurity, adapting back into the helpless frazzled mundane citizen. Mentally she was cursing at Leland.

The soul twitched at the sound, a gentle green leaked from the seams of its clothes as its face twisted into a spiral. Its body fell into itself, bounding out like a flickering shadow against a stone wall. It rolled, it morphed, it contorted.

“My name is Leland, can you understand me?”

It stopped, its body reverting into that of its previous life. The green sickness leaking from its bones stopped, the soul forcing itself not to fade away. It found Leland standing there, realization slowly overcoming it. It had tried, truly tried, to communicate with others when its previous life died. All had failed, and it had fallen into misery.

It didn’t form hope, it didn’t form anything, really. It was a lost soul, it didn’t have emotions. Just raw vague virtues. To settle, to accept, to pass on. But, for this soul and many more in similar situations, it couldn’t pass on. It had stuff to do, it had people to love. It had a family in its previous life. Kids, a wife it didn’t much care about. But right then, the rawness it felt was his love. Its previous life’s emotion, its previous life’s will.

“H-ellPpp mEEeee,”

Leland flinched, his blood running cold.

“—dddooNNn’t wanTTTtttttooo DIE!”