“Tell me what you want me to do,” said Max.

“Well,” said Farnhal. “The horses don’t get to stretch their legs much these days ‘cause the Western Grasslands are full of grassgrots.”

“Grassgrots?” Max said. He hadn’t heard anyone mention these creatures yet.

“Nasty buggers,” Farnhal spat. “Hard to spot as well. They could be lurking right by you, and you’d never know. Some say they were designed to look like dogs, but I reckon that’s an insult to dogs. Besides, they’re bright green, given their fur is made of grass.”

“Wait,” said Max. “Their fur is made of grass?”

“Well, not actual grass, of course. You wouldn’t be able to tell though unless you were to stroke it, and good luck to anyone who tries to do that. The vicious things’ll have your hand off. They got no kindness in ‘em. They’ll kill anything they come across. Great Gorrimor knows how many horses I’ve lost over the years to the horrible things.”

“How powerful are they?” Max asked.

“They’ve got around 70 HP in total each,” Farnhal explained. “Not a huge amount, but it’s their speed that’s the problem, and the damage their gnashers deal. One bite from ‘em will cost you around 30 HP, and they can bite quickly in succession, so you gotta be careful not to get caught.”

With a total of 60 HP now that he had used the Life Growth ability to upgrade by 10 from his base of 50, Max knew that it would be risky hunting these particular beasts, but he was too excited about the challenge and the prospect of a free month of rent for his horse to turn the offer down.

“How many grassgrots are in the area?” Max asked.

“It’s hard to say exactly,” Farnhal admitted. “But I’d guess maybe ten to fifteen.”

“That’s a decent amount for one guy to deal with, especially if they’re fast, like you say,” Max said. He could tell by the slightly sheepish look in Farnhal’s eyes that the quest would be a tall order for most people.

Max wondered if the level of danger would be a good bargaining chip.

“Two months free rent,” he said.

Farnhal hesitated, but didn’t look shocked at Max’s offer.

“And you’ll make sure the Grasslands is clear of all grassgrots?” Farnhal said.

“Every last one of them,” Max confirmed, putting out his hand for Farnhal to shake.

After a moment of hesitation, Farnhal took Max’s hand and gave it a firm shake.

“You’ve got a deal. You clear the Grasslands, and I give your horse two months free stay right here at the stable.”

Max was so eager to get to slaying the beasts that he almost left the stable to undertake the quest there and then, but he forced himself to slow down, as he still had one major question he wanted to ask the stable master.

“This bonding business,” he said. “How does that work?”

“You’ve never bonded with a horse before?” Farnhal mused. “You from one of those places that don’t have horses? Like down in Pokoko?”

If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

“Somewhere very far away,” was all Max offered.

“Well, it’s pretty simple, really. All you need to do is feed it treats, spend some quality time with it, and create a level of trust between you, and your bond metre will begin rising in no time. Once it hits a hundred percent, you’re good to go. Given the way this fella’s responding to your touch, I’d say you’ll hit a hundred percent faster than most.”

As Farnhal said it, Max noticed a meter appear above the horse’s head and some text that read:

Estercoast Bay Stallion

Bond 5%

Max couldn’t wait to be able to ride him, but he realised the thing didn’t have a personalised name.

“Can you recommend any good names I could give to him?” Max asked.

“That is entirely up to you,” Farnhall said, giving him no guidance. “Naming your horse is as personal as the bond itself. Name him what you feel is true.”

Max nodded, ruffling the horse’s mane.

“I’ll have a think about it,” he said.

He wanted to choose wisely, and it wasn’t a decision he wanted to make on the spot.

Besides, he was itching to go hunting the grassgrots.

“Any specific advice you can give me to help me clear the grassgrots?” he asked before leaving.

“They ain’t got any elemental weaknesses, if that’s what you were hoping for,” Farnhal said glumly. “But they ain’t got any kind of protective shell or hide either. A good sword’ll slice through ‘em like a knife through butter.”

Music to to my ears, Max thought, excited to try out his newly purchased broadsword.

He turned his attention to his horse.

“Don’t you worry, boy,” he said. “By the time I’m finished with those things, you’ll have plenty of room to play in.”

The horse whinnied in admiration.

Max then said his farewells to Farnhal and headed back to The Brass Lantern. If he was going to go battling beasts, he would need to be dressed for the occasion, and his new protective gear was waiting for him where he had left it in his room.

After quickly getting changed in his room, Max made to head out of the Brass Lantern, which was now bustling with lunchtime trade, but Bron cut his interaction with a punter short to call out and approach him.

“Not sure what you were plannin’ on doing this evening, son, but Friday nights at the Brass Lantern are somethin’ special. Make sure you’re back here before sundown if you fancy joining the merriment.”

“Cheers, Bron,” Max thanked him, and headed out. He wasn’t usually one to enjoy partying, but he figured that this one might give him a bit of insight into how the people of Oakhaven spent their downtime, and might also be a chance to ask some new questions.

With his new broadsword in his inventory, Max headed to the western edge of the village, where he looked out at the vast grassy area beyond the river. He couldn’t see anything moving in the vicinity, but if what Farnhal had said about the fur of the grassgrots was true, they were most likely camouflaged in with their environment.

Before crossing the small stone bridge that would take him over the river and out of the safety of the village, Max thought about his stats.

The iron broadsword had a base attack of 40, but the Predator’s Power ability he had unlocked in the Inner Sanctum increased the damage he dealt with any weapon by 5, so he would deal 45 points of damage any time he connected with the beasts. He also knew from his experience of battling the hornback, the terrorgawks, and the bandits that strikes that connected with key body parts were classed as critical hits that dealt extra damage, and chopping heads off or slitting throats resulted in fatal wounds that dealt a certain amount of damage consistently over a period of time.

With the grassgrots on average having 70 HP, it would only take two regular strikes to kill each one, though admittedly Max didn’t know how easy that would be if they were as fast-moving as Farnhal had suggested.

Max’s main concern was keeping his own HP above zero. Each bite from a grassgrot at 30 damage each would take half his total health if he were to ignore the protection his clothing would provide. With the +12 defence against physical attacks coming from his shirt, his breeches, and his boots, each bite would only do 18 damage, but that would still mean that 3 bites would have him hanging onto just 6 HP, and 4 bites and he’d be done. He knew that his only saving grace would be the 3 remaining regenis potions he had brewed at the abandoned camp in the forest above the falls, which he still had in his inventory. If he was able to help it, he would avoid being bitten at all, but if he were to be, he’d at least have a few potions to replenish any lost health. Beyond that, if he were to find himself out of potions and overwhelmed by the beats, he would have to flee.

Fuck that, he thought, forcing himself to stop overanalysing.

He pulled his broadsword from his inventory, and headed over the bridge.

The grassgrots were going down.