《Tokens and Towers (A LitRPG/GameLit Adventure)》 Prologue/Fictional Author Forward This story might not be for everyone, but if you¡¯ve made it this far, it¡¯s probably for you. Too soon? I¡¯ve been saving that intro line forever, and now I¡¯m feeling like I botched the opening line already, which is generally considered the most important sentence in a book. In that case, I¡¯ll just get straight to the point. My name is Randy Lionheart and I¡¯m a fantasy writer. With that in mind, I promise that you will be thoroughly entertained by the crazy story to follow, a story which would be way less crazy if it weren¡¯t for the fact it actually happened to me, and is still happening to me (I¡¯m still trapped in this fantasy world known as Genera as we speak). If you¡¯ve never read a LitRPG before, strap in. If you have, sit back, enjoy the ride. Congratulations, you will laugh your ass off! At me. That¡¯s right, I¡¯m the guy who fell asleep (or maybe died) in a sensory deprivation tank and woke up in a world populated by all sorts of chicanerous creatures, from rogue halflings to an assortment of elves, sketchy wizards, treacherous gnomes, and ravenous trolls; the same fantasy writer who also spent his last book advance on crypto, leaving me completely broke.Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings. But more on that second part later¡­ For some reason, you¡¯re still here and wondering when this story is actually going to start, and what this Mad Lad of a writer (aka me) has in store for you. We¡¯re almost there, reader, but before we kick this one into high gear, before we portal to another world and start the tutorial so we can reach the tower and get working on those floors, I need to clear up a few more things: THERE WILL BE CURSING. But there won¡¯t be sex. And there will be pop culture references galore that are totally going to date this story. I am also forced to seduce a dungeoncore at one point in the first act; take quests in a floor populated by bipedal hamsters known as Hamsterdam; and fight everything from raging murder hornets to Japanese goblins, among other wacky situations. So expect violence and shenanigans. I swear to you that as soon as chapter one starts, this story will kick into super high gear with a metric crapton of action, batty challenges, a smattering of stats, unhinged tournaments, fun characters, and clever enough banter as I slay my way toward the tower. Because that¡¯s what Tokens and Towers is all about, and I wouldn¡¯t have it any other way even if it is indulgent. It¡¯s safe to say that I¡¯m just as excited as you are to kick this one off, dear reader, itching to grab the nearest weapon and start grinding and looting like my life depends on it while dealing with a powerful yet misguided flying spellbook named Clovis. Congrats to both of us! We, you and I, are about to embark on an epic journey, the epic-est of journeys, one that has never been told before. With that in mind, I¡¯m going to exit stage left and let this story shine before you figure out a better way to spend your time. My name is Randy Lionheart. Let¡¯s get wild. Chapter One: The Gnomes Must Die ¡ªSteps to Using the Float System¡ª I stopped reading the instructions at this point. I got the gist, and had already watched the instructional video the wellness center had emailed me. Coming here was supposed to be my hail Mary. A friend of mine had let me use his gift card with several ¡®floats¡¯ on it, which was what this place called being suspended in a sensory deprivation tank for ninety minutes for restorative purposes and to enhance creativity. This was supposed to be an experience that would spark something for me. Yet here I was, naked as the day I was born, showering in a bathroom a thousand times nicer than any bathroom I¡¯d ever had, and I couldn¡¯t stop thinking about how they had rechristened the sensory deprivation tank to ¡®float tank.