Opening the front door to the hospice, Gordo was momentarily blinded by the sun that shone directly into his eyes, forcing him to close them and allowing the warmth of the sunlight to play across his face. Somehow it was refreshing, for this was, to his recollection, the first time he had been in the sunlight in this world. He drew a deep breath in, expecting to savor air that was fresh, and unlike the stale and musty air that he had been breathing within the building behind him, only to experience a series of aromas that were not only unexpected, but also unpleasant. The foul smell of uncollected animal dung, mixed in with the ammonia reek of poor sanitation made him gag. It was like the world around him was one giant litter tray, but one that had been left uncleaned for a week then left in the sun to ferment for a further week. It was strong enough to literally take your breath away.
He let out the foul breath that filled his lungs in one giant wheeze, unconsciously stepping back as if to escape the smell. Taking a grip on the doorframe with an unsteady hand, he decided the best thing he could do was breath only through his mouth, but upon doing so found that he could taste the damn miasma that surrounded him, it was sickening. He opened his eyes, squinting as they became accustomed to the brightness, trying to take a look at his surroundings, to find some avenue of escape, but found he was unable to see properly when his eyes started to water. Not only did the air reek, but it seemed to acidic as well.
A voice from behind him broke into his misery, the familiar voice of Sister Erethian. “Yes, it takes a little while to become accustomed to the atmosphere around this part of town, it can hit pretty hard if you are not used to it, or expect it. There’s a bench to your right, so please sit there till you get used to it.” Gordo , staggered to his right, found the bench and collapsed into a seated position on sit, wheezing while he breathed. The wall behind him was warm, so he leant back against it, and closed his eyes while taking as shallow a breath as he could. He felt the bench move as the sister took a seat next to him.
Swallowing, but instantly regretting it, he coughed in an attempt to clear the terrible taste from his throat. “How the hell can you live here, and what is that damn smell.” He rubbed the tears from his now red and burning eyes and looked at the sister again. “If it’s this bad outside, why doesn’t the inside smell the same ?” he queried.
Sister Erethian pursed he lips, looking down the muddy street that led away from the hospice. It was lined on either side with large wooden building, roughly dresses people walking between them, carefully stepping over the worse sections so as to avoid whatever lay at the bottom of the pools of water. “We have had special spells cast over the hospice that clear the air of the aroma around here. We have found that the atmosphere here is not receptive to healing, but can not afford to purchase a better place to operate from. Our order is a poor one, and we seek no payment for our services, so we make do with what our deity blesses us with. The reason the air around here is so tainted is fairly simple, for this is the manufacturing section of the city where the tanners and weavers prepare their wares. “ she looked at him. “You do know how tanners prepare the leather, don’t you ?”
Gordo just nodded, he was familiar with the historic method of tanning, and the unpleasant side effects of the process. Knowing that the tanners were working here made him understand the reason the air was so fouled. He wipes his sleeve across his eyes again.
Sister Erethian noticed the understanding that entered Gordos expression. “Most of the patients within the hospice are workers of this area, overcome by the fumes, damaged by the chemicals or injured by the machines they use. These workers only have my order to help them, they do not have the money to afford the healers and priests of the holy orders to help them, we are their only salvation”
He nodded understanding, and, while not feeling like he was getting better, felt himself start to become acclimatized to the conditions that surrounded this area. “ Seeing this the sister stood up. “I will leave you here to recover enough to be able to travel, it shouldn’t take you long. When you feel up to it, I suggest you travel as quickly down that road you see before us, as it will take you beyond the area that these tanneries affect.” She gave Gordo a slight nod and departed.
He sat there, watching the workers on the street below milling about, doing unfathomable tasks as they passed from one tannery to another, taking in as few breaths as he could. His eyes still stung, but the unspeakable aroma has eased as his olfactory system became accustomed to it, It didn’t go away, only became bearable. Looking at the workers again, he wondered how anyone could work, day after day, in this environment, for god sake, the smell must permeate every atom of a beings body, becoming permanent after long exposure. This fact alone made him want to depart as soon as possible, so he rose to his feet and made his way down the muddy street with its odd colored puddles, weaving around the workers who passed about him.
One of the workers, a rather heavyset individual, heavily bearded and wearing a stained shirt, stretched tightly across his rather paunchy stomach, and tucked beneath a wide, but worn, leather belt, stood in the middle of the road, oblivious to everything that was happening around him. He seemed to be occupied with some inner turmoil, so Gordo approached him, sensing an opportunity to gain a task, or even a quest. Gleefully Gordo strode forward faster the last couple of yards, advancing right up to the man, who remained completely oblivious to his approach.
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“Excuse me, sir, I couldn’t but notice that you seem to be in sort of a quandary. Is there anything that I could do to help you ?” He asked this pleasantly, for it could be the difference between a positive response or a negative one. He had learnt this fairly early in his gaming career and attributed much of his prior successes to this fact.
