CPC-02. Couch Potato Crisis, page 1
part #2 of Couch Potato Chronicles Series
Couch Potato Crisis
Book 2 of Couch Potato Chronicles
Written by Erik Rounds - 3518 Cooke Lane Melissa, TX 75454
© 2018-2021 Erik Rounds
All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. For permissions contact:
couchpotatogamelit@gmail.com
Edited by Chet Sandberg
Cover and art by Andrea Trenbeath
Table of Contents
Legal
Previously on Couch Potato Chaos…
World Map (Color)
Prologue
Chapter 1 - Couch Potato Crisis
Chapter 2 - Tasha's Bad Day
Chapter 3 - Dea Latis
Chapter 4 - Return of Twinklebottom
Chapter 5 - Sea Dogs
Chapter 6 - Absconded Princess
Chapter 7 - The Chemist and the Mathemagician
Chapter 8 - Heeeere's Blobby!
Chapter 9 - The Sorceress of the South
Chapter 10 - The Secret of Wombat Island
Chapter 11 - The Pirate and the General
Chapter 12 - McBreakfast Sandwiches
Chapter 13 - The Grey Room
Chapter 14 - Pollyanna
Chapter 15 - The Hunter and the Hunted
Chapter 16 - Freshly Heated Chicken Noodle Soup
Chapter 17 - Ice Cream Castles in the Air
Chapter 18 - Bad Science
Chapter 19 - Freefall
The Intermission - Henimaru’s Quest
Chapter 20 - Into Zhakara
Chapter 21 - Assault on Ironfall
Chapter 22 - The Fifth Player
Chapter 23 - Message in a Bottle
Chapter 24 - The Final Summon
Chapter 25 - Beachhead
Chapter 26 - Devil’s Bargain
Chapter 27 - Knight of the Metal Joints
Chapter 28 - Sibling Rivalry
Chapter 29 - The Gathering
Chapter 30 - The End of Zhakara
Epilogue
Author’s Note
Previously on Couch Potato Chaos…
Transported to the magical land of Etheria by means of a mysterious game cartridge left to her by her late father, an overworked game programmer named Tasha Singleton struggled to find her way in her new world. Then she gained the class of Couch Potato, allowing her to gain new abilities from books, games, and movies. Although low-level mobs immediately killed her, she was surprised after being resurrected as the strong person she’d always wanted to be.
Over the course of her adventure, she met new friends. One, a teenage girl named Pan, traveled with her father Ari, who turned out to be her summoned figment. Also along for the ride were an exiled dwarven prince named Hermes, his slimish friend Sir Slimon, a young steam dragon named Kaze, and the elven princess Kiwistafel Questgiver.
Together, they set out on an adventure that sounds suspiciously like the plot to a 16-bit JRPG—to collect the six elemental orbs and save the world from Entropy, the snake god of destruction.
After countless exciting adventures, Tasha and her friends successfully stole the Orb of Air from the pirate captain K’her Noalin. Just as they collected the Orb of Life from the Spiral Tower they were ambushed by the diabolical human Queen Murderjoy, who wanted the orb for herself. After a drawn-out battle, Tasha and her friends defeated the evil queen, but were forced to retreat to the elven capital.
As soon as things were looking up, Murderjoy reappeared and put a charm person enchantment on Tasha, compelling her to lure the princess into the queen’s clutches. In a final act of spite, the evil queen killed Tasha and escaped with the princess.
And now, the story continues in Couch Potato Crisis...
World Map
Prologue
It was the middle of fall; a chill northerly wind whispered as the first gold and red leaves danced upon autumnal fields, and all the trendy item shops stocked pumpkin spice flavored health potions.
The high elven boy, Fingaerion (or Fin to those who knew him) had nearly forgotten the taste of pumpkin spice or any other food with flavor. He’d forgotten what it was like to wear clothes—proper clothes that protected him from the elements, not the tattered rags his human masters forced upon him, nor the cold iron slave collar around his neck.
Fingaerion was the property of Zhakaran masters, and humans weren’t known to treat their slaves kindly. Emaciated, his body was covered in scars, and his right hand missed its outermost digit. A human had removed it when Fin had forgotten his place and spoken back without being asked a question. It served as a reminder to him and his fellow elves that their masters were to be feared. A common recovery potion could have repaired the damage, but elves were forbidden from healing.
He turned his attention to the pair of humans who congregated near the cliff-face.
The human named Marnie paced back and forth before the dungeon’s stone-covered entrance. Such nervous movement was a clear sign he was in a foul mood. Fin tried not to wince in anticipation of whatever the man would bring. Possessed of a receding hairline with strands of hair just beginning to grey, Marnie wore simple brown traveler’s clothing, including a jacket and long pants. Both were nearly threadbare.
The only other human nearby—Marnie’s wife, Caymie—was a curly-haired, middle-aged red-head who frequently glared daggers at her husband. She wore similar utilitarian, weather-appropriate clothing.
“How long do you expect me to wait?” Caymie asked.
Marnie stopped pacing and met her gaze. “How should I know? They ain’t my friends, they’re mercenaries.”