¡¯ That was probably the fantasy writer in me thinking. I guess ¡®float tank¡¯ does sound a bit nicer, but I think I¡¯ll call you Tanky the Tank¡­ I turned off the shower, and as water dripped from my skin, I finally opened the hatch. It truly was a hatch, to the point that it almost resembled a cremation oven, the inner surfaces of the tank smooth, white, and oh-so-plastic. The interior of the tank was about eight feet across, and five feet high. As soon as I was in, an indigo light flicked on and a light soundtrack started up, the music somewhere between ambient piano and white noise. ¡°Weird¡­¡± I lowered into the ninety-four-degree water that was standing at about ten inches high, the bottom surface of the tank quite slick. You¡¯ve got this. You need this, I reminded myself as I relaxed onto my back, the water laced with Epsom salt aiding in my buoyancy. Reaching my hand over my head allowed me to close the hatch door behind me, a tinge of claustrophobia coming to me as I tried to adjust to my little wellness oasis. I tried to get comfortable as the music carried through the water and into my plugged ears. You¡¯re not going to die in here. Tanky the Tank isn¡¯t going to kill you¡­ Once I was nice and floaty, I pressed my thumb against a button that turned off the light. My heart jumped at the sudden darkness. I actively stopped myself from turning the light back on. I needed this. I needed to be alone with my thoughts, to work through some shit. The hint of fear slowly filtered away. Soon, I was floating comfortably, relaxing even further into the water once it was clear I couldn¡¯t drown. Just float¡­If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. I was here, everything was in its right place, and I would come out of this float session with an idea that would rebuild my literary career. At least that was the plan¡­ **** What? I thought, coming out of my meditative, float tank reverie. Did someone just speak to me? And was she British? Why am I hearing voices? And what is this about gnomes? Focus, Randy¡­ I was in this float tank for a reason. I needed a novel idea, something that would keep the royalties coming in and the fantasy writing ship afloat until I stumbled across my next concept, or at least until the crypto I had dumped my savings into would moon, making me rich enough to afford a one-way ticket to outer space. I quieted my breath yet again, waiting for my muse to finally appear, that clever beauty who had most graciously blessed me with The Mana in the White Castle, War Beast, Mage of Rage, and Kung Fu Fable, my bestselling cultivation series with gaming elements. It was the same dastardly muse who had also shat the bed with my experimental Oh, Great, I Fell in Love with a Demon Mimic and Now I¡¯m Going to Hell to Become a Dungeoncore Farmer, which was some cringe-worthy GameLit erotica I wrote under my pen name Angel Farts that had sold all of seven ebook copies (and one was returned, but I still count it as seven). Come on, Randy, think¡­ Forget about your pen name¡­ forget about Angel Farts¡­ But thinking about thinking had a way of making me feel like I was overthinking. In that case... Focus on your breath¡­ Come on, man, focus! There it was again, my thoughts interrupted by a British lady, a voice I couldn¡¯t quite place. It should have been easy to blink my eyes open, find the light switch in the float tank, and climb out. After all, I wasn¡¯t suspended in that much water, and the support staff had told me what to do if I started to feel claustrophobic. There was even an intercom system. Yet I brazenly resisted the urge, wondering if this woman was indeed my muse, that she had finally come to me in a dream state and had decided to take a British voice just to shake things up a bit. < Welcome, Randall Lionheart...> ¡°¡ªPlease, call me Randy, the noun not the adjective¡­¡± I told her, which was my go-to introduction that I found funny but usually didn¡¯t get the laugh I wanted. ¡°Is this a loaded question?¡± I asked aloud. There was an echo to my voice now, darkness still enveloping me. ¡°Sure, um, human,¡± I said, just ready to get on with it. ¡°Is that what you wanted me to say?¡± Wait¡­ what? Vortex, vacuum, spiraling down the drain, being uploaded, watching the movie Frozen on shrooms, what it must feel like to be lubed up and sucked through a giant straw, Havana syndrome, taking both the red and blue pill at the same time, being waterboarded¡ªall would describe what happened next as I was portaled to another world, my senses on fire and my head spinning. Suddenly, I was no longer in a darkened float tank alone with my thoughts. I was now in a forest straight out of Narnia, crisp, pine needles beneath my feet, a slight breeze and a bit of birdsong in the air. Even worse, I wasn¡¯t alone. A group of what I would describe as ¡®tough guy gnomes¡¯ stood across from me, most of the pint-sized bruisers muscled up and wearing dark, skintight leather and tunics, oozing aggression, some with oiled forearms and biceps. I thought of the old cartoon Hargrim the