The man blinked a bit, then stared at Gordo, a bemused expression on his face. This rapidly disappeared as the man came back to his senses. “What the feck, “ he exclaimed loudly, with an irritated tone in his voice. “Task ? Quest ? I need no help from your type, so just feck off.” Snorting in derision, the man stormed off, muttering invectives to himself, and all that Gordo could do was watch him as he strode away. Obviously seeking, or even asking, about tasks and quests wouldn’t produce one like they used to, he had seen mention of exactly this in the manual, but had forgotten about it after reading it. He could see that this would make his task of surviving a little harder. He came to a sudden decision on that street that, no matter the reason, he would never, ever, visit this part of the city again.
He wasn’t travelling that long before he passed some unseen border, a border where the industrial jungle of the tanners became streets of small, wooden cottages, most with thatch roofs, but the occasional one with red tiles. On the corners of the streets that crossed this area were larger buildings, most at least two stories in height, obviously shops of various types, identifiable by shingles that each had hung above their doorways, their windows dusty with the dirt kicked up by passing traffic. He was surprised that in his travel, he had yet to see any being of a race other than human.
The street he was walking along made its way into a square, occupied by traders carts, many of them selling cooked food, the smell making his mouth water, and reminding him that he had better find some way of feeding himself. His thoughts made his steps slower and slower, until he realized he was no longer walking when he was bumped into from behind.
Gordo was push in the back, hard, making him stumble forward a couple of paces. “Watch what you are doing, idiot.” said someone from behind him, followed by another push. The voice was high and nasally, somehow annoyingly grating. Gordo quickly turned to find out who the owner of the voice was, only to find himself , face to face, with another player. He knew he was a player for he could see the players name floating above his head in blue text, only players had blue text. ‘Melbert the Magnificent’ it stated, as if expressing some import about the character, but to Gordo it just sounded lame. The player sniffed, then took a step backwards and covered his nose with one leather clad hand. “My god, what the hell is that smell.”
Gordo looked down at his clothes, and realized they must still be tainted with the tanners reek, but he couldn’t detect it because he was that used to it, and looked back up at the player before him. The player was obviously a fighter, for he was dressed in leather pants and a chain mail shirt, a fairly cheap looking sword clasped to his belt. His head was bare, not only from protective gear, but also from any covering hair, the scalp looked oiled, as the sunlight glinted off its polished surface. Removing the hand from his face, he pointed at Gordo, revealing the neatly trimmed goatee it had been hiding. “You,” he said in disgust, ‘its coming from you.” His eyes rose to stare at the area above Gordo’s head, reading whatever was displayed. “Gordo.” He stated, then lowered his eyes to stare into Gordo’s face. “Gordo, eh. Well Gordo, you look and smell like a pig.” His voice had become even more nasally, and had the tone of someone who had found they had unexpectedly stepped into a pile of fresh dog poo, utter disgust. He then looked at the glove he had pushed Gordo with, and wiped it on his pants leg. Without another word, he stepped around Gordo and walked rapidly away.
Gordo let his eyes follow the man, before quickly calling out to him before he passed beyond hearing. “Hey, Melbert.” The man paused in his departure, before turning around. “can you do a fellow player a favor, man, could you spare a couple of coins to help me out, I’m desperate.” He hated asking, but he really was desperate, normally he wouldn’t lower himself to begging for money, but his current situation demanded it. “I’ll pay you back, I promise.” The armored man strode back to where Gordo stood.
“The name is Melbert the Magnificent, not Melbert, don’t you forget that.” He snarled, looking Gordo up and down again, examining him. “You’re a poor excuse for a player, but I will do you a favor, all right.” With that he whipped out his sword and thrust it quickly into Gordo’s chest, pushing until it passed all the way through and poked three inches of steel out of his back. The pain as the sword pierced his chest was terrible, feeling cold like a sliver of ice had lodged in his chest, only to be replaced rapidly with a terrible burning sting. He fell to his knees as all of his strength departed him, only to find that he had a flat metallic taste in his mouth, and spat a large glob of blood out onto the cobblestones that lined the road beneath him. A system message popped up, obscuring his vision.
You have received a critical hit, you have been hit for 100 points. Health points remaining, zero out of one hundred.
Gordo looked up, to see the man above him grinning evilly, watching him as he suffered. Callously, he ripped the sword out of Gordo’s chest, causing another bolt of pain to wrack his body, and Gordo slumped onto the ground, face up, his vision receding as he died, seeing the man above him wipe his blade on the shirt Gordo wore, and then, finally, spitting on Gordo. The vision disappeared, only to be replaced with a black screen displaying unwanted words.
You have died. Please wait for respawn
Respawn in two hours, twenty three minutes, nineteen seconds
The pain had stopped, but Gordo didn’t know where he was, it was dark, and he had seemed to have lost the ability to move. The only thing he could see was the respawn timer ticking down, one second at a time. It was then he realized, in horror, that he would be stuck here, watching the countdown for every damn second of it. Normal players could log out for this, but he no longer had that option.
“Damn, damn, damn.”