CHAPTER 11
“WHOAAA! Score one for Padfoot!”
“That’s a bit morbid, don’t you think?”
“I mean that literally, technically don’t we have to mark that down on the ‘firsts’ page? First human kill?”
*pause*
“Did you just actually make a valid point?”
“Better watch out, I’m getting better and better at this.”
“Fear for my job is the *least* of my worries around you. You don’t have the training.”
“And you, my stuck-up little friend, don’t have the years in the chair I do, so I’d say we’re just about even.”
“If you truly think that my hours spent in medical school are equivalent to your years spent as a...what is it you always call it, a Professional Entertainment and Neuronet Inspection Specialist, you are more delusi- What? Why are you laughing?”
“Oh, no reason. But I’ll tell you, once I got it, it felt SO good to have it in my hand.”
“I’m sure it did. I bet you carried it around everywhere, didn’t you?”
“Yep! I sure did! In fact, I kinda had to!”
“Probably whipped it out in the middle of the interview and showed it to everyone. What is the matter with you?”
*laughter*
“You did, didn’t you? If I was doing the interview, I would have told you to stuff it up your own ass. What is your problem, get up off the floor! What in...There is something really wrong with you, you know that?”
“You have no clue!”
*More laughter*
“Literally!”
***AWAITING INTEGRATION***
My eyes snap open in panic, my breath catches in my throat, and the sounds of nature reverberate all around me.
For about one one-hundredth of a second.
My body jerks as once more I’m brought back to the here and now after yet another death, lurching up into a sitting position as I gasp for air. “DAMNIT!”
I jump up to my feet and begin pacing. My breath leaves my lungs in quick, rapid chuffs of air as I frantically swat my hand against my loincloth, desperately trying to wipe off the old man’s blood that is no longer there. My mind relives the moment over and over in the span of a second, torturing me.
The pressure of the bite, the instinct to yank my hand away, and the knife in said hand sliding into the soft folds of his neck. It was terrifying how easily the knife cut the man. Even the forest rats had been harder to kill than Norman, with their hide thick and tough with fur. And the knife? It was listed as “worn”, how the hell had it fileted him open so easily?
I never would have cut him had the bastard not bitten me, I rage, it’s his fault! I was about to drop the knife and let them search me!
My pacing slows as this thought sinks in. I ponder its validity for a moment, and decide that yes... yes I *had* been about to do that.
“Well, fuck them.” My eyes roam the campsite, taking in the various armaments and accoutrements.
I’ve tried the wizard, the rogue, and I refuse to try the cleric, so there’s only one real path left for me.
With no further hesitation I stride up to the sword leaning against the supply box and grasp the hilt.
YOU HAVE CHOSEN THE SWORD!
Kingdoms have been won and lost at the tip of a sword! Become the hero of legend that holds that tool of conquest! With the SWORD as your weapon of choice, you may choose one of the following classes:
FIGHTER BARBARIAN
CANCEL
I’m sure the barbarian has the standard, huge increase in strength as well as the rage ability, but there is zero appeal there. Possibly even less than the cleric or paladin. I’m already angry enough as it is, I might just get the rage ability by default, I tell myself with a grim smile.
And so with that in mind, I mentally make my selection.
YOU HAVE CHOSEN TO BE A FIGHTER!
Few sights in history are more iconic than a warrior, fully clad in shining platemail, striding into battle! But, with its multitude of weapons skills and armor proficiencies, the FIGHTER has nearly unlimited potential! Become a master of the sword and shield, axes, maces, or massive two-handed weapons! You have received the following bonuses:
+10 to Strength
New Skills: Blades (All), Axes (All), Maces/Hammers (All), Shields (All), Heavy Armor, Medium Armor, Light Armor, Intimidate
Are you sure you want to be a FIGHTER?
CONFIRM CANCEL
Man, the rogue may have had a lot of variety in its skills, but by sheer numbers, the fighter has him beat by a mile!
After taking into account all the various types of swords, axes, and blunt weapons, those three categories alone probably put the skills list into more than a dozen. Add in the three armors and the Intimidate skill? Massive.
I confirm the selection to become a fighter, and once more my world view shifts.
I feel a moment of disorientation as my class skills and such roll over me like a tidal wave, and when I catch myself, it’s with a grunt of effort and surprise.