Gnome, and how nice those gnomes had been in that show. Surely this troupe would be friendly. Surely they would help a bewildered guy who had magically appeared before them. After all, they weren¡¯t goblins¡­ ¡°Fellas,¡± I said, showing them my hands. ¡°Fellas¡­¡± This has to be a dream¡­ I thought as the lead gnome hawked a giant loogie in my direction, one that was yellow enough to lead me to believe that he might actually have an underlying medical condition. I tried to will myself awake and failed. ¡°Fellas¡­¡± They all took a collective step closer to me. If this was a nightmare, one that involved a murder of gnomes, I damn sure wasn¡¯t going to let these short little bastards treat me like a communal Fleshlight, not after all the bullshit I¡¯d been through recently. For once in my life, it was time to kick some serious ass. It was time to introduce these shifty gnomes to the Mad Lad. Chapter Two: Axl Rose - A Perfect Name for a Perfect Axe A glint of something caught my eye. I went for it, the axe easily coming loose from the nearest tree trunk. The British lady¡¯s voice startled me once again, but the mention of a primary weapon also caused me to take a quick look around, where I saw that there were other weapon options, from a sword to a spear, even a gnarly looking dominatrix whip, all within reaching distance. There was even a spellbook¡­ ¡°Come again?¡± I asked aloud, wanting to confirm the inevitable. Is this¡­ is this some kind of game tutorial? Goddamn if I didn¡¯t want to slam my thumb on an invisible ¡®pause¡¯ button and try to get my bearings. If this was a dream, and in my dream there were game elements, then that was utterly the most badass dream I could have asked for because, as it turned out¡­ Wait for it¡­ Wait¡­ For¡­ It¡­ You guessed it, I was (and still am!) a LitRPG writer. Not only that, I was an avid gamer, and had read enough reader comments across the internet and through book reviews to hear just about every opinion there was on what the reader would do if they were portaled into a game world. Stats, buffs, debuffs, just get buff, min-max, farming XP, grow a dick, grow some tits, farm some shit (I still have yet to figure out why that¡¯s part of the genre), no stupid main character, no Debbie Downers, no Mary Sues, if you¡¯re a mimic don¡¯t be too gropey, keep politics out of it¡ªall were things I was versed in. This was literally my element, and I intended to act on the directions. ¡°Things are about to get really fucked up around here, fellas. I¡¯m warning you¡­¡± I returned my gaze to the gnomes, truly understanding in that moment what it felt like to glare someone down with murderous intent. The Mad Lad was a nickname I¡¯d sort of given myself, and by sort of I mean that it was the name I referred to myself as when my darker side came out. Sometimes it was necessary to let the Mad Lad out of his cage. As much as I didn¡¯t want to, I was about to get medieval on these gnomes. The first cone-hatted fucker started to growl, which threw me for a momentary loop. ¡°You came to the wrong forest, asshole!¡± The high-pitched, nuts-squeezed-between-his-legs voice that came out of his mouth almost had me barreled over in laughter. I suddenly noticed something behind the gnomes. It was as if the trees pressed away behind him, a tower emerging from the landscape like an erection, the morningest of woods, the tower vibrant and sparkling and clearly a place a down-on-his-luck-but-pretty-good-dude writer like myself would rather be than a forest with a bunch of dickheaded gnomes. ¡°You aren¡¯t going anywhere!¡± the lead gnome roared in his high-pitched voice as he took off in my direction. Whack! It was instinctual. The tip of my axe met the side of his head. Axe meet gnome, gnome meet the fucking ground! I thought my initial response to doming the gnome (also potential slang for a sex act, I don¡¯t know, let¡¯s workshop it) would leave me feeling remorseful, or sick to my stomach, the bit cracking into the side of his skull, his stupid red cone hat flying the opposite direction, blood trailing in the air as I brought the axe back to the ready. But I felt nothing in my actions. I¡¯d been waiting all my entire life to take down an asshole the old fashioned way. If this was what being portaled to a fantasy world was going to be like, I was game. I was so game! The other gnomes started to back away. ¡°That¡¯s right,¡± I said, feeling more manly than I¡¯d felt in ages. ¡°Unless you all want to end up like