Libriohexer (Wolfman Warlock Book 2) - Chapter One

A bird chirped off in the distance, its shrill cry cutting through the gentle rustle of grass and the whisper of the wind. It wouldn’t be long now, Sam knew. He reached up and swiped a hand across his forehead, obliterating the sweat trickling down his face. It was hot out here on the plains, waist high stalks of grass fighting against the party at every step—and the fact that he was in heavy, brown wool noob gear didn’t help things at all. He couldn’t wait to swap out this trash gear for his Arcana’s Finery. True, when decked out in his regular gear he looked like a sixteen-century cosplayer, spoiling for a fight, but boy was it comfortable.

“Do you really think they’ll let us in if we clear out this pack of Wolfmen,” came a nasally voice on his right, cutting through Sam’s thoughts. “I mean, I’ve heard only ten percent of pledges ever make it in good with the Rabid Inquisitors. And that’s if BackAttack is in a good mood. Man, I sure hope he’s in a good mood.”

<Divine, but this guy never shuts his pie-hole, does he?> Bill asked inside Sam’s head. <I mean, he seems like a good enough kid, but seriously, learn to read the room, huh.>

Bill wasn’t wrong. Sam glanced at the gangly newb, named Easy_Mac_Evan, decked out in rough leather armor that had seen its best days years and years and years ago. Easy_Mac looked maybe sixteen with thin cheeks, scrawny arms, and coltish legs. He had a starter bow strapped to his back and a shoddy spear gripped in one hand. Splashed across his slapdash armor were three bloody slashes running diagonally across a crimson eye. The Guild mark of the Rabid Inquisitors—Sam had the same mark adorning his own armor.

<He just wants to fit in,> Sam sent back. He and Bill could speak telepathically, thanks to the Soul-Bond they shared, which was good, because Sam currently had Bill tucked away inside his Unending Flask of the Drunkard—on the surface, just a simple worn drinking flask, though in reality it was a spatial container that allowed him to store up to two-hundred extra pounds of gear. <I get that. I was a lot like him when I was that age, and I would’ve jumped at the chance to get in with someone like BackAttack.>

<Yeah, well, just make sure you don’t pull your punches,> Bill grumbled in reply. <remember Legs, this is a war. If BackAttack and his crew get their way, they’ll wipe every Wolfman off the face of the map. Which includes us. Don’t suppose I need to remind you that these guys have actively been hunting for racial-traitors. I haven’t survived for three hundred years for some gawky ranger to stick an arrow through me.>

Sam grinned. <I thought you knew me better than that, Bill. I’m the one that set this ambush, after all.>

“I’m sure it’s all going to be fine,” Sam said nonchalantly to Easy_Mac. “What could go wrong? I’ve heard BackAttack and his crew are one of the fastest up and coming Clans in the Realm.”

Evan hesitated for a beat, worry flashing across his face. Dropping his voice low, “You must not know about the rumors.”

“Rumors?” Sam quirked an eyebrow. It was always good to get as much intel as possible, even if the source seemed rather unlikely. But then, that was something he’d learned early on: no matter how new someone seemed or how low-level they were, they could always teach you something.

“They”—he hooked his thumb toward a gruff, armor-clad tank leading the group raid— “don’t like us talking about it. But apparently there’s some kind of Wolfmen saboteurs who’ve been waging a silent war against the Rabid Inquisitors. Doing some serious damage too. They burned down part of the first chapter house, wiped out half a dozen raid parties, and even managed to poison every Guild Officer, except for BackAttack himself.”

“You don’t say,” Sam replied, forcibly hiding a smirk.

They had done all that and more over the past two weeks. Aside from grinding levels and doing a few simple fetch quests for the Wolfmen, knocking the Rabid Inquisitors down a notch—sabotaging them at every possible turn—had been the Wolf Pack’s primary mission. And with good reason; some of the other Guilds were killing Wolfmen, but none of them were focusing on eradicating the Wolfmen quite like the Inquisitors were. Plus, BackAttack seemed to have a particular zeal for ferreting out players like Sam.

Players who had sided with the Wolfmen faction.

Another shrill bird call rose, this one an eerie little song that lingered in the air. The sound sent a shiver running down Sam’s back.