I feel a massive weight settle on my body. Not uncomfortable, not even awkward because it seems to be evenly spread across my frame, but heavy nonetheless.
I glance down at myself and see that, just as in my other lives, I’ve been given the starting inventory of a first-level character from my chosen class. That includes the sword I picked up, a decent-sized backpack, and a full set of what appears to be scale armor. Rusty, piecemeal scale armor, but it’s a sight better than leather or robes, that’s for damn sure.
I look closer at the sword in my hand, and much like the dagger from my previous life, the blade is notched and scratched, as if it has seen a hundred battles or more.
WORN IRON LONGSWORD
The favored weapon of the upper tiers of infantry, a longsword can be a terrifying thing to behold in the hands of a master!
Quality: Worn (-1 damage)
Material: Iron
Damage: 1-8 (Critical x2)
The leather wrapping the hilt is darkened and smooth, sweat from a what seems a dozen different hands having worn it with use. There is even a little wiggle to the tang as I heft it, rattling around inside the grip. The crosspiece is a simple thing, slightly arced up and away from the handle towards the blade to protect the wielder’s hand, and the pommel is nothing but a rusted, dull lump of brushed iron to balance out the blade. Clearly this is nothing more than a starter blade. At the time of its forging, this may have been a decent, mass assembled weapon of death. Now, however, it’s little more than a sharpened club.
As with the dagger, I feel an innate level of understanding of the blade that doesn’t reconcile with my life in the real world. Sitting on the couch doesn’t exactly lend itself to martial prowess, I admit. After a few practice swings and a flourish, I sheathe the sword on my left hip and stride purposefully towards the edge of the clearing.
I barely pause when the name notification screen appears in my vision and I simply say, “Stoneheart.”
Stepping through the edge of the clearing into the greater world of Pentamria once more, I stop for a second to gather my bearings. I listen carefully for the sound of running water or any other hint as to where I might be. Nothing. Just the sounds of nature, birds, the occasional frog or other croaking thing, and the wind sighing through the boughs.
As I listen, I take a moment to glance at my status sheet.
NAME: STONEHEART
POINTS TO DISTRIBUTE
X
TITLE: MASTER
RACE: HUMAN
CLASS: FIGHTER
CHARACTER STATS:
Might 19
Agility 9
Constitution 9
Perception 9
Intelligence 9
Charisma 9
Luck 9
Stamina (M+A+C+50) 87/87
Mana (P+I+C+50) 77/77
Hitpoints (M+A+C+L+P+50) 123/123
STATS (4 PER LEVEL):
ABILITY (1 PER LEVEL):
EXPERIENCE:
PROG. TO NEXT LEVEL
0
0
0
0/10
SKILLS:
STEALTH
STEALTH ATTACK
BLADES (ALL)
SMALL BLADES
AXES (ALL)
MACES (ALL)
PERSUASION
UNARMED COMBAT
ARMOR (ALL)
LIGHT ARMOR
INTIMIDATE
3 (0%)
2 (0%)
1 (0%)
2 (0%)
1 (0%)
1 (0%)
2 (0%)
1 (0%)
1 (0%)
2 (0%)
1 (0%)
SPELLS
NONE
ABILITIES
NONE
PERKS
Master N/A
N/A
I see that I have indeed kept all my Small Blades, Persuasion, Stealth, and Sneak Attack from my time as a rogue since I improved and earned additional points in those skills, as well as the Unarmed skill I got from my first life. I have dropped Pickpocket and Lockpick, however, since I’d lost all the progress I’d made after only opening one lock. Progressed with it, but never advanced it. “I bet that lockbox on old man Peckerwood’s desk would have pushed me over to level 2,” I say bitterly. Still, my strength is now at 19 after the +1 for dying and the +10 for the fighter class, so I am looking forward to smashing a few things in the very near future.
I also notice something odd. Apparently sometime during my previous incarnation my Light Armor skill had advanced. I know it hadn’t happened before I got to town against the rats, as I never saw that notification. The only thing I can think of is that sometime during my last few moments of life when the town guards were chopping me to bits, my skill with light armor must have increased.
Lot of fucking good that did, I think bitterly. But hey, at least my HP’s are going up. As I looked at that bit of information, I noticed that Luck appears to have a say in that particular stat. I had seen it before, but as with most other things in this new world, I hadn’t really given it much thought. I had been too stubborn to notice when the game was trying to tell me something and had suffered the consequences. Multiple times. Not any more.