She shook her head. “Should have told Lord Aldridge about the dungeon. He’d have given us a reward for that.”
Marnie pulled out a pack of cigarettes, offered her one, took one for himself, then lit both with a low power flame spell. “The lord would have paid us a pittance compared to what we’ll get by completing it ourselves.” He smiled, revealing a broken tooth. “You read the dungeon info? The reward is an exotic-tier ability. This could be it.”
“We don’t know what the ability is, or if we can sell it.”
Marnie frowned and shook his head. “Don’t matter. It’s exotic-tier. It’s right there in the name—Exotic. It’s gotta be interesting. Whatever it is, it’s gotta be useful, or valuable, or something.”
His wife crossed her boney arms. “Unless Lord Aldridge discovers we’ve been holding out on him.” She shot him an anxious frown. “We should give up on these hair-brained get rich quick schemes. It’s not too late to tell him about our find.”
Marnie snorted. “That’s what’s wrong with you, woman. You have no ambition, no drive to greatness.”
Caymie narrowed her eyes and shot a glance toward the gathered elves. “What’s with the slaves?”
As the two humans glanced toward him, Fin looked away. It was best to not catch the human woman’s attention.
“Rentals. From Hawkwind.”
“How much did that set us back? One or two would serve well as pack-mules, but ten?”
“Relax. They’re all trash-tier. Ain’t a one of them with a base strength above six. All ten together only cost me 430 GP for the week.”
She slapped him across the cheek. “That’s two week’s earnings! What were you thinking?”
“You’ll thank me later, woman. Be grateful I had the presence of mind to get ‘em.”
The humans turned away from the gathered slaves and returned to arguing with one another.
A dark elven girl whispered, “What are we doing here, brother?”
Fin turned. Mara was the only elf present who was younger than him. By elven standards, he was a young adult. Unlike Fingaerion, who had been captured at a young age, Mara was born and raised in captivity. Since they were the closest in age, she’d taken to calling him her brother.
They each bore a glowing brand on their right shoulders, indicating they were the property of the Hawkwind Rental Company. Magical constructs, the brands required a sufficiently powerful counterspell to remove.
Like all dark elves, Mara had silver hair, red eyes, and dark skin. Outside of appearance and a few major cultural differences, dark elves were similar to high elves in nearly every respect.
“Not sure what they want with us,” he whispered. “It sounds like they want to clear that dungeon. They might have us harvesting treasure chests or carrying loot in our inventories.”
“What’s a dungeon?”
He sighed. She was so young. “It’s a large contained area filled with traps, monsters, and treasure. It’s perfect for gaining levels quickly, and has treasure you can’t find out in the field.”
Mara shivered. None of the elves were given anything to wear but grey tattered rags and the slave collars around their necks. Used by the masters to inflict pain to guarantee compliance, the collars also nullified magic.
Elves in Zhakara weren’t allowed to own property or gain levels. The thin, basic cloth they were allowed provided no protection against the chill autumn air. “I’m cold, big brother.”
“I’m cold too.” He tried to comfort her. “It might be warmer inside the dungeon, depending on its theme.”
“Have you ever been in a dungeon before?” she asked.
Fin smiled. “I explored several, though I died in each of them. The experience gained made it worth it.”
They sat together in silence, huddling for warmth. Minutes later, another p
The other was a young woman with brown hair done up in a bun. She wore a red top and skirt embroidered with the pattern of a golden snake that wound along the trim. The skirt had a long slit on the right side. Fingaerion assumed she was a magic-user. She wasn’t yet close enough for him to scan. The magic blocking collar prevented his use of spells, but it did nothing to impede the use of abilities like scan, especially since those skills could be useful to the slavemaster.
“It’s about time!” Caymie said. “You kept us waiting.”
The large man stared at her before turning his attention to Marnie. “Who’s the harpy?”
Marnie frowned. “My wife.” He faced his wife and gestured at the large man. “This is Gunther, a level 14 barbarian.” He pointed at the woman. “That woman in the fancy dress is Penelope, a level 15 cleric. They’re going to help us clear the dungeon.”
Gunther nodded. “A four-way cut.” He narrowed his eyes as if it were a challenge.
Marnie nodded vigorously. “Yes, of course. An even, four-way cut.”
Caymie crossed her arms and stared at Penelope. “I get why we need him, but why do we need a cleric? What church do you belong to?”
Penelope grinned. “The only one that counts—that of Lord Entropy. There’s been a resurgence in our glorious faith of late. The end of the world has been wonderful for us.” She shook her head. “Don’t look so glum, nice middle-aged lady. You don’t need to be concerned about me. I just want to have a good time while the world comes crashing down.”
Caymie looked ready to slap her husband again. “You just had to pick one of the crazies?”
“Can’t go into a dungeon without a healer.”
She scowled and crossed her arms. “Fine.”
Gunther laughed. “Quite the shrew you’ve married, you sad old man.” He then addressed Caymie. “Your husband is a level 15 hunter, but what’s your value here? I say we leave you outside. You look weak.”
