He thought that finding the cure to the disease that took his father would be the hard part...
Colwyn Smalley never questioned the role he was meant to play. The labels which would define him were assigned before he left primary school: genius; aloof; innovator; driven. After his father was handed a fatal diagnosis, Colwyn swore to find a cure... to save his hero.
He failed.
Haunted by his father's death, he dedicated the next quarter century to fulfilling his vow with barely a passing thought to his own happiness outside of his love for the role-playing games which gave birth to his nickname.
In place of the expected acclaim and jubilation upon revealing that he has miraculously succeeded, he encounters suspicion and corporate politics more interested in riches than saving lives. When he refuses to let his work be hoarded by the wealthy, his employers decide there's only one way to silence him. Framed, imprisoned, and left for dead, Colwyn faces a brutal reality--until an enigmatic being offers him a new path.
Gifted with the unnatural power to force those bent on doing him harm to his will, Colwyn emerges from the ashes of his former life as something far more dangerous than the unassuming, forgettable nerd his foes perceive. Just as Colwyn begins to experiment with his newfound powers, his world is again upended when the woman of his dreams appears at his doorstep. Now Colwyn must choose between getting revenge against those who wronged him, finding a way to bring his long-sought discovery to the world, or, for the first time in his life, pursuing his own happiness - a task which is soon complicated when he discovers that his biggest challenge may be in restraining his new powers, rather than unleashing them.
Packed with sensuality, sharp wit, and a provocative look at power and morality, The Game Master is a contemporary erotic fantasy about a man who sacrificed everything for his quest--only to discover that love was the prize he never knew he was searching for.
Author's note:
I've split this novel into three sections for publication here.
Make no mistake, this novel delves into some weighty subject matter. Trigger warnings for on-page violence and depression.
All sensuality (on page or otherwise) takes place between characters who are eighteen or older.
010100
Colwyn awoke late the next day, having not returned home from Paula's apartment until nearly sunrise. He smiled at the soreness he felt in muscles he had not used in longer than he could remember. He looked over to his phone, and his smile grew wider. He had a text from Paula which she had sent so he would have her number. The contact she had created for herself had her first name and, in the title field, she had written 'a good fuck'. Her message read, "Whitney and I have conferred and decided that you can do that to us whenever you want."
He made his way into his Refuge and began his daily exercise of curating his content. He managed nearly three hours before it occurred to him that he was powerfully bored with the entire exercise. He pushed back from his computer with his task incomplete. He proceeded to the kitchen where he started some coffee.
His phone buzzed in his pocket with the normal glut of notifications that came in after leaving the Refuge. He made an arm for it after finishing his coffee preparation and took it into the dining room. Upon settling in to enjoy the steaming beverage, he began to scroll through his missed calls and texts.
The first that caught his eye was several texts in the group thread with the other members of his gaming group. The gist of the messages was variations on the theme of whether or not the weekly game would resume now that he was no longer enjoying the hospitality of the state. He checked his calendar and saw that the game in question was scheduled to begin in a few short hours. He responded back in the affirmative and flipped over to his online grocery delivery app to arrange for the snacks and beverages he typically provided. He assembled the order quickly and chose the option for delivery as soon as possible. That task complete, he dropped his phone on the counter and proceeded to assess his home's readiness to receive guests. Despite his cleaning ladies coming weekly during his incarceration, he identified a lengthy list of tasks requiring his attention.
An hour later, he closed the door on the closet where he stored his cleaning supplies. He felt a non-insignificant amount of satisfaction at a job well done and was buoyed by the fact that, atypically, the housework had not wiped him out physically. He checked the clock on the wall with a quirked eyebrow, wondering why he hadn't been notified by his security system that his grocery delivery had arrived. He checked the front porch and saw nothing, so he went in search of his phone. Upon locating it, he saw a notification that his order had been cancelled for insufficient funds.
"That can't be right," he muttered.
But his steps quickened as he headed towards his office. Upon arriving, he frowned at the absence of the laptop that normally resided there when he was home. He then remembered that that laptop had been confiscated by his now-former employer. This realization, combined with the cancelled delivery, caused a shiver to make its way lazily down his spine. He booted up his back-up laptop and logged into his banking app.
Thirty minutes later, Colwyn had full measure of just how completely he had miscalculated. In hindsight, it was all perfectly obvious. In fact, he cursed himself for assuming that his comfortable bank account would sustain him during his unemployment. His research had laid bare just how expensive of a life he lived, and how hand-to-mouth of an existence he had allowed himself to fall into. The six-figure balance which had resided in his checking account when he had been incarcerated had finally given its last gasp and fallen on the battlefield in the face of a five-figure mortgage payment, not to mention the three vehicles and numerous other recurring expenses.
He checked his clock and saw that his friends were due to arrive in less than an hour. He regretfully pulled up his texting app and typed out a message saying he needed to cancel as there had been a foul-up with the grocery delivery. He reasoned that it was not an outright untruth and hoped his friends would understand.
He had just started to consider how to solve his money crisis when three texts arrived so close to each other as to seem simultaneous. Each indicated, using suspiciously similar phrasing, that it was long past time that Colwyn cede responsibility for supplies and nothing short of Armageddon, or the release of a new Lord of the Rings movie, would keep them away. Despite his troubles, he smiled at their responses.
His friends arrived a short while later, interrupting Colwyn just as he picked up a piece of paper with a woman's name written on it that must have fallen from his pocket the evening before. He dropped the paper on his bedside table and hurried down to meet his guests.
***
"You enter the deserted-appearing castle just as the first light of dawn kisses the torn flag flying from the peak of the tallest tower," Colwyn intoned sonorously. "As you enter through a raised portcullis, a fetid smell assaults your nostrils. It is eerily quiet as you enter the courtyard. As you begin looking around, you notice a collection of mysterious obelisks strewn around the grounds. These obelisks are nearly opaque. It is impossible to make out any details in the early dawn light."
"Are there any materials about we could use to make a torch?" Zoe asked with a shrug.
Vincent grinned proudly and said, "Excellent idea, Sandre."
"No," Colwyn said with an uncharacteristic apologetic shrug. "The grounds are barren. In fact, the entire castle appears deserted."
Gil said, "Are any of the doors to the interior of the castle unlocked?"
"We're already inside, dumbass," Ross replied quickly.
"Have you ever even
seen
a castle? The courtyard is inside the walls, but still open to the elements. You have to enter the
inside
part of the castle via a door from the courtyard. Not all of us are filthy fucking magic users that can do a magic fucking umbrella when we're stuck in a storm all night." Ross shook his head disgustedly and muttered, "Still can't believe that spell was real." He looked to Colwyn and said, "How 'bout it, GM? Any open doors?"
"Yes. A door across from the portcullis opens to the touch. Inside you find a well-stocked armory, provisions & clothing."
"Jackpot!" Vincent exclaimed gleefully. "Load up, everyone."
Ross said, "Wait, I cast a spell of detection to see if the food is safe."
"Roll dee twelve."
Ross rolled, carefully, before announcing, "Nine."
"Your spell reveals the food is poisoned but does not reveal how it was done or what, if anything, eating the food would do to you."
Vincent spat, "Well, shit. I don't suppose Captain Clairvoyant's spell revealed if there was anything wrong with the other provisions or the armor."
Colwyn shook his head before saying, "You hear an inhuman scream outside. Do you investigate or flee?"