I pondered on the Luck stat for a moment, and after a bit of consideration I decided that it made sense. After all, sometimes sheer dumb luck did, indeed, play a factor in avoiding a hit. So hitpoints don’t necessarily reflect solely on the physical ability to take damage. Sometimes a slip in the dirt can avoid a decapitating strike, or a lucky dodge causes the blow to hit only armor instead of puncturing it. Of course, this immediately reminds me of the spiked end of Kyle’s pike going clean through the body of Norman as I instinctively pulled his body in front of me. The end of the weapon had punched into my armor, but not pierced it.
And this in turn, of course, makes my entire body shiver with an odd combination of guilt and anger.
I shake my head violently to clear those haunting images and instinctively check my sword in its scabbard to ensure it is easily drawn. After glancing at the compass on my map, I head east, hoping to catch up with the river headed south into Bladewater.
But instead I find something else entirely.
After about an hour of traipsing through the damned woods I see several odd outcroppings of stone, ivy covered and pocked with various colors of lichen. I approach one and am somewhat shocked to find that it isn’t a natural formation at all, but a 4-foot tall, rectangular pillar of solid stone. Not only that, just past it there is another massive moss-covered rock embedded into the forest floor, flat and covered with the expected detritus of the woods; fallen leaves, twigs, and settled dirt from decades of rain and weathering. If not longer, I consider.
I find a fallen branch and scrape away the years of earth and leaves to reveal it measures approximately four feet square, set into the ground. It looks like nothing less than a gigantic paving stone, slick with brilliant green moss. During my efforts, I find yet another smaller square of rock on the opposite side of the paving stone. It is identical in dimensions to the column I first noticed, but jagged and rough, broken off a scant foot from the ground.
I step back from the initial column and try to imagine what it would have looked like if the broken section were as tall as the other side, and the image I picture is nothing less than an entrance. I examine the area just around the broken base and sure enough, I find several chunks of weathered stone that would add up to roughly the same height as the first. And just where do *you* lead, my friends? I ask myself.
There is something pulling down this road, an urge so strong that almost makes my entire body vibrate. I know this feeling. It’s a feeling that every gamer knows in the pit of their stomach; that feeling of, “What’s down this path?” Stepping from the character creation screen into a new world, immediately ignoring the suggested quest and just...wandering.
Shockingly, for the first time since I’ve been in Pentamria, I take a minute to really think back on my previous time as a gamer. How is it that in living a game, I’ve just now thought about all the others I’ve played? I shake my head. Is it because this doesn’t FEEL like one? I have been so preoccupied with trying to game the system like I would while sitting at my computer that I have lost sight of the fact that I’m actually living this experience?
I remember the feeling I used to get while playing, when I would see a cave in the upper levels of a mountainside, I would wonder, How do I get up there? Or when I stumbled across a broken stone tower silhouetted against the early morning sky, I would frequently drop whatever I was doing to go racing off and explore. The quest to kill ten whatsits for whoever could wait.
I remember jump-climbing up the side of a mountain in one particular game, trying to get up to a higher elevation where I’d seen a toppled over ruin on a ridge. I’m sure there was a road that would eventually lead to it, but I wanted to see it *now*. I reached a small little shelf in the mountainside, and I took the chance to rest my hand from repeatedly tapping the spacebar. When I turned around to view how far I’d come, I actually gasped at the view.
Sharp mountain peaks rolled off as far as the processing power of my computer would let me see. Mist was usually the way they avoided having to put too much detail into the distance, but for some reason, this time the world seemed to truly open up before me. I could see a village I was taking quests from at the time, small and trivial compared to the mountains surrounding it. I could see the edge of the lake the village sat on, gleaming in the reflected sunlight.
Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
Something flitted across the back of my mind at this memory, vague and indistinct like smoke on the wind, but I could feel its importance as it drifted past.
When I turned back to resume my climb, I saw a small depression in the rock. Not a cave, per se, but a deep overhang at the very least. There would have been no way to see this from any other angle, as none of the other peaks were as high as this, and if you were higher on the mountain looking down, it would have been invisible from above. I moved my character over to the “cave” and what I saw inside brought me up short. There was a bedroll, a small table, and a chest all crammed into the alcove. On the table was a pouch of money, a staff, and a book.