<Get ready, Legs,> Bill said, his voice brimming with equal parts excitement and anticipation. <We’re gonna have to move fast. Well you are, that’s mostly your department. Since you have the body, and all that.>

Sam glanced left, scanning the party. Twelve legitimate pledges—most of them new and under level five—one senior Guild Officer and one Sergeant at Arms. The pledges were dangerous because of their sheer numbers, but they were about as skilled as newborn chimps, and there wasn’t a magic user among them. Sam caught sight of Dizzy, walking near the Sergeant of Arms—the heavy tank clad in silvered plate mail. Rory was his name, and he was working toward his first specialization. He wouldn’t stand a chance against Dizzy and her monstrous war maul, though.

Especially not with Finn lingering nearby, ready to spring into action. Not many people could survive a concentrated mage attack at this stage in the game. Which was the single biggest reason they’d been successful so far.

The Senior Officer, a scrapy Rogue in dark leathers, would be tougher. She went by the tag JumboKiwi and was level nine, like Sam. From the intel they’d gathered, she’d been with the Inquisitors from the very beginning and was on the path to assassin-hood, following in the footsteps of BackAttack himself. But Sphinx and Kai were in position to deal with her. In a two on one fight, they would hopefully be able to end her before she could Shadow Stalk away and wreak any real damage. That just left Arrow and Sam. Both near the rear of the party. They were the support power, cutting down the low ranked pledges like a scythe through wheat.

“We’ve got activity up ahead,” Rory grunted, raising a fist and sending out the signal to ‘slow down, and be quiet’.

Milling near a series of rocky boulders jutting from the ground was a trio of Wolfmen. Velkan of the Redmane Tribe led the motley group. He was smaller than many of the other Wolfmen Sam had met, with coarse gray fur, wicked claw, vicious fangs, and amber eyes that seemed to take in every detail all at once. He wore crude leather armor and carried a short-hefted axe with a yellow bone axe head. Despite his size, Velkan was a beast. Fast, nimble, and ferocious. He acted as the team’s scout more often than not and was an indomitable front-line fighter.

Rory glanced back at a group of enemy archers, waiting near the rear of the formation, including poor Easy_Mac_Evan, who was about to have a very, very bad day.

Make ready, Rory signaled without ever speaking a word, fingers flashing in rapid fire. The archers obliged, knocking arrows in a clatter of wood and a hiss of bow strings.

That’s when the birdcall came for a third time, this one long and haunting.

Sam moved in an instant, pulling free his Dagger of the Mystic Path from a simple leather sheath at his roughshod belt. He pivoted on his heel, dropped low, and lashed out just like Sphinx had taught him. He drove the tip of the razor-sharp blade directly in between the gaps in Easy_Mac’s armor. Right into his kidney. The blade sliced cleanly through the cotton undershirt then parted the skin with ease, stopping only when the hilt hit leather. Evan let out a startled gurgle and gasp, his eyes wide.

All around, screams of surprise cut through the air accompanied by the ring of blades and the sizzle of magic.

“W-what?” Evan stammered, turning an accusatory gaze on Sam.

“Sorry, man,” Sam pulled the dagger loose then stashed it in the sheath. With his other hand, he pulled Bill free from the spatial flask.

The book exploded to life, tethered to Sam’s hip by an ethereal silver chain that burned with a subtle blue power. Evan’s eyes swiveled to the floating book and seemed to bulge to the size of tea saucers. Understandable, in Sam’s estimation. Bill himself was a sight to behold—and an unsettling one. He was a thick, burgundy book with golden runes sparkling along the weathered spine. A humanoid face jutted up from the book cover, crafted in a patchwork-fashion from various strips of hide. His emerald eyes were sharply intelligent, though, and rather menacing if you didn’t know him.

“Orbital Tome of Casting!” Sam cried, conjuring a flurry of heavy leather volumes from the Soul Space inside Bill. The books, all six of them, took to the air with a life of their own, slowly circling around Sam like planets orbiting a sun.

Orbital Tome of Casting was the Bibliomancer’s primary method for spell-slinging. Sam could bind and summon up to six books at any given time, each with their own spell assignment, which would circle around him, just waiting to be activated. Basically, he had six, floating book-shaped machine guns. Some fired fast and held a ton of rounds, like his Paper Shuriken tomes, while others were more powerful, but lower capacity, like his Rorschach Spell or Papier-Mache Mage.

With a brilliant shimmer of opalescent light, a wide-brimmed cavalier hat appeared in Sam’s waiting hands. With its puffy feather and bright silk band, Bill’s Foppish Hat was a pretty ridiculous item, which would’ve fit on the set of a Three Musketeers flick. It also happened to be ridiculously good, boosting his Strength, Dexterity, and Charism by five points each while also adding a ten percent resistance against Fire and a plus two to his Bladed Weapons skills. Sam felt better the second it was on his head.

