Dakota sprinted through the undergrowth, praying he had lost the creatures. One moment, he was walking up the stairs to his apartment, the next, he was in a forest, surrounded by small, red-eyed creatures. The creatures hadn’t taken kindly to Dakota’s sudden appearance and, after receiving the wrong end of a rusty knife to the side, his adrenaline had kicked into gear. He had taken off running as if his life depended on it, which it might have, and hadn’t stopped.
Pausing for a breath, he took stock of his surroundings. He was in an evergreen forest, the underbrush wasn’t too bad but there were definitely thorns in it if his ripped shirt was anything to go by. The sun was setting, casting long shadows through the trees.
*crack
He turned around to find a pair of faintly glowing eyes boring into him from the depths of the brush. The urge to relieve himself grew as more glowing eyes appeared beside the first. Dakota turned and ran in the opposite direction, a scream escaping his lips as a high-pitched cry erupted behind him.
Legs burning, he crashed through a bush and into an open clearing. He could still hear the creatures in the distance, their warbling cry never fading. The sun had set, taking the light with it. Thankfully, the moon was rising early and was especially bright.
Dakota stumbled through the clearing, peering through the darkness. The shape of a building took form in the moonlight. As he reached the structure, the warbling cry which had been growing closer cut off. Somehow, the absence of sound was more nerve-wracking than the cry itself.
He felt along the side of the building until his hands brushed against a seam in the siding. A door! He dug his fingers into the crack and hauled. The door resisted - barely moving as his shoulders creaked.
Somewhere in the distance, a branch broke.
Dakota braced a foot against the building and heaved. The wood flexed, then flew open. He squeezed his six-foot frame inside and closed the door behind him.
The interior of the building was pitch black except for the occasional ray of moonlight streaming through the roof. He crouched, peering through a crack into the clearing.
No creatures coalesced, no glowing eyes appeared in the darkness.
Brushing curly brown hair from his eyes, Dakota realized how badly his knees were shaking as exhaustion pushed through his fear. How long had he been running? It felt like a lifetime. He sat down and leaned his head against the inside of the building.
His calming heart rate picked back up at the sight of two glowing eyes creeping along the edge of the glade.
Dakota realized he might die as creatures entered the clearing. First one, then five, then twenty. They weren’t big, only coming to waist height but they were armed. He rose but as he did, his foot caught the edge of something leaning beside the door. His hand snapped out, catching the falling object. The scuffle alerted the creatures he was nearby as the group paused and then crept towards his hiding place.
His breathing stilled as he gripped the pole he had nearly knocked over.
“Lord, make me fast and accurate”.
With a roar, he kicked open the door sending one of the creatures flying. Dakota continued roaring as he brought the end of the pole down on another’s head, laying it flat. The group momentarily pulled back, startled by his charge. He did not let them regroup. He front-kicked one, fended off two others with the end of what he realized was a hoe and elbowed a fourth across the face. Spinning his improvised weapon across his body, he clipped another in the gut. The main group moved towards Dakota but was noticeably more hesitant than before.
Swallowing his fear, he barreled into them, managing to down another two before the creatures dragged his hoe down. Searing pain erupted in his right leg as he was swarmed. In desperation, he seized a creature, slamming it headfirst into the ground. Grasping it by the legs, he swung it around him, downing another before letting it fly into two more. He tore a creature off of his back and punched it in the face, then used the body to deflect a knife aimed at his head. Dakota seized the thin, strong arm and wrenched the knife from the creature's hand before planting it in his attacker’s chest.
He stumbled back, lashing out. After a few moments, he realized he wasn’t being attacked any longer. The surviving creatures had pulled back and now huddled together at the edge of the clearing.
He took one step towards them…..and they scattered, fleeing into the forest.
A small, slightly hysterical laugh escaped Dakota’s mouth as his vision darkened.
“This is the wildest dream I’ve ever had”.
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[Frontier Farmer] Class obtained
[Frontier Farmer] Level 4
[Skill - Farm Defence] Obtained
[Skill - Calloused Hands] Obtained
[Skill - Minor Mundane Repair] Obtained
“Wh-wha?” Dakota’s head rose briefly before collapsing to the ground.
Dakota awoke to a blistering headache. He sat up blearily, noticing the carnage around him.
“So not a dream.”