I remember that experience not because the staff was powerful (it was a simple walking stick), or the massive amount of gold in the pouch (it was actually just a few coins), or even the loot from the chest (which was just an old urn filled with ashes).
It was the book.
Or journal, I should say. Within those pages was a story the likes of which I had never seen in a game before. The author of this journal, Donel, told of a life of love and happiness, travel and adventure. He had made quite the life for himself in a short time, money and friendships galore. He and his beloved wife, Kathryn, had lived all across the land, a decade in the snowy mountains before spending another stretch of years in a city of canals leading to the ocean. Before long, however, the call of the mountains drew them back. They eventually retired to live a life of seclusion and simplicity, each happy merely in the presence of the other. They both had children from their previous life, and as time passed, some of those children had children. More time passed, and as is the case, their children wrote less and less. They would come visit when time permitted, but not nearly as much as both sides would have wished. Still, when those visits did come, there was much laughter and love, bouncing their grandchildren on their knees, playing simple games of triple-x’s and o’s. But as much as they loved their families, they were happiest when they had only each other for company.
Until Kathryn got sick.
It was a slow thing at first, but once it had a hold of her, it progressed rapidly. Her mind was still sharp, but her body and speech weren’t able to keep up. The author stayed by her side, caring and tending to her every need. Theirs was a love unseen by any other mortal, and so when the end came, the cost was great on Donel.
The last few entries in the journal were already decades old, but in them he spoke of his love for his family and his joy for life, but in all things the color seemed to have left the world after his Kathryn had passed. The last entry was an ode to her, the “love of my life”, and promised that he would embrace her soon.
Now I’m not an emotional guy, but the fact that someone had gone so far out of their way to create a little pocket in that mountain just for that purpose affected me. The creators of this game, or at least one of them, had specifically set this little corner of the world aside like some kind of easter egg or tribute. The story was very specific, and I felt that there was more than a kernel of truth to it outside of just being a very touching tale. The walking staff was a unique design, a skin I hadn’t seen up to that point and never saw again, and the money wasn’t very much for the late stage of the game I was in, 74 silver and 68 copper, so I left the setup exactly as I had found it and continued up my trek to the ruins above.
In any event, I find it highly unlikely that anyone else ever found that little cave on the side of the mountain. I never told anyone about it, nor did I read about it on the many gamer forums I frequented, but it stayed with me and encouraged me to explore every game thereafter. And now, given this opportunity I’ve been gifted, it would be a shame to not do exactly that.
This is every gamer’s dream, I think once more to myself. I finally get to explore, I finally get to see things that no one has ever seen, both literally and figuratively! This is the ultimate escape from reality, why am I not enjoying it instead of trying to “win”?
Why am I being so...dumb?
My previous lives flicker through my memory as I consider my colossally stupid mistakes. Storming off with no weapons, not paying attention to the notification screens, diving in without care in the world to a nest of monsters. And that’s just my *first* life, I realize. All those are the mistakes of a noob, the very ones I would have mercilessly taunted other gamers for in any online game. Hell, I didn’t even really need a reason to taunt them, I think to myself. I was just messing around, though. It’s not like I was really being a dick.
Something ugly reared its head at this thought. Images of Gary and Dozer and the rest of the gang of tormentors picking on me, taunting me, abusing me, and the excuse they would always come back with when they got caught was, “We were just messing around.”
That thought brings me up short. I’m a dick.
I think back to my reactions to the townsfolk; the looks I got from Larian the bookish merchant, the woman crossing my path, and hell, even the pat on the chest from Norman the Prick. Was he really being patronizing, or was he just surprised when I hurled the shop door open and he fell into me? I remember the smiles on the inn patrons’ faces as I stumbled through my interactions with Leena. Seen free of the filter of anger and ego, if that was even possible for me, was it just good-natured laughter brought on by my fumbled attempts to talk to a pretty girl, one who is well known in the town and probably has had that effect on hundreds of men before me?
“But HOW?” I rail at myself, shaking my head vigorously. “Those people haven’t actually seen her interact with hundreds of other men before, because none of this is real!”
An exasperated huff explodes from my lungs as I pondered that ludicrous statement. The lines have blurred so much that there really are no lines any longer.