“You’re him,” poor Evan stammered, dying but not dead yet. “You’re the traitor. The Bibliomancer.”

“Got it in one,” Sam said, swinging a red-bound volume to the six o’clock position. “Word of warning,” he growled, sounding half feral, “leave the Wolfmen alone.”

The book covers parted and unleashed a pair of folded paper stars, bleeding a soft orange light. Sam had a variety of abilities thanks to both his class and Bill’s tutelage, but Paper Shuriken was definitely his go to attack spell. Additionally, each page in this volume had been meticulously inscribed with a simple Fireball Spell, significantly amping up the damage potential.

The projectiles slammed into the wobbly-legged newb, lodging deeply in his chest then exploding with a wave of heat and light. Bye-bye, Easy_Mac.

Sam quickly toggled out the Fire Shuriken Tome, switching it to the nine-o’clock position, and bringing forth a green volume that spewed out a whirlwind of sheets at a thought. The pages swirled around Sam for the briefest instant, latching onto his threadbare newb gear.

In seconds Sam was encased in what appeared to be Spanish conquistador armor with its rounded breastplate, flared pauldrons, tapered waistline, and bulbous, balloon-like pantaloons. It looked ridiculous too, but just like Bill’s hat, it was some of the best armor a Mage like Sam could ever hope for. Papier-Mache Mage allowed him to cocoon himself in a layer of flexible yet versatile papier-mache. Every point of mana devoted to the spell, negated two points of damage from primary physical sources and half a point from magical sources of damage.

Its only real weakness was against fire and water—for rather obvious reasons.

<We’ve got incoming on the left, Legs,> Bill called. Having to share headspace, and soul space, with Bill all the time definitely had its drawbacks, but in combat it was awesome. It was like having a certainarachnoid-sense—though a sassy, sentient arachnoid-sense. Using his dual casting ability, Sam swapped Papier-Mache Mage for Fire Shuriken and a royal blue volume that contained Shurikens with an Ice Orb enchantment.

Rushing toward him was a spearman in segmented, Roman-inspired plate armor. JumboKiwi was nowhere to be seen—wait, no, there she was! Of course. Somehow, she’d managed to give Sphinx and Kai the slip and was flowing toward him like a river, blades clutched in both hands, a cloak as black as a Raven’s wing flowing behind her. This would be… less easy.

Fire Tome on his right, Ice Orb Tome on his left, Sam spammed a wave of Shurikens at the oncoming attackers in a hail of mini explosions and glimmering ice bursts. He triggered his Bookmark ability after the first star landed on each target. Bookmark wasn’t a standalone attack, but rather was a secondary spell script that caused a spell to auto-fix on a primary location or target—sending each subsequent attack to the same exact target.

Even if that target happened to be on the move.

Exploding fire Shurikens bombarded the spearman, stopping him in his tracks, and eating through his Health at a ferocious rate. Being a Mage with the College was terrible, but being a freelance Rogue Mage? Yeah, that was awesome. The Ice-Orbs landed with less force and destructive power, but they had a more insidious ability.

Damage dealt: 75 (70 + 5 Ice Orb) Target slowed 12%!

A layer of crystalline blue hoarfrost snaked across the JumboKiwi’s armor and clawed at her skin, slowing her down, though not stopping her completely. Despite Sam’s best efforts, she was getting awfully close, and the daggers in her hands looked like serious business. He spammed another three Ice Orb Shurikens at her, while simultaneously keeping the pressure on the spearman with Fire Shurikens. But the would-be assassin slipped and ducked his attacks with unnerving ease. She was fast and agile as all get out, plus Dual-Casting had the unfortunate effect of lowering Sam’s accuracy rate.

<Sword up, kid! And do it now—I’ll take over on the meathead with the spear.>

Sam backpedaled, opening up a little space between him and JumboKiwi. He extended his hand and twenty-three mana vanished from his Core as the oversized ostrich feather jutting from his cavalier hat leapt into the air, transforming into a glimmering Quill Blade. A gleaming sword with ghostly blue runes running down the blade, the handle wrapped in leather and capped by a fine silver nib. Perfect for stabbing someone in the eye or endorsing one of those giant novelty checks. Very versatile.

Sam dropped into a high guard and quickly adjusted his stance—feet shoulder width apart, hips slightly cocked, weight evenly distributed on the balls of his feet. JumboKiwi darted left, toward his open side, and lunged in quick as a striking viper, the daggers twirling in her hands. She was faster than Sam, a lot faster, but his blade had a much longer reach, and with a bit of fancy footwork and a couple of well-placed strikes, Sam managed to parry the flurry of blows. Still, his stamina was dropping at an alarming rate and there was no way he’d be able to keep pace with her for long.