“Call me ‘shrew’ again and I’ll plant an arrow in your eye socket, pretty as one of the blood-red flowers of early May.” A wide smile grew on her face. “I’m a level 18 archer with a subclass of poison mage, which makes me your better.”
“Enough,” said Marnie. “Let’s clear the dungeon before anyone else finds it. There are only three floors, so we should clear it in under a day.”
Marnie approached the elves. “On your feet animals. You best be worth what I paid. Stay close behind. Don’t wander off on your own.”
Mara and Fingaerion got to their feet at once, as did the eight other elves. Following a short distance behind the humans, they approached the dungeon.
Now entering dungeon: Undercaves of Craghorn Mountain
Recommended levels 11–19, party of 2 to 5, 3 floors
Completion reward: The first adventurer to touch the scroll dropped by the dungeon boss will receive an exotic-tier classless ability.
Caution: This dungeon contains deadly traps that can instantly kill even high-level adventurers.
Duration: 55 days or until cleared
Flickering torchlight dimly lit the dungeon entrance, but it faded after a short distance, and there was no light farther into the caves. Each human grabbed a torch from the sconces. One of the older slaves, an older elven man named Aymer, asked, “Should we carry torches as well?”
Fin had been too nervous to ask. As the property of a rental company, he’d worked for numerous human masters and learned to predict their temperaments. While a few human masters were kind to their slaves, most were either cruel or indifferent as to how their elves were treated.
Marnie slapped Aymer’s hand from the sconce before he could take a torch. “Don’t be idiotic, elf. Too much light will attract monsters.”
“But, without light, we could wander right into a monster without knowing.”
Penelope approached the elf and leaned in close, looking him in the eye. “Then the monsters will tear you to shreds and you’ll die a painful death—I’m so jealous!”
“Where did you find that woman?” Muttered Caymie.
Fingaerion took Mara’s hand. “Stay close so we don’t get separated.”
The humans led them through the narrow corridor, and the elves followed the light from the four human adventurers in front of them. The light from the elves’ dimly glowing brands was enough to see from a distance, but not strong enough to provide any useful illumination.
They continued following the humans until Marnie signed for them to stop.
“What is it?” asked Gunther. “Monsters? I can’t see anything.”
Marnie pointed at a tile on the floor in front of them. “It’s a trap, and the trigger is too big to avoid.”
“Super convenient that we have a hunter on the team,” said Penelope. She blushed. “I would have just stumbled right onto it without thinking. What kind of trap is it?”
“Let’s find out,” said Marnie.
His wife glared. “Your disarm trap skill is far too low for this dungeon. You’d probably end up setting it off and killing us.”
“Quiet!” His tone was sharp. “I’m not going to use an ability to disarm the trap.”
“Oh? This should be good. What do you have in mind?”
“It’s easier to show you.” Marnie picked an elf out at random, a high elven man with long silver hair. “You, slave.”
The slave—Fin’s friend Pelleas—pointed at himself uncertainly. The older elf had often cheered Fin up when he first became a slave. Pelleas asked, “What is it, master?”
“Walk ahead of us down that corridor.”
“But, isn’t it trapped?” he asked. Marnie removed a small box and pointed it at him. He turned a knob and flicked a switch. The elf’s collar glowed a bright red as the elf collapsed to the ground, screaming and writhing. Penelope giggled and pointed at the elf while holding Gunther’s arm, but Gunther snatched his arm away.
“Stop!” Fin cried, but his appeal fell upon deaf ears.
Marnie turned off the device and let the elf recover. “A master gave you a command, elf. Walk. Down. That. Corridor.”
“Y...yes master.” Pelleas took one step after another down the dimly lit corridor until he reached the pressure plate.
“Keep going.”
He took another step onto the plate. There was a loud click, and then a grinding sound. As the elf looked back toward Marnie, two large spiked iron balls supported by chains fell toward him from either side, crushing him as their paths came together and killed Pelleas instantly. His body left a red stain on the metal balls as it slid to the ground.
Marnie turned to Mara. “Walk down that corridor and make sure it’s disarmed.”
Mara shook her head and backed away. Fin stepped forward. “I’ll do it.” He walked before Marnie could object, passing his dead friend. His heart pounded hard in his chest, but he suppressed any show of concern as he turned back. “See? Safe.”
Marnie faced his wife and raised his eyebrows. “And that’s how you disarm a trap. The traps will rearm after a certain amount of time, but as long as we move before that happens, it shouldn't concern us.”
Caymie said, “You did have a use for those slaves after all. You planned ahead for once.”
He smiled and nodded as if basking in a rare compliment from his wife. “Even trash-tier elves like these have their uses. Best if we don’t run out of elves before we clear this dungeon.”
They continued for a time. Occasionally, monsters attacked the humans in the lead, but the four adventurers suppressed the dungeon mobs with their combined might.
When they reached the second trap, Marnie signaled for Mara. “It’s your turn. Did you think I’d forgotten about you?”
Fin said, “I’ll go.”
“No,” said Marnie, “You’ll stand there and watch as your girlfriend disarms the trap.”
Fingaerion wanted to protest that Mara wasn’t his girlfriend, but thought better of it. Speaking back to humans never ended well.