I think again about the conversation I had with Leena, and her reaction to me. Influenced by code or data? Possibly. Influenced by my looks and my Charisma? Probably. Influenced by my Persuasion skill? Definitely. But does that make their reactions any less real? After all, when someone in reality has a positive reaction to someone, isn’t it influenced by the other person’s looks, personality, and even their personal preference?
I begin to realize that what I saw from them was most likely real. Or at least as real as a simulated universe could be, I allow. I had never been on the receiving end of any positive attention like that, so had my fucked up past poisoned those innocent actions into mockery?
Had my previous life, my REAL life, jaded me so drastically that I am now incapable of seeing the actions of others in their real light? I remember my interaction with the little girl at the stream, watching her throw those flowers into the water, hoping to make someone’s day brighter when they find a random floating bouquet. I remember my reaction to her little quip she said as she walked off, “Be careful climbing trees, you’re not very good at it!”
Did I really flip off a child? A little girl?
As amazed as I am about the realism, the near human-like response I get from these NPC’s, I long for the simplicity of an NPC that would offer a quest and then go still and quiet, or turn and wander off until I came back with ten walrus tusks or goblin ears or whatever. In this world, the NPC’s had lives. They each had their own storylines to follow. They reacted to outside stimulus like a real human.
I smile as I remember her reaction to me questioning her very existence:
“Well, we *did* just poke each other in the forehead.”
A stab of guilt, as real as that poke to the forehead and as strong as the point of Kyle’s pike, hits my chest and I realize what I’ve done.
I killed a man. Someone who’s only mistake was to be nice to those around him. I think back to his “did you put a wall here” comment when we collided, his good-natured conversation with Larian as I left, and his interactions with the patrons at the Bladewater Inn. They liked him because he was funny, not just because he bought them drinks.
The person I saw when he opened the door at his house as I was hidden under the stairs, however? That man was a far cry from the life-of-the-party patron at the inn. The resigned, somber look on his face when he called out quietly to his wife spoke volumes about his state of mind. There is something there, I thought, something I am missing.
But worst of all was the sound he made when he found her, lifeless in their bed. That was a private moment, and in witnessing it I feel like I had intruded on something profound, something...sacred. Something more real than anything I’d experienced since realizing my own mother hadn’t just gone to the grocery store; that she was indeed gone for good.
But was it REAL? I think back once more to the Oracle from the Matrix, and I wonder to myself, Would that moment have happened had I not snuck out of the inn, up the stone path, and broken into their house to see it? Did my presence trigger that in the plot of the game’s story? Was that nothing more than a scripted moment that happened because I was there, or would I have heard about the death of Norman’s wife when I awoke the next morning?
It’s the arrow thunking into my sternum, ricocheting off my armor in a shower of sparks and splinters, that body-checks me back to the here and now.
I drop to the ground in a heap. I’d like to say that it was my lightning-quick reflexes in play, avoiding the next arrow I knew was coming, but in reality it’s because I feel like I’ve been punched in the chest by Mike Tyson. The air whooshes from my lungs like a crushed bellows as I land, stunned in a patch of tall grass, rolling around and gasping for oxygen.
There’s even a small icon in the top center of my screen, a little man’s silhouette with stars and circles orbiting its head on a yellow background, indicating that I am officially stunned.
Huh, I think lamely, would ya look at that.
My red health globe has also dropped, but not dangerously so.
I hear a faint, hollow, clacking sound from farther down the path, very subtle and hard to detect. It takes a moment to register, but I recognize the sound from somewhere. On the back porch of my old man’s house we had a wind chime made from old deer antlers. Whenever the wind would pick up, I could hear the dull clacking from my room at the back of the house.
Are there a couple of bucks in rut battling around here or something?
As my mind begins to clear, I realize the absurdity of the statement. Last I checked, deer don’t use bows and arrows, dumbass.
I roll over behind a tree near my prone position and try to clear my head, to think. If not antlers, then what? Wooden sticks? Bamboo?
Then my blood freezes.
Bones.
My Stealth icon is orange at the moment, and I can feel the tension in my shoulders. That means they know I’m here and they are actively looking for me. My stamina bar is dropping like...something that drops a lot. If I don’t do something, I realize, I’m going to be too exhausted to fight. I peek my head around the tree, only to desperately duck back as bark sprays from the trunk I’m hiding behind from another arrow. In that brief second, however, I saw everything I need to see.
Stalking towards me, bow in hand, is a skeleton.
By the way it is walking, jerky and lacking any real coordination, I figure I have a few seconds before it can draw another arrow and sight in on my position.
I inhale and exhale quickly half a dozen times, psyching myself up for what I’m about to do, and I shove away from the trunk of my hiding place and sprint around the tree.
I look at the enemy and sure enough, his bony arm is slowly reaching down to its hip where a small quiver is slung low, almost like a pistol. I sprint from my tree to another one at an angle towards my attacker, closing the distance but trying to stay in cover as best I can. I hear the twang of the bowstring and feel the wind whistle by my ear as I slide behind a tree that can’t quite hide my frame.
Holy shit, I’m really being shot at! Adrenaline pumps through me, and I actually giggle, nervous energy spilling out of me in the most bizarre way.
I know I’ve been eaten alive (twice) and stabbed to death by an angry mob of soldiers, and it SUCKED, but for some reason this experience has my blood pumping. I’m actually excited! I realize with a bit of a shock. What on earth is going on with me?
A split second after I see the arrow fly by, I’m out and around the tree, sword drawn and heading directly towards the skeleton. There’s less than ten yards between us, but as I run, I try the “what the hell are you” look that seems to be required to analyze anything in the game. In that brief moment, a small notification window pops up in the corner of my vision. Thank God I had the presence of mind to move the damn thing when I fought the rat in my last life, and I glance at it quickly as I close the last few steps.
RICKETY SKELETAL ARCHER
LEVEL 1
Might 3
Agility 5
Constitution 3
Perception 3
Intelligence 3
Charisma 3
Luck 3
Stamina (M+A+C) 11/11
Mana (P+I+Ch) 9/9
Hitpoints (M+A+C+P+L) 17/17
The lowest form of undead, skeletons are only barely aware of their own existence. Products of either the weakest form of necromancy or a low-level curse, they are only useful for simple tasks, such as defending a set location or a distraction in combat.
I mentally dismiss the window as I pull my sword back to attack. Charging within range, my muscles tense as I take a somewhat clumsy swing as I skid to a halt in front of the undead thing.
I’m not sure what I was expecting, but what I get is somewhat...underwhelming. I swing the blade across from right to left like a baseball bat, and while I do make contact, the resulting dull clank and the blade skittering off the ribcage wasn’t much to write home about.
The skeleton, for his part, didn’t seem more than just a tiny bit phased by the contact. Even then, it was mostly the chest turning a bit from the glancing blow of my sword rather than a recoil of pain. Other than that, it still methodically and mechanically reached down for another arrow.
“What the hell do you think you’re going to do with that, bonehead?” I shout at the thing.
Neither my taunt nor the fact that I just clanked a sword off its chest registers as it draws back and tries to shoot me from less than 3 feet away.
Timing my move as it draws back the moldy string on its bow, I sidestep to the left, inside the skeleton’s arc of fire, and bring the sword down across the front of the thing’s pelvis. This time the results are a bit more positive, and a loud crack echoes through the woods. The skeleton, staggered by the sheer force of my blow, half bends over and stumbles back a step, the arrow falling spent and useless to the ground.
After following through with my strike, I plant my left foot and reverse my momentum with a vicious backhanded swing across the neck of the rickety undead.
This time the results are a bit more satisfying.
Just as I hoped it would, the blade hits the vertebrae just under the jawline and the head separates from the body with an airborne tumble. With a hollow clatter, the rest of the bones collapse like a puppet with its strings cut into a disjointed pile. Somehow the magic connecting them has been dispersed, and the various bones tumble in all directions with nothing to keep them held together.
There is a feral grin on my face as I drop into a crouch, my eyes scanning the surrounding woods, looking and listening for another bag of bones to appear from the trees. But there’s nothing.
The damn thing came from down the flagstone pathway, I realize.
Once more, the call to adventure sings in my heart. More so than in any other life, I actually long for this, for another conflict. What is going on in my head, I wonder to myself. I don’t recall anything like this in my previous lives. When I was a mage I didn’t have this drive, I just wanted power and spells, and when I was a rogue I just wanted to hide...and…...steal…
Holy shit.
“And now that I’m a fighter, I just want to charge back into the fray and kill,” I finish the thought out loud. “I’m more concerned about revenge on the guards and soldiers who killed me rather than the fact that I killed their friend.”
