As the haze cleared Peter found himself slumped against a stone wall. It was almost pitch black all around, he could barely see his hand in front of his face. Overhead a sliver of moon cast just enough light to highlight the shadows. He began feeling about himself to figure out where he could be when he heard something snuffling about in the darkness. Peter froze immediately. In the corner of his eye he could make out a pool of darker shadow that had been moving back and forth as though it were searching for something. When he started moving it had stopped, and he was sure he could feel eyes on him as he braced against the wall.
Suddenly the dark shape launched itself at him with a startlingly loud “Squeaf!” The mass latched onto his face causing him to flinch back into the stone surface. Expecting teeth and claws, Peter was surprised to feel a rough tongue licking his forehead. He gently prised the paws from his head and held the offender out at arm’s length.
“DB! You’re ok! You’re definitely a bastard, but you’re ok!” Peter hugged his little friend. “I’m sorry I left you, I’ve been SO sick. I’m never going back to that steakhouse again, I must have gotten food poisoning! What am I saying? You live in a virtual world, you’ve probably never heard of food poisoning.” Peter stood up and lifted DB to his shoulder so he could climb into the hood. Once he was higher than the wall he could see the flaming torches that were placed at regular intervals along the road. “Let’s get back to town, I’ve got people to meet and mobs to kill.”
With a spring in his step Peter headed back to the village. He nodded familiarly to the guards at the gate as he passed through, heading towards the warm glow of the central square. The guy on the left waved as he went by. He was beginning to find that virtual people were nicer than real ones.
The gas lamps bathed the street with a pleasant amber radiance, bright enough to allow Peter to see where he was going, but not so bright that they blotted out the stars above. Peter risked stubbing a toe to ponder the radiant sky, with its unfamiliar constellations sparkling in their heavenly glory. Peter was so enraptured by the beauty above he failed to notice the slab of meat much closer to the ground.
Peter rebounded off the armoured posterior in his path, tumbling to the ground in a remarkable moment of déjà vu. The owner of said posterior turned around with glacial slowness to reveal itself as the massive flaming sword wielding ass Peter had met in the tavern days before.
“You again?” it bellowed, unslinging his blade which burst to life immediately. “I oughtta..!”
Peter rolled backwards over his shoulder to get his feet under him. A cold rage burned in his chest as he quickly pulled his scythe out of his inventory in response. “You oughtta what?” The cold sensation had spread, creeping upwards over his head and down his back. It was most intense either side of his spine where his wings attached. He flexed them, trying to shake the sensation. The street around him began to darken as though something was absorbing all the light. “Kill me? Too late. I’ve already died in every possible way you could possibly imagine. There is nothing left you can threaten me with.”
The flames on the blade winked out as quickly as they’d flared to life. “Dude, what ARE you?” the hulking player breathed. He gently returned his sword to its sheath and began to back away, palms outstretched. Suddenly he spun around and legged it up the street.
The utter absurdity of the situation sent Peter to his knees, alternately gasping and laughing. The weird cold sensation evaporated leaving just a slight tingling in Peter’s face and chest. To his knowledge, that was the first time anyone or anything had run from him, normally it was the other way around.
Eventually, Peter hauled himself to his feet again. Kneeling in the street giggling wasn’t going to help him achieve his goal of learning how to fight properly, no matter how good it felt to finally get a win. He reached over his shoulder and scratched a wing with the butt of the scythe before putting it back in his inventory, the strange burning cold had left them tingling too. It felt strange, having an itch in a limb he didn’t possess in the real world and his brain was struggling to make sense of the experience. He shrugged, causing the feathers to ruffle in the cool night air and giving his brain another confusing sensation.
A few minutes later Peter was pushing open the door to the tavern, the sounds of merriment washing over him. Seeing an unoccupied table along the back wall Peter slid onto the bench seat and picked up a menu. He was still trying to decide whether he was hungry or not with the ghost of the taste of his kebab lingering in his mouth, when Rosie bustled up.
“Peter! Good to see you. You’ve been out hunting, have you?”
Peter looked confused. “Not really?” His brow creased in consternation.
Rosie reached over his shoulder and stroked his left wing. “These are much bigger than last time I saw you. Travellers often grow in unexpected ways as they chase about helping us and saving lives. It’s the way the gods reward you for the pain and trauma you experience.”
The word “experience” prompted a memory from his research a few days back. The Age didn’t only award “XP”, or experience points, for killing things, saving people or whatever your business was. Every action resulted in a minor incremental advancement in your stats. Often these resulted in physical changes too, depending on the nature of the action you were performing. Peter stretched one wing over his shoulder, shuddering slightly at the strangeness, and examined what the tiny annoying nubs had grown into. To be fair, he wouldn’t be flying with them any time soon. It barely reached far enough over to see. It also wasn’t as white as it had been either, more like a seagull wing in both size and colour. “Wow,” he breathed.
Rosie placed a cup and a bottle of water on the table. “Well, if you’re not hunting, how’ve you been spending your time?”
Peter sighed. “Dying mostly. I need to get better at fighting because all I keep doing is ending up in the catