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  Copyright © 2018 Xavier P. Hunter

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the address below.

  Magical Scrivener Press, 22 Hawkstead Hollow Nashua, NH 03063

  www.magicalscrivener.com

  Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

  Ordering Information: Special discounts are available on quantity purchases by corporations, associations, and others. For details, contact the publisher at the address above.

  Xavier P. Hunter— First Edition

  ISBN: 978-1-942642-79-4

  Printed in the United States of America

  Homebrew

  Metagamer Chronicles: Book One

  Xavier P. Hunter

  Contents

  Foreword

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Sign up

  About the Author

  Foreword

  Many dice were rolled over the course of this book. The values you see were generated in the grand tradition of tabletop gaming. But a true DM will never let a bad dice roll get in the way of a good story.

  1

  Every other Saturday, from 11 AM to 9 PM, Gary Burns was a god. That was because it was only every other week that he could arrange with Stu at Jimbo’s Diner to swap shifts with him. It was hard to be a god with a side gig, even if working as a short-order cook paid the rent while godhood was merely a hobby.

  But today was something special. It was the first day of a new campaign, one Gary had been working on for months at the expense of his gaming guild and band mates. It was his masterpiece, his grand oeuvre. This was the one they’d all be talking about for years, tucking away old character sheets like keepsakes and saving their tabletop miniatures on bookshelves and desktops for the warm glow it kindled in their souls every time they remembered the glory that was Pellar.

  The players arrived in a disorderly queue starting at quarter of eleven. Darryl brought a slow-cooker filled with chili. Kim had picked up store-bought cookies from the GreenWay across the street. When Marty arrived, he plunked a five-pack of beer down in the middle of Gary’s dining-room table. Katie brought Caspian along, setting up his playpen within arm’s reach of her chair at the gaming table.

  Everyone chatted and gossiped as if they didn’t all have each other on every social media platform, plus text and email. Between gaming sessions, they were acquaintances. When the dice came out, they became brothers in arms. Gary kept up with talk of work, a million baby stories, and Darryl’s misadventures getting his license renewed. Whenever anyone brought up the stuffed three-ring binder in front of his spot at the table, he deflected.

  Eleven o’clock arrived. Then five past. Then fifteen. There was no sign of their last member.

  “Anyone heard from Zane?” Gary asked.

  Marty paused mid-sip of his beer and swallowed. “Said he was picking up supplies. Some guy selling shit on Craigslist.”

  Kim tapped at her phone. Without looking up she reported, “Says he’ll be here soon. Get started without him.”

  With a sigh, Gary sat down at the head of the table. It wasn’t an auspicious start to a new campaign, especially one he’d worked so hard on and poured so much love into. Zane was going to pay a price for missing the intro. “First off, everyone read up on the background material?”

  “Kinda,” Marty said. “I skimmed parts.”

  “Start to finish,” Kim said.

  “Better than watching TV while feeding Caspian,” Katie replied.

  “Yeah,” Darryl said, though he didn’t sound convincing.

  “Characters ready for approval?” Gary asked.

  “I’m not sure about this whole ‘no looking at the character sheets’ thing,” Kim said with a scowl as she handed hers over.

  Marty waggled an index card. “How are we supposed to plan if we don’t know our own stats half the time?” The tiny slip of graph-paper cardboard included a few key combat numbers and bits of biographical data but not the nitty gritty of the character build.

  “You’ll get used to it,” Gary promised. “I’ll update your card when things change. I want everyone reacting like their characters are in a situation, not a math problem.”

  He checked out Kim’s character sheet.

  Player Name: Kim Tanaka Character Name: Sister Sira Long

  Level/Path: Cleric of Sevius XP: 0/1,000 Race: Human

  STR: 11 DEX: 10 CON: 14 INT: 12 WIS: 17 CHA: 11

  To Hit: +0 Weapon: Mace (1d6+0)

  Armor Rating: 14 Armor: Chainmail (+4)

  Path Powers: Divine Light, Lesser Healing

  Skills: Intuition (+4), Lore (+2)

  Tricks: Iron Will

  Profession: Clergy (+4)

  “You went with Sevius, huh?” Gary asked casually.

  “I read the whole pre-game pack you sent,” Kim replied, fiddling with her index card. “Looks brutal. I’ve optimized for max healing power to keep the rest of you scrubs alive.”

  Next, Marty collected Darryl’s character.