My reflection leads me down many different roads, all in the span of a half-dozen heartbeats; decisions I’ve made, actions I’ve taken, things I’ve said. Are all my actions being dictated by my class choice now? I think in frustration. “Do I even *have* free will anymore?” I shout to the universe.
My anger starts to rise up again, a red tide in my vision, and before I can stop myself my brain teases me with, Are you really angry, or is this the fighter class just wanting to smash something?
“Fuck this,” I say as I slam my sword back into its sheath. “I am in control. No matter what my circumstances, no matter who I am at the moment, I am in control of me!” I scream these last few words out into the surrounding forest, my anger echoed back at me as it weaves through the trunks, only to bounce back.
Unfortunately, my voice isn’t the only thing that echoes back at me through the trees.
I hear more clattering of bones coming from among the trees.
Panic grips me momentarily, and I duck around a small outcropping of rocks not too far from the jumble of bones I just killed. As I press against the rocks, I feel a slight give. I pull away quickly, and looking back I realize that I am backed up against what used to be an ancient stone wall. Whatever it formed, it must have been rather small, because it’s not much more than six feet high and barely three feet wide. It is easy to see how I didn’t recognize it as such at first. Nature has done her best to reclaim the mossy stones; vines and creepers have reached their little green fingers into any crack and crevice they can find, tearing loose small chunks of stone and mortar that roll around under my feet as I adjust my footing. Under closer inspection, what once may have been a well-constructed stone wall is now little more than an unsteady pile of rocks.
I activate Stealth and slide as quietly as I can around to the opposite side of the rocks. I slowly peek around the back side, and sure enough I see three more skeletons approaching from farther down the path. My eyecon is still yellow, so I’m assuming that means they heard me yelling, but they haven’t seen me yet. According to the notification screens that pop up, one of them is identical to the archer I just took out. The others are slightly different, as they carry rusted swords and dirty, wooden bucklers.
RICKETY SKELETAL FIGHTER
LEVEL 1
Might 5
Agility 3
Constitution 3
Perception 3
Intelligence 3
Charisma 3
Luck 3
Stamina (M+A+C) 11/11
Mana (P+I+Ch) 9/9
Hitpoints (M+A+C+P+L) 17/17
The lowest form of undead, skeletons are only barely aware of their own existence. Products of either the weakest form of necromancy or a low-level curse, they are only useful for simple tasks, such as defending a set location or a distraction in combat.
The new type’s stats are comparable, but the slight difference is important nonetheless. These guys are going to try and close to melee range.
From a metagaming standpoint, I know I can take these guys. They are simple level 1 mobs, and I am significantly stronger than they are in just about every way. My concern is that my chest still throbs a bit from the arrow I took, reminding me once again that yes, this is real. That friggin’ HURT. Even though my health has already restored nearly to full...interesting. How quickly do I regen hitpoints?
I wave away the distraction and focus back on the battle. I know I can take them, but fighting three enemies will be hard, especially since one of them will be plinking away at me from a distance with no care at all if it hits his buddies. As for the melee skeletons, two-on-one was always tough in games because any decent AI would try and flank you. You either had to be faster and line them up so only one could get to you at a time, or you had to use the environment to….
A smile crosses my face as the beginnings of a plan begin to percolate. I close my eyes for a second, taking a deep breath, then I step fully around the wall to my right. The archer reacts with the expected semi-coordinated effort, and the two bony fighters pick up their pace to what could be considered a respectable jog. The rattling gets louder, and I realize it’s not just their joints and bones banging against one another, it’s also the clacking of their jaws as they run towards me. My eyes, however, are focused on the archer. It draws back on its creaky old bow, and just when it sights in on my position, I step back behind the wall. I watch in satisfaction as the arrow blurs by in the space I just vacated. I step back out and see one skeleton is heading right to where I stand now, while the other looks to be headed around the back side of my impromptu stone shield. When I step out, however, it changes direction and moves straight ahead at me.
Perfect.
I look back to the archer skeleton, and once again I time my motion on the drawback of his bow. This time, however, instead of moving back behind the wall, I step farther out from it. The arrow sails harmlessly by me, and again the two charging skeletons adjust their angle of pursuit. The skeletons are just 5 yards away from me when they adjust, and that’s when I spring my trap.