She was built for combat, while he was built for holding up magical jazzhands.

There was a way he could level the playing field, though it would cost him. Sam feinted left, then darted right, slashing downward with his blade. She slipped the attack, turning his sword with a flick of her wrist, then dealt a nasty slash that bit into his deceptively weak-looking paper armor. He didn’t feel a thing, although the blow did chew through a hefty chunk of his Papier Mache protection.

124 damage absorbed by Papier-Mache Mage!

The gambit had bought him the time he needed. Sam rotated a jet-black book into the dominant position. The cover snapped open, the pages rustling in a flurry, and Sam unloaded javelin after javelin of inky black toward the incoming assassin. Sam’s Ink Lance attacks landed with a successive series of wet slapsfollowed by an audible *sizzle* as acid began to bite into JumboKiwi’s armor. But that wasn’t all it did. Nope. The black goo wriggled to life, crawling across her arms and legs, latching onto her face like a blob of hot tar. She screamed, fighting to pull the living ink off her, but it was futile.

While she was distracted and slowed by the roving finger of ink, Sam rotated Paper Shuriken back to the front and unleashed abyss. Whirling paper slammed into her like a hail of bullets, exploding one after another until there was nothing left but a charbroiled body. Gross, but oddly satisfying.

<That was pretty good work, legs. Although—and I mean this from the bottom of my heart—your sword form is just terrible. I mean, good on you for being a mage who even learned to use a blade, but seriously. We need to work on your form.>

“Latter,” Sam shot back, still breathing hard, sweat streaming down his face. “Like maybe when we’re not in the middle of battle?”

<Phft. Look around. There’s no battle left.> Bill wasn’t wrong. Bodies lay scattered across the field, many of them littered with arrows or crisscrossed with claw marks—courtesy of the Wolfmen.

Of the Rabid Inquisitors, only Rory, the Sergeant at Arms, remained. And he’d definitely seen better days. His face was a sheet of blood and one arm hung limply at his side. He was still fighting, but Dizzy had his number. She was coming at him hard, whipping her oversized maul around like it was made out of cardboard. It didn’t hit like cardboard, though. The wooden maul smashed into armor, badly deforming the metal from the impact. Dropping Rory to his knees.

Alive, but only just.

“You know BackAttack is gonna find you right?” Rory’s voice was heavy and pained. “You can’t keep this up forever, and once we do finally get a hold of you, he’s going to make you hurt.”

“Well,” Finn said, sliding up beside Dizzy, “That’s where I think you’re wrong, friend. It seems to me we’ve been doing a fine job undermining your Clan.”

“We won’t stop wrecking you guys until you back off,” Dizzy raised her maul up high. “Give our regards to your boss.”

She brought the maul down in a vicious arc, smashing through his head and sending him for respawn in an instant. Dizzy threw her head back and howled. Sam joined, letting loose a cry as experience rolled in like the tide. Since Sam and company were officially no longer part of humanity, not only didn’t they get penalized for PKing players, they gained experience and skill gains for every single kill.

Experience gained: Dakota, I’ll let you tackle this bit.

Skill increase: Orbital Tome Casting (Beginner II). Yeah, we get it, you have a bunch of magical books. Talk about picking the low-hanging fruit, since there is literally no way for you not to increase this if you are casting spells!

Skill increase: Paper Shuriken (Novice IX). You’re really learning how to slice and dice with the best of ’em. Get those creases sharp!

Skill increase: Magical Origami (Novice VII). Hard for a derivative skill to outrank the skill it comes from, know what I mean?

Skill increase: Origami Activation (Novice VIII). Are you making progress? Sure. But how’s about you learn some other spells, huh? In this case, repetition makes for slow progress. Variety is the spice of progress. Or something like that.

As he read, Sam felt a surge of power. Golden light swirled around him in a cloud, lifting him into the air and filling his body with sheer euphoria. Raw energy ripped through his veins, sprinting along his nerve endings. He knew he was floating, both figuratively and metaphorically. He’d just leveled up, and more than that—he’d finally hit level ten, which opened a world of new possibilities. Sam would finally be able to pick a second profession and even specialize as a Bibliomancer. Despite the sassy comments from the game system, he couldn’t help but grin. Being on Team Wolfman was absolutely the best.