your shit-for-brains leader here¡­¡± The pain was sudden. I couldn¡¯t recall the last time I had been bitten¡ªperhaps by my ex-wife, Chelsea, who liked to nibble on my ears to some extent, at least when she cosplayed¡ªbut my God, MY GOD, did it hurt. Sure enough, the gnome I had lobotomized had come back to life, the left side of his face practically carved out yet the bastard still had the wherewithal to take a serious bite out of my calf, which was something that could have possibly been prevented had I been wearing pants. Did I mention I was naked? Talk about burying the lead! The staff back at the wellness center had asked for me to undress before I got into the sensory deprivation tank, meaning that yes, I was in a forest fighting a gaggle of contentious gnomes in my birthday suit.The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. ¡°Gladly!¡± I said as I brought my axe down onto the ankle-biting gnome¡¯s head again. This time I made sure he was dead, and not a moment too soon. An onslaught of gnomentry descended upon me, five, six, seven, I lost count of the pointy red hats as they all came charging at me at once like a pack of piranhas. I tried to sweep them away with my axe, but this only seemed to piss them off even further, the little bastards going for my legs, and eventually bringing me to the ground and scrambling on top of me. They smelled like piss mixed with a clinical case of halitosis, the fetid gnomes scrambling over me with their grubby little paws as they began delivering punches and scratches. I managed to kick some of them off, the British lady¡¯s voice coming to me again. ¡°Goddammit, lady, I¡¯m trying!¡± What the hell kind of system prompt is this? Why am I fighting gnomes? Gnomes are supposed to be good! I avoided one of the fatter gnomes, the dumbass heading straight into a tree. I swiveled, and brought my axe down against his back, the sickening sound of his spine snapping from the weight of my weapon barely noticeable in the barrage of gnomey grunts as the others tried to corner me. I was in the zone now, bashing gnomes, wild-eyed, Mad Lad, whipped up to the point that my top knot had come loose, brown and gray hair dancing around my shoulders as I gleefully fought them back. My ears perked up when another called for their leader in an even higher-pitched voice: ¡°Somebody get the boss!¡± I looked quickly to the first gnome I¡¯d domed just a few moments ago. I guess he wasn¡¯t the actual hefe, which meant I needed to clean up shop with the gnomes still advancing on me before likely encountering their true leader. You¡¯ve got this, I thought as yet another disgruntled gnome jumped at me. Wait for it... Wham! I hit him out of the park, and managed to block the sharp teeth of the next gnome with the handle of my axe, the little bastard sinking his chompers in and losing his hat as I tried to flick him off. I gave up and resorted to fists, my knuckles breaking his nose upon impact and finally freeing up my axe. ¡°Going to call you Axl Rose,¡± I told my weapon as I swung it again, Babe Ruthing another one of the little turdmuffins straight into a tree. It was all starting to make sense. This couldn¡¯t be a dream; I had been isekai¡¯d (portaled, for those not versed in Mangalese) into some kind of fantasy world yet to be determined and even better, the serious icing on top of the cake¡ªnot only did it clearly have game elements, I¡¯d gotten a boost in strength and stamina as well. The only thing that was off was the gnomes, who are generally good guys. I should have known at that moment that something was off¡­ Not only that, the fighting had yet to wind me. By this point, I should have been feeling it. I certainly felt tension, but I wasn¡¯t out of breath, and the bite that I¡¯d received just a few moments ago was hurting less and less. Kick ass! This thought inspired me to go even harder against the bastardly band of gnomes. I gave into the sheer power of my weapon, Axl Rose swinging ahead as if it were possessed, arcs of blood that would put even the most unrealistic anime to shame spritzing the air like the Bellagio fountain, a ballet of gnomey death, the likes of which left me feeling like Rambo once I¡¯d finished up with the pack. Calling it ¡®bloody brilliant¡¯ would be underselling it. I was living my best life! After a pretty shitty couple of years, from my divorce to blowing all my money on crypto trying to moon my way to an early retirement, this was just about the most fun I¡¯d had