I can feel the numbing burn steadily creeping past my elbow as I hold my knife to my shoulder, wondering if I’m really capable of cutting my own arm off. I give my skin an experimental prick, then jerk my hand away.
“Holy shit,” I mutter. This can’t be happening. A plant. A plant?! It’s ludicrously unfair! I just survived being attacked by a GOD for god’s sake. Or, whoever’s sake.
I don’t think my passive healing will do much for me now. One point an hour is basically nothing when I’m going to die in another ten minutes.
Holy shit I’m gonna die. It doesn’t shock me as much as it should. I guess because I’ve already done it once, and I spent a couple years getting used to the idea before that even happened. For a moment, I feel sad. Then, I’m just pissed.
“Hell no,” I growl, tightening my grip on the knife. I’m going to survive, dammit! I’m going to keep fighting ‘till the very end. At least this time, there’s something I can do about it.
I stab the knife into my arm, and I scream even as Echo’s voice rings in my ears and damage points dance over my vision. The pain ripping through my forearm dampens out everything else—sound, numbness, the heat of the poison—everything is crystalized around the searing agony in my arm. I take two gasping breaths, my whole body tenses, and then I rip the knife from my arm, screaming.
Blood runs down my hand in a quick stream. I gasp, hands shaking, as I tear a strip of cloth from my shirt. Quickly tying it around my upper arm, I grab one end in my teeth and pull it as tight as I can manage, one handed. Pseudo-tourniquet in place, I grasp my bleeding arm, squeezing around the wound, forcing as much blood out as I can manage. I growl through the pain, blink through the tears, and hope beyond hope I’ve slowed it enough, I’ve gotten enough poison out of my system, to make a difference. Stealing myself, I Check the status effects.
[Poisoned: -1 HP every 10 seconds. Duration: 753 seconds.]
[Paralysis: mobility impairment spreads 0.5 inches every 10 seconds. Duration: 753 seconds.]
I smile through a grimace. “Guess you don’t know everything after all, huh, Echo?” Reduced both of those status effects. At my current 71/90 HP, though, it’s still not enough to save me. I need to think of something else, and fast.
But as far as I can see it, there’s only one thing left for me to do. I look at the knife. I look at my shoulder.
“Crap.”
I’ll need to move the tourniquet up higher. And I’ll need to make it tighter if I don’t want to die of blood loss. Can I do it without passing out? How do I get through the bone? I lift the knife up again, hesitating.
A whistle cuts through the forest. I jump, whipping my head in every direction, but there’s no one around. Was that a bird? Something else?
“Impressive.”
I snap my head in the direction of the voice—it’s coming from just across the clearing from the carnivorous orchids. But I still don’t see anyone. Echo? I ask. But she doesn’t identify anyone either.
“That takes a lot of guts.” The shadows in the foliage shift, and suddenly what was previously bushes and leaves turn into the shape of a boy, about the same age as myself, crouching in the brush. He’s wrapped in a dark cloak which blends with the shadows, but even so, I don’t know how I didn’t see him before.
Echo suddenly pipes up as well. [Cyros, Level 24 dryad vine rogue.]
Thanks a lot for the heads up, I think at her.
“Who are you?” I demand. “What do you want?”
The boy—Cyros—is crouched down, arms draped over his knees quite casually, head tipped to the side. Now that Echo mentioned he’s a dryad, I notice his skin’s not just dark, it appears to have the consistency of bark, and his hair is braids of green vines and leaves.
My gaze flickers to the beheaded flower, then back at him. I raise my knife. “If you want revenge for the orchid, you’re too late anyway!”
Cyros throws his head back with a laugh. “That’s a lot of spirit coming from someone who’s poisoned. You don’t have to worry about me—I’m no forest guardian. Tell me, were you really going to try to cut your arm off?”
I flush, somehow managing to remain indignant despite my rapidly diminishing minutes in the mortal realm. “I still can! Just you watch me.”
“Okay,” he says, rocking back on his heels to sit cross legged on the ground. “I’m watching.”
Glaring daggers at him, and definitely not about to back down now that my ego has been challenged, I lift my hand back to my arm. Grabbing one end of the tourniquet with my teeth, I work on pulling the cloth higher up my arm to make room for where I intend to saw. Sensation floods back into my upper arm with prickly relief, which I don’t take as a good sign, considering.
