An hour passed as Vern flung his fist through the air whilst shouting various ‘magic’ words, in a fruitless attempt to summon his sword. He had been determined to figure out how to use the ability since gaining it, hoping that it might prevent every encounter from turning into a near-death one. However, Vern was increasingly losing hope in achieving that goal.
Seeing as both the kills he had achieved so far had been marked as 'extreme' Vern realized something abundantly clear; he was under-leveled for this region. Obviously, that had also come with perks, and Vern doubted he would have gained levels so quickly if he had been fighting some mindless slimes or squishy kobolds.
Either way, it seemed beyond reckless to continue relying on producing an ace at the final minute of each fight to pull himself through it. He needed to get stronger.
It wasn’t all bad though, and Vern remembered back to how he had drained the Swamp Fiend of its blood. No additional appendages or anything weird had come from that exchange, he reminded himself; completing another cursory check, running his hands across his skin. "Nope, still nothing."
He still held out hope that he would figure out a way to make use of his new wings, but so far, they had only made things harder. That and the fact he didn’t particularly want to change his appearance any further, had made Vern rather terrified of accidentally stealing another creature’s DNA. Imagine if he had turned into some deathly-looking, pale ghoul? He still wanted to find his way back home after all, or at least find another human, and shuttered at the thought of finally reconnecting with another person just for them to be terrified of his mutated figure.
Adding to the troubling thought, Vern wasn’t entirely sure why his blood-siphoning skill hadn't resulted in him stealing the DNA of the Swamp Fiend and therefore wasn’t any closer to figuring out how to avoid it in the future. The only thought that made some sense, was that he had used the blood to reinvigorate himself. Whereas that hadn’t been necessary against the Doomdactyl. With that in mind, Vern found himself forced to come up with a rather simple plan for now; if he were to slay something without exhausting or wounding himself, he would have to make sure not to touch either it or its blood. Otherwise, if absolutely necessary, he could hope that the blood would only revitalize him, and not have enough energy left to mutilate him further.
With that decided, Vern knew what he needed to do next. He needed to find some training targets. Step one completed, selecting an overpowered class. Step two, grinding, Vern thought to himself as his eyes scanned the surrounding forest.
However, it wasn’t as if the massive alien forest came with a guide. Vern could want to grind out easy mobs all he wanted, but that didn’t mean he would actually find any. He could march through the forest, but that could just as easily end up with him becoming prey for another of those, giant stick insects.
“Quest assigned: Dogmatic fanatics; slay or be sacrificed. Slay the pygmy chieftain and his elite guard before they capture you, and sacrifice you to their sun god.”
Rewards:
One random rare item
Five hundred coppers
Bonus experience
“Oh,” Vern mouthed as he read the text. So, this thing has quests now as-, but before Vern could complete his thought, a dizzying blur interrupted him, followed by a brief sensation of bliss as he fell to the forest floor.
Woken to a sharp ache digging into his neck, Vern forced his groggy eyes open. Ashen bamboo-like shoots greeted him, and after a short moment to crack his back and shoulders, Vern forced himself up, taking a deep breath as he reorientated himself. Encapsulated by the same ashen bamboo, it took Vern only a second to realize he now sat in a rather large, primitive prison cell.
“Sleeping with wings sure does suck,” Vern bemoaned as he cracked his neck with a prayer – God, don’t tell me I’m sleeping on my chest the rest of my, presumably short life.
The cell sat at what seemed to be the center of a small village of ashen huts with reddish leather roofs - the leather reminiscent of the Doomdactyl’s reddish hides. Flanked by towering trees in all directions, the clearing that housed the village must have only stretched across maybe a dozen acres at most.
“Pygmy’s,” Vern groaned as he watched three half-sized humanoids walk by in loincloths. Their skin was a musk pink, and their features were almost human-like, save for prominent underbites and ridged, caveman-like brows.
There was a slight degree of relief when Vern realized that none carried weapons any more advanced than obsidian-looking spears and daggers. However, that didn't mean a lot when he currently carried nothing.
Vern was surprised to find that the little pygmies walking around the village didn’t really take much interest in him - who at six-two with giant reptilian wings would’ve been quite the spectacle for the barely five-foot tall pygmies, or at least Vern would’ve thought so. Had they caught others?
Escape and survival obviously came first, not that Vern had any idea of how exactly he would accomplish either. But what value did survival really have if it meant living out his days on this foreign world? The spaceship might not have been made by humans, but it was clearly technologically advanced, and likely possessed the creature comforts he was accustomed to. And so, if given a choice, Vern would much rather escape to an alien world, space station, or even spaceship that had a degree of sophistication, and maybe even a bathroom if he was lucky. That meant, if there were others, maybe even people from his own crash landing, Vern certainly wanted to seek them out. And if possible, leave this accursed place with them.
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Well, I may as well try this, Vern figured as he strolled over to his cage's bamboo gate. Wrapping his hands around two bars, Vern took several deep breaths in and out, steadying himself. All at once, Vern threw his strength with a grunt into his arms and midsection as he tried to rip the gate straight off of the cell. Nothing, not even the slightest budge. Vern sighed, although he had expected as much.
There wasn’t a lot more he could do right now besides studying his enemy, and so with that, Vern sat down. Be inconspicuous, Vern thought as he began to watch his tiny captors.
The village behaved in a manner that seemed expected for some undeveloped tribal society, Vern thought. People went about their business, completing tasks like curing and treating food, whilst others weaved baskets and other simple tools. The loincloths that covered the pygmy’s lower halves, were unfortunately the only clothing they wore, and Vern had been more than a little embarrassed when a couple of women walked past his cell with their pink breasts out on display.