I duck back over behind the wall and plant my feet, shoving hard with all my considerable strength. 19 Might for the win, bitches! I think as I feel the unsteady wall begin to topple over. When the farther skeleton adjusted his path to come straight at me, its new heading placed it right in front of the stone wall.
Or rather, under it as the stones break apart and topple down on its bony frame.
Now that my cover has been compromised, I know I have to end this fight quickly. My momentum from shoving against the wall carries me forward as it collapses, and I use that to my advantage as I swing my sword at the other melee fighter. Surprisingly, the thing is able to bring his shield up to block my strike. My blade thunks into the wood and slides off to the side. My balance is now completely jacked as a result of both knocking over a several hundred pound stone wall and swinging a sword, so I just go with the flow and fall over into a decent imitation of a combat roll. I pop back up onto one knee and leap to my feet. In my haste to spring my trap, I’ve forgotten to keep track of the archer, and I glance over just in time to see an arrow flash by, inches away from my face. I count my lucky stars and leap back out of the way of a wild swing from the fighter skeleton.
Knowing that his bony frame isn’t that susceptible to bladed weapons, I lean in with a powerful pommel strike, basically punching the bony skeleton with the beaten iron knob at the end of my hilt. Its head snaps to the side and it staggers back from the power of my strike. When its head straightens, I can see it’s jaw hanging limply from one side.
As bad as it looks, however, the skeleton doesn’t even give it a second thought as it charges in with another vicious swing. Somehow I get my sword back around in time to block, and my hand rings with the power of the attack. If it weren’t for my above-average Might, I probably would have dropped the sword. I sure as hell hope that kind of thing gets easier the more I level my skills, I lament, rubbing my wrist as I back away from the skeleton.
Another arrow whizzes by my face, and I look back over to the archer in disbelief. Sheesh, I think, did this guy get trained at the Imperial Stormtrooper Academy for Archers?
I take a feigning step to my right, then come back across low with my blade, raking it across the undead’s thigh bones, and I’m rewarded with a loud crack. The left leg snaps, and the skeleton falls over onto the shortened shard of bone. It uses its shield to brace itself as it tries to stand, but I bring my sword down in a brutal overhead chop aiming for the collarbone, hoping to get lucky and cleave the damn thing in half.
And I do.
Just like the first archer skeleton, the bones lose all cohesion and collapse into a pile. On a whim, I lean down and pick up the shield and set it on my left arm. As I finish fastening it on my arm, it jerks violently. There is a dull thunk, and an iron arrowhead splinters through the shield a scant inch from my wrist.
As dramatically as I can, I slowly look over at the skeleton archer. As it awkwardly tries to draw another arrow with its clumsy fingers. “Oh, you done fucked up now, son,” I say quietly.
I hold the shield up protectively in front of me, crouching down to provide as small a target as possible, and begin running in a zig-zagging pattern to make myself even harder to hit. The undead only has time to fire one or two more shots before I close to melee range. On a whim, I don’t even bother to swing my sword, I just ram directly into the bag of bones with my new shield. Well, new-ish, I corrected.
On impact, I lower my shoulder and bowl into the skeleton at full speed. It blows apart like leaves on the wind, and the one or two arrows left in its quiver go flying as well.
After my headlong rush through my last enemy finishes, I stagger to a stop and stand there, breathing heavily, half panting, half laughing.
“Holy...shit,” I manage between breaths, “I actually...did it!” I’m somehow grinning like an idiot and grimacing in exhaustion. I flop down on the forest floor, pulse pounding in my ear and the sounds of nature returning all around me. “Hope you enjoyed the show, assholes!” I shout at whatever voyeuristic sleazeball is watching me, laughing again. My stamina bar is flashing, and so are several icons in the lower right corner of my screen. I can tell by the image on each icon what they most likely represent; there are several “hand” icons that I know denotes a skill advancement, and the obvious “XP” icon, telling me I have received experience.
I want to get up and keep exploring, but I’m just too exhausted. I half-crawl, half-drag myself over to a thick tree and prop my back up against it, trying to blend in with my surroundings. After waiting a minute or so of watching both the surrounding forests and my steadily rising stamina bar, I decide it’s safe and mentally click on the many notifications screens in the corner of my vision.
“Ok, boyo, let’s see what you done did.”