He tried rolling onto his knees but quickly stopped as little points of pain turned into big points of pain. He grimaced at the sight of his cut and scratched legs. They had taken the worst of the damage last night. Excluding the corpses surrounding him of course. Scooting over to one, he examined their grey, bark-like skin and elongated fingers.
“Goblins?”
They didn’t quite fit the stereotypical green gremlin but they certainly weren’t human or any other species Dakota was aware of.
Deciding to ignore the surrealness of the situation for now, he looked around the clearing. The building he had hidden in was behind him - building was a generous term. The decrepit, half-collapsed, shed he had hidden in last night was behind him. On his left, a one-story house, in slightly better condition than the shed, rose from the grasses. A barn was adjacent to the house with another few sheds scattered beyond it.
A bitter taste rose in Dakota’s mouth. It must have been at least twelve hours since his last drink. Wincing, he rose and shuffled towards the barn. Old farm equipment lay scattered on the floor but no sign of any water. Next, he made his way through the waist-high grass toward the three sheds beyond the barn. Again, no water. Finally, and with increasing bouts of pain in his legs, Dakota moved to the house.
The house was low to the ground, with a covered deck fully encircling it. It was in better shape than the other buildings but not by much. Multiple windows were smashed, the wood shingles were decomposing, and the front door was busted in.
He stumbled inside, leaning against a wall to take pressure off his legs. Instead of the pain receding, it continued to get worse as he explored. Gritting his teeth, Dakota made it to the kitchen and, with a blossom of worry, did not find anything to drink. He did find an impressive wood-fired stove, its belly bulging with doors and grates.
Anxiously, he made his way through the rest of the house and out the back door. He wouldn’t die from dehydration immediately but his legs were in agony. His ability to explore was already being hampered which made finding some form of hydration priority number one.
Thankfully, as he moved to inspect the goblins again, Dakota discovered an overgrown well with a stone ring around it. He fell to his knees, grabbed the old bucket and rope beside the well and tossed it in. He waited for a heart-wrenching second before hearing the sweet sound of the bucket hitting liquid.
The water was clear and cool, soothing his swollen tongue and allowing him to relax for the first time all morning. Unfortunately, the bucket was so old and weathered it hardly held water, only letting Dakota get one good slurp before draining onto the grass.
He sat there, holding the bucket in his hands wishing it was more watertight.
“The goblins might have a container on them.”
He doubted it, he hadn’t seen them carrying anything substantial other than the odd scrap of cloth and a few weapons.
As he sat there pondering how to improve his water-carrying capabilities, he felt a strange tug on his mind. As if his brain was trying to lead him to an answer he didn’t know the question to.
“I have a bucket, but it has too many holes to be useful. I would say the bucket needs to be fixed, or the bucket needs to be… repaired.”
As he said the last word, two things happened.
First, Dakota felt the strange tugging sensation release, as if he unplugged a portion of his mind. Second, the bucket rattled in his hands, pieces tearing off and then reapplying themselves together. The event only took a few seconds, at the end of which he held a completely repaired, albeit smaller, bucket.
“Ookaay”.
It was the same bucket but the holes were repaired and an inch of material from the rim was missing.
“I guess I know what [Minor Mundane Repair] does now. “
Dakota had intentionally ignored the voice telling him his new “class” and “skills”, hoping it had been a bad dream. Now that he thought about it more purposefully, he received the distinct impression of his class [Frontier Farmer] and his skills [Lesser Endurance], [Calloused Hands], [Farm Defence], and [Minor Mundane Repair]. No screen or menu popped up, he simply knew.
Looking at his hands, he noticed they had acquired impressive callouses…which was kind of gross.
He sat there, absorbing this new revelation.
“Am I in a game?!”
Of course, he received no answer but he couldn’t help digging his hands into the ground.
“Feels real.”
He took a deep sniff of the forest and fresh earth he had dug up.
“Smells real.”
Finally, he paused, listening to the sounds of birds chirping and the wind rustling the trees and grass.
“Definitely sounds real.”
If this was some crazy new VR technology, it was terrifying because it felt exactly like reality. A certain 90s movie was playing through his mind as Dakota sent his new and improved bucket into the well again.
“Make sure to take the red pill…or was it the blue pill?”
He didn’t think this was a virtual reality, but it certainly wasn’t the earth he was used to.