  Player Name: Darryl Harrison Character Name: Beldrak Evenhand

  Level/Path: Paladin 1 XP: 0/1,000 Race: Human

  STR: 18 DEX: 8 CON: 14 INT: 11 WIS: 12 CHA: 16

  To Hit: +5 Weapon: Broadsword (1d8+4)

  Armor Rating: 15 Armor: Half Plate (+6)

  Path Powers: Holy Resilience

  Skills: Athletics (+5), Horsemanship (+0)

  Tricks: Stoic

  Profession: Blacksmith (+5)

  “Two for two on humans,” Gary remarked, trying not to sound disappointed. “I g
uess the free Trick at first level was a big selling point. You read up on the paladin stuff?”

  “I did,” Darryl replied in his reedy voice, always on the edge of wheezing. Gary wondered how long it would be before he was puffing on that steroid inhaler of his. “Don’t worry about me. I am the motherfucking justice machine.”

  Marty burst out laughing. “I can picture Sam Jackson with a seminary degree.” Despite making light of Darryl, he still handed over his own character.

  Player Name: Marty ‘the Party’ Clay Character Name: Zeeto Humblebottom

  Level/Path: Rogue 1 XP: 1,000,000/1,000,000,000,000 Race: Halfling

  STR: 10 DEX: 17 CON: 12 INT: 12 WIS: 6 CHA: 15

  To Hit: +3 Weapon: Dagger (1d4+0)

  Armor Rating: 15 Armor: Leather (+2)

  Path Powers: Stealth Attack (+1d6)

  Skills: Sleight of Hand (+4), Stealth (+4), (Locksmithing +4), Persuade (+3), Study/Search (+2)

  Tricks: Can Touch Tongue to Nose

  Profession: Bartender (+3)

  Gary took a pencil and corrected the XP total to its proper 0/1,000 and erased the unearned Trick without comment. The last thing Marty needed was encouragement for his antics. If there was one person with the ability to derail a carefully plotted and lovingly constructed campaign, it was Marty.

  Although Zane could do the world a favor and show up. Missing a player would suck too.

  Katie had extracted Caspian from his playpen for a feeding. She reached across the baby and handed Gary her sheet as everyone tried politely not to stare.

  Player Name: Katie Bauer Character Name: Braeleigh “Leigh” Silverwind

  Level/Path: Ranger 1 XP: 0/1,000 Race: Elf

  STR: 14 DEX: 16 CON: 12 INT: 9 WIS: 12 CHA: 14

  To Hit: +1 Weapon: Longbow (1d8+3) Short Sword (1d6+2)

  Armor Rating: 15 Armor: Leather (+2)

  Path Powers: Pet

  Skills: Woodscraft (+2), Stealth (+4), Animal Trainer (+3)

  Tricks: Overland Navigation

  Profession: Wilderness Guide (+1)

  Pet: Caspian (Wolf Puppy)

  Gary tactfully overlooked Katie naming her animal companion after her kid. “You sure about being an elf? They’re a dying race.”

  Katie nodded enthusiastically. “I want to help rebuild the elven race. I’m a war refugee raised by human foster parents, and I want to reconnect with my roots in the northlands.”

  OK, then. That answer meant that she’d not only read up on the history of the elves and their war against the orcs for control of the lands north of the Dwarfcrown Mountains but had connected with her backstory.

  Marty leaned over. “I can help you with that repopulation effort.”

  Before Gary could intervene, Katie cut him off. “Sorry, no halfbreeds.”

  There they had it. Four players. Four characters. Gary started organizing his notes to begin the session shorthanded when the front door to the apartment burst open.

  Zane Fischer was wearing a purple wizard’s robe that only came to his knees, with ratty jeans and tennis shoes showing beneath. Over his shoulder, he carried a bulging messenger satchel. Setting down a grocery bag overflowing with snacks and sodas, he stretched his arms overhead like a megachurch preacher. “I am here. Let the campaign commence,” he bellowed. Then in a lower, snarkier voice, he added, “Sorry I’m late.”

  Picking up his snacks and kicking the door shut behind him, Zane made his way to the reserved seat just to Gary’s left.

  “Nice getup, jackass,” Marty said before sliding a beer across the table.

  Zane caught the bottle before it slid clear off the table and pushed it back. “Afraid not, kind sir. For, you see, a wizard must never imbibe when magic is afoot.”

  Kim fixed Zane with a deadpan glare. “You know wizards are hunted in this world, right?”

  “Did you read the campaign notes?” Gary asked. It wasn’t the end of the world if Zane hadn’t, but it might mean putting the game on hold while they designed him a more appropriate character. This wasn’t a story for lone wolves. The party needed to work together.