All in all, Vern was starting to feel a little guilty about his quest, even if he had no idea how to complete it anyway. But if nothing changed, it meant that he would either have to kill the little humanoids or be sacrificed by them. If the notification was to be believed, that was. But at this point, Vern didn’t really have any reason to doubt it, since it did seem to be the reason he was here in the first place. Despite that, these alien pygmies seemed like normal people just trying to live their lives, even if they were a little misguided.
Cutting Vern’s spying operation short, a distinctively different-looking group of pygmies marched into view, carrying what looked like a primitive stretcher. These pygmies were covered in what looked like armor crafted from bark. However, whilst the bark still held a shape as if it had been peeled straight from a tree, a glimmer of jade reflected from it, giving it an almost mineral-like appearance, and Vern had a feeling it wasn't any ordinary tree bark. Not only that, but the armored pygmies also carried tubes longer than their entire bodies across their backs, as well as what appeared to be the same, standard-issue obsidian weapons. “Explains a lot” Vern nodded to himself, recognizing what he had seen many times before on the discovery channel – dart blowguns.
Vern had to push himself against his cage wall to catch sight of the figure they carried, only just barely managing to spot what looked like gold, shimmering skin. “Huh,” Vern murmured, his eyes trailing the procession.
Little more came from the waning hours of the day as a violet hue took over the sky, ushering in the night. Vern wasn’t entirely certain if it were the end of his first, or potentially second day on the alien world, thanks to the hours he had lost. But either way, figured sleep was likely long overdue.
Pushing up from his chest, Vern awoke to the chatter of the early rising pygmies, their language predictively alien and unintelligible. Vern had considered trying to talk to the little pygmies when they had first taken him, but upon hearing them speak, immediately dismissed the idea.
Instead, his eyes searched for any sign of the stranger they had brought into the camp, yesterday evening. There were two other cages like his own nearby, both of which were empty. But he couldn’t be certain there weren’t more, elsewhere.
Increasingly impatient to find a solution to his problem, Vern began kicking and charging into his cell walls – but it was to no effect.
As Vern bent over and took a break to catch his breath, a rhythmic beating of drums began to fill the little village.
A procession of dozens, maybe even a hundred pygmies came streaming down one of the muddy paths that ran through the village. Dancing and dressed in elaborate, vibrantly colored gowns, they took part in what looked like a local festival. Feathers of all colors lined their heads, arms, and shoulders, attached by leather straps, whilst their chests and stomachs remained exposed; save for red and white paints that had been used to draw both humanoid and animal faces alike, making use of natural landmarks like nipples for their drawing’s pupils.
A part of Vern appreciated the spectacle and could only imagine how blessed he would have felt to be invited to such a scene in his previous, boring life. But in his current situation, it seemed like a very, very bad sign.
Not long after, what appeared to be the centerpiece of the procession appeared. It was a huge bamboo platform being carried by a dozen of the same armored pygmies from earlier, and at its center another cage like his own.
It was the golden figure. She was a girl or woman more accurately, Vern realized. The golden woman stood about five-five and was dressed in a metallic suit that followed her curves like a second skin. She wore golden hair that matched her skin color, cut into a bob with a fringe, and emerald eyes pierced out from her defiant gaze. Vern couldn’t help but notice her proportions were very much womanly, whilst her face looked like it belonged to an actress. Vern couldn’t deny, even if she was an alien, that she was stunning.
“Help me,” came a feminine voice, intruding into Vern’s thoughts.
“The system?” Vern hissed but immediately felt a little stupid for thinking it since the voice sounded completely different. Doubly so when it continued to speak.
“No, I am the woman in front of you. Our situations are alike. These things, they plan on sacrificing me. And you appear to be the only one around that might be able to help.”
“How are you speaking to me?” Vern replied, unable to get past the fact that the voice had entered his mind uninvited.
“It is a class ability of mine, and with it, I have managed to read the intent of these little things around us. Do not worry, I do not read your mind, that is above me. I can simply impart my thoughts and read the intent of yours, rather than truly invading your thoughts.”
Vern wasn’t so sure how different the two concepts were but accepted they might be each other’s best hope, and so discarded any hostility toward it for now. “So, what do I do?” Vern thought in reply, not sure if he was supposed to do anything else to send the mental message.
“The pygmies will tranquilize you again soon. They plan to sacrifice you first, as an opening offer before they do the same to me. Kind of like an appetizer for their god.”
Great, Vern thought to himself, realizing where exactly the golden alien’s priorities lay – had it not occurred to her that it might be worth mentioning he too was slated for sacrifice?
“I will form a mental bond with you, allowing me to assist you in feigning unconsciousness when struck. You will follow my lead, watching on in a spectral form as our captors open your cage. Since they plan on tying you up against a post, before setting you alight, this will be necessary. Once your cell is opened, it will be up to you to figure out how exactly to deal with them. I do hope that is something you can handle.”
“And you can’t just do this yourself?” Vern thought, not even considering whether or not he intended to ask the question, but the golden alien clearly read the stray thought the moment Vern had it.
A sigh echoing through Vern’s mind, the golden alien replied, “I would be unconscious, just the same as you. My ability allows me to create a bond with you. From there, I can hold your consciousness separately from your physical self, then rejoin the two once the tranquilizer has already been used, waking you up. But I do not possess any abilities that would imbue me with the ability to resist the poison itself.”
By now the procession had well and truly passed Vern, and he was quite impressed that the mental intruder was still able to hold a bond with him. Not that any of it really mattered, he either followed along with the plan or end up a sacrifice.