I finally look away from Cyros, fixing my attention on my throbbing, bloody limb. It’s about to get a whole lot bloodier. I take a breath and hold it, raising the knife.
“Or you could just have the antidote,” Cyros casually says.
“What?” I snap.
“That’s orchid poison, right?” he asks. “They’re common around these parts. Pretty rare you get enough of their juice on you for it to be a problem, though, because most people know better than to mess with one. But the antidote is commonplace.” He pulls a vial out of a pouch and wiggles it in front of his face. “Or, you know, you can die of blood loss trying to cut off your own arm. Your call.”
“You jerk,” I hiss. “Were you just going to do nothing? I could of died!”
“Could have.”
“What?” I demand.
“Nothing,” he says. “As for letting you die, I did consider it.” He flashes a smile, and I can’t even tell if he’s joking. “I was admittedly pretty curious to see if you’d follow through. Lancing the blood was an interesting choice. I mean, definitely not a good choice, but I’m impressed you actually worked up the guts to stab yourself.”
This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.
“Are you going to give me the antidote or not?” I cry.
Cyros laughs, jumping to his feet and across the orchid patch. Each foot falls effortlessly and harmlessly between the vines, as easy as skipping over cracks in the pavement. He pauses just outside my reach, and I glare up at him.
“I won’t beg for it,” I tell him.
“I suspected not.” He holds out the vial, and I snatch it from his hands.
The antidote shimmers in the sunlight, like little flecks of metal are suspended in the liquid. I swirl the vial, and it briefly lights up blue. Popping the cork off, I hesitate, giving the vial a Check.
[One dose of orchid poison antidote.]
No tricks then. I tip my head back and down the mouthful of liquid in one go. It’s bitter, and it burns like ice.
“Ugh.” I grimace, breathing through my teeth, as if that will dispel the taste.
Cyros chuckles. “You act like the taste is worse than that hole in your arm.”
“I’ve had worse,” I say.
He raises an eyebrow. “I’d love to hear that story.”
I ignore him with a grunt, undoing the tourniquet on my arm to instead bind up the stab wound and stop the bleeding. A coldness spreads through me as I work, like a hand of ice has reached up from my stomach and through my arm to grab the poison and wrangle it back toward my core. I shudder at the sensation, but the burning and numbness in my limbs is already subsiding.
[Poisoned status effect negated.]
[Paralyzed status effect negated.]
[Skill obtained! Poison Resistance: Level 1]
I breathe a sigh of relief.
“That’s a terrible dressing,” Cyros comments, absently watching me. “How can you say you’ve had worse and not even know how to bandage up a stab wound?”
“And I suppose you’ve had a lot of practice with that?” I shoot back at him.
Instead of a denial, however, he shrugs. “Enough to know how to do it right. Want me to help?”
I shake my head, too preoccupied by the sudden roiling in my stomach to respond. A familiar queasy sensation is crawling its way up my chest. I lean forward, knowing what comes next. “Crap,” I hiss. “I think I’m gonna—”
Cyros steps nimbly out of the way as I vomit, emptying my stomach into the nearby grass. It takes several heaves to get everything out of me, and I just wait for it to end, knowing that’s all I can do in times like this. After a minute passes and nothing else comes up, I spit, trying to clear the acidic burn from my mouth. The taste of the antidote doesn’t seem so bad in comparison.
“Watch the boots,” Cyros says.
I spit again, this time intentionally in his direction. He snorts, dodging back.
I cough, clearing my throat. “You knew that was going to happen?” I finally ask.
“Of course,” he says. “The poison had to go somewhere.”
“Could have warned me,” I growl. “Jerk.”
He chuckles. “I see you’re feeling better.” Casually, Cyros twirls a finger through the air, and the orchid flower I’d previously cut off is suddenly buoyed from the ground, lifted to his awaiting hand by a helix of vines. He carefully takes the bud, making a pinching gesture with his free hand, and the weeping, cut stem closes itself up. He tucks the flower away beneath his cloak as I stare slack-jawed at the display of magic.
“Well, it’s been fun,” he says, snapping me out of my awe. “Good luck not poisoning yourself any further. I recommend trying to avoid pouring any more toxic substances onto your skin. Solid life advice right there.” With a flap of his cloak, he turns to go.
“What?” I say, but he’s already strolling back into the trees. His cloak shimmers, the green starting to blend in with the foliage. “Wait,” I call, and to my surprise, he stops, looking back. I already know his name. I’m not even sure what I want to ask.