  Zane appeared offended. He held a hand over his heart. “Did I read it? Did I read it? My dear sir, I have read, re-read, digested, shit out, and examined the droppings of this campaign. I find its anti-wizard stance morally repugnant and pragmatically misguided. The goal of Aster Hellcrack is to redeem the profession in the kingdom’s eyes.”

  Caspian started crying.

  “Could you turn it down a notch?” Katie asked sternly in that mom voice that seemed to have come along with the baby.

  Zane silently held up his hands in surrender. Then he added in a whisper, “Want to see what I picked up on the way here?”

  “Is this why you’re late?” Darryl demanded as Zane dug around in his satchel.

  Zane arrayed several game source books and accessories across the table before producing a crystal ball. It was just one of those cheapie glass spheres that carnival fortune tellers used, but it had some weird, wispy gas floating around inside it like a science museum exhibit.

  “Trippy,” Marty commented approvingly.

  Katie leaned across the table over the baby, squinting at it. “How’s it do that?” she asked of the roiling miasma inside.

  “I have no idea,” Zane proclaimed as if the notion absolutely delighted him.

  “Nice to see how you’re blowing your stock option money,” Darryl muttered.

  “Order in the court,” Gary said to reign in the chaos that threatened to sweep them off track. As the group quieted down (aside from snacking and cooing at a baby), he began his introductory remarks. “All right. The world of Pellar is all new. I’ve kept the races and a few fantasy touchstones, but all the rest of the monsters are completely homebrewed.”

  Marty picked up a second beer and clicked it with his open one in a solo toast. “To home brewing.”

  “The base system is d20 based, so the mechanics will feel familiar. The character progression system is all based on the Path of Power. You’re free to look a single ring ahead, and you can go sideways around the rings, including to other classes, but linear advancement is the most straightforward.”

  “I know a guy who can print that up on t-shirts,” Zane said, rolling the crystal ball across his fingers like an amateur street magician. “I think it’d look slick, and we could look at each other’s chests to plan our level-ups.”

  Kim and Katie produced identical withering glares at the idea.

  “Anyway,” Gary said, raising his voice to regain everyone’s attention. “We’ll be starting with our traditional character introduction.”

  Marty pumped a fist. “Hoo yeah! Strangers at a tavern! I was so worried this homebrew world would skip it.”

  Gary patted a hand for him to keep his voice down, but Caspian had fallen soundly asleep. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said with a grin. “Some things are more important than—would you knock it off?”

  Zane had thrown the crystal ball across the table to Marty at the latter’s request. Kim took advantage of the interruption to check her phone. The stress must have gotten to Darryl since he was already taking a hit from his inhaler.

  Caspian woke up and started crying.

  “Sorry,” Zane said, then motioned for the ball back.

  Gary intercepted it, plucking the ball midair with the intent of confiscating it until summer vacation like some hard-ass middle school science teacher.

  He shook the crystal ball for emphasis. The purple cloud inside swirled but didn’t distract Gary from his scolding. “I wish you guys could all just take this campaign seriously.”

  The crystal ball shattered.

  The purple gas spilled out. Players screamed and swore and knocked over chairs in their haste to get away from the table.

  But the mist devoured them all.

  2

  One minute Gary was screaming for his life, clawing at the doorframe into his own kitchen as a vortex like the intake on a jet engine tried to suck him in.
The next, he was standing on a cobbled street in front of a whitewashed stone building that looked plucked from a medieval town. The sign above the door identified the place as The Uncommon Room.

  “No way,” Gary said breathlessly. This was the tavern where his players were supposed to meet.

  All around him, pedestrians were dressed in tunics, doublets, and tabards. Some even wore armor of various makes. Horse hooves clacked on the cobbles, and the notes of a lute rose above the general din issuing from within the tavern.

  Unable to resist, he pulled open the door and entered The Uncommon Room. Inside was a place halfway between an Irish pub and a Viking mead hall. Stone floor. Exposed wooden rafters. Long trestle tables with benches down the sides. A bar ran along one wall in front of stacked barrels of distilled and fermented spirits.

  And tending that bar was a real, live halfling. Gary struggled for the fellow’s name, but this was the bartender he’d written for The Uncommon Room. He knew without having to look behind the bar that the halfling had a shelf-like mezzanine to work from, allowing him to interact with the patrons at eye level.

  Gary stumbled through the tavern in dazed wonderment. The lantern light. The roaring hearth fire with a cauldron of stew bubbling its earthy aroma through the common room. The smaller, clustered tables in the shadowed recesses of the room’s far corners. The low stage upon which the evening’s bardic entertainer performed.