since DragonCon in Atlanta a few years back (a story for a later date). I was alive again. I was finishing off gnomes like there was no tomorrow. And then suddenly, I wasn¡¯t. The gnomes were all dead, all aside from their boss, who stood before me, one foot on a tree stump as he sipped some sort of cocktail from a potion bottle. He was a head taller than the other gnomes¡ªso the size of a sixth grader? No idea¡ªand he wore a tunic, or jacket, that was leathery, billeted, and sealed up at the front with a borderline BDSM vibe, his gnome hat black and matching his riveted get-up, a spiked mace in his hand. ¡°I didn¡¯t ask for any of this,¡± I told him, ¡°your guys attacked me first.¡± The boss gnome tossed his adult beverage over his shoulder and tightened his hands on his spiked mace. ¡°You think you can just stroll into this forest and start killing my people? That¡¯s what you think?¡± Do I detect a mobster-like accent? Tony Soprano the gnome clearly wasn¡¯t playing around, his voice edged in utter hate, and disgust, but he looked so goddamn stupid that I found myself laughing again. ¡°Does this look like a joke to you!?¡± Before I could conjure a snarky answer he bolted forward, the frothing boss gnome cracking his spiked mace against the side of my thigh. ¡°Shit!¡± I said, the pain instant to the point that it felt as if it had moved through my very core. What the hell kind of mace was that? Should I be protecting my private parts!? ¡°Think you¡¯re some hotshot, that you can just show up here naked and start killing people, huh?¡± he asked as he approached again, something savage in his eyes now. If you¡¯re picturing me trying to stand with my leg shaking, axe loosely held in one hand, my dangly bits wide open for his next strike¡ªyou¡¯d be right. But it was also a ploy. If this was a game world, then there would be some kind of healing to come. I could already sense it with the bite that I¡¯d received earlier, the wound no longer red, bite marks all but faded away. If I actually died beaten to a bloody pulp by an oversized gnome in a misty forest somewhere twenty miles west of the last known pub in Valinor, then so be it. It would make a great social media obituary, plenty of hearts, and care emojis, maybe a few tributes as well from some of my most diehard readers (of which there are five, thank you, guys). Alas, it had been a good life as a fantasy writer. At least I hadn¡¯t done something batshit like start a religious cult, or let the fame go to my head, or starved my loyal readers of the story they so desperately wanted for ten years. At least I hadn¡¯t written a book on genre writing and marketing! With this in mind, and with the fact that as far as I knew, I could die at any moment, I summoned up a deeply bottled rage as I shouted my next sentence: ¡°Come at me, gnome!¡± I wasn¡¯t proud of the words that tore free from my lips, but I was proud of how I put all my weight into my next swing, and how this had the added effect of springing me forward with a rush of energy not normally experienced by writers. Or anyone, not even Olympic athletes. It was like someone had lit a magical fire under my ass, a burst of energy I glady made use of as I lobbed the boss gnome¡¯s head clean off¡ªSchlick!¡ªhis enraged face spinning in the air and hitting the ground before his body fell. I had officially killed all the gnomes. Tokens and Towers Vol 2 update All - I''ve decided to take Tokens and Towers off Royal Roads starting March 11th. The subsequent volumes, which I am working on now (almost halfway through the second book!) will be posted on my Patreon and published on Amazon. The first volume will be published on Amazon March 24th, with the second set for July 2022. If you want a copy of the final, edited, ebook version, you can get it here: https://dl.bookfunnel.com/jih37aszcsSupport the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more. This link will expire around March 22. Thanks for reading this series! As to why it''s coming off RR - this was an experiment and I''d like to cut my social media/platforms down a bit. Not only that, with the second book onward, there''s a lot going on in this world, meaning I don''t want to post chapters as they come because of changes that are necessary as I re-edit my own work. Finally, I write, on average, 2-3 books at a time. Having to post and polish regularly isn''t conducive to this schedule. Thanks for checking this out, get your free copy above before the link expires.