“What?” he asks, tipping his head. “Are you lost, too?”
I glance around, picking out familiar trees and landmarks I’d mentally tracked so I wouldn’t lose track of the inn. “No. I can find my way back.”
“Great,” Cyros says. “Try to do that before sunset, maybe. But, hey, who am I to tell you how to live your life?” He heads back into the trees, his attire melting into the surrounding foliage as his voice grows distant. “I mean, maybe you’re a masochist. Maybe you’re into that.”
I blink, staring after him, even as his voice and form vanish into the woods. I look down at my bandaged arm, just to convince myself this all really happened.
“What the fuck?” I whisper.
----------------------------------------
Wiping off my knife before I sheath it, I eventually pick myself up, grab Iski’s stupid basket of plants, and head back to the inn in utter defeat. I can’t believe I almost died to a plant. The fact that I was only saved by a mysterious tree person somehow makes it worse. What a complete waste of time! I didn’t even get to level up. Although—checking my progress bar—I’m now pretty close. So I guess it wasn’t all for naught. Still, I’m going to need to take it easy and heal up for at least a day to avoid a repeat orchid incident. I grimace. Boy, Gugora is not going to be happy when he sees my arm.
I sigh heavily and mentally give myself a Check.
[Name: Sally]
[Species: Human]
[Class: N/A]
[Level: 10]
[Attack: 20]
[HP: 77/90]
[Mana: 10/10]
[Role: Chef]
“Echo, can you update my name?” I ask. “Sal, not Sally.” Only my parents called me that.
[User name updated,] Echo says.
I tweak some other things around, too. Remove Mana—that’s useless. Remove species—that’s obvious. Remove Role—
[Access denied,] Echo says.
I frown. “I’m not asking you to get rid of the Role, I just want you to hide the display so I don’t have to look at it all the time. It’s just sitting there. Mocking me.”
[Access denied,] Echo repeats.
I grumble, but there doesn’t seem to be anything I can do about that. I add a couple new stats to my interface as well, then give myself another Check.
[Name: Sal]
[Class: N/A]
[Level: 10]
[Attack: 20]
[Agility: 10]
[HP: 78/90]
[Affinities: Poison]
[Role: Chef]
My heart leaps into my throat. “Affinity?” I read. “I have an affinity?”
[Affirmative,] Echo says. [Affinity obtained via traumatic exposure.]
“That means I can do magic?” I ask, excitedly.
[Affirmative,] Echo says. [Spells without an affinity requirement or within the Poison arcanum discipline will be available for the user to learn.]
I did it. I did it! I got an affinity!
“Yes!” I pump an arm into the air, then immediately wince as it pulls at my injury.
But what kind of magic can you do with an affinity for poison?
“Can I do a spell now?” I ask Echo.
[Available spells: Attunement.]
I tip my head. “What’s that?”
[Attunement. Mana cost: variable. Time cost: variable. Requirement: physical contact. Attunement allows the caster to manipulate a volume of attuned arcanum at will.]
Well that sounds pretty magicy. The main problem I see in that plan is needing to touch the poison in order to Attune it. Given how well that went last time, I have some concerns about attempting the magic.
I shake my head. Even if I can’t Attune any poison, the important thing is that I can do magic now! It might only be generic spells which don’t require a specific arcana field, but hey, that’s something! I’ll have to ask Iski and Gugora for some spell books to start studying once I get back. I grin at the thought. I’m sure they’ll love that.
The sun is setting, the forest colored with muted twilit shades of orange and yellow, when I finally make it back to the inn. I don’t know if it’s a side effect of the antidote, but my whole body is sore, and I’m happy to do nothing but pass out and let my arm start healing as soon as I head inside. The back door takes me into the tavern, which is by now bustling with people; half will grab a quick bite before pressing onto Fairwood while the others will spend the night here. I’m about to round the corner and dump Iski’s basket of plants in the kitchen when I notice some new tenants checking in at the front with Gugora.
The first is a woman, fair skinned, sharp featured; the pointed ears tell me she’s an elf even without Echo clueing me in. Her frown, sleek yet practical attire, and curt movements project a general air of “Don’t fuck with me,” and I certainly don’t intend to.
But it’s the second figure my gaze is drawn to. He’s standing a respectful step behind the first, eyebrows lifting in surprise as I do the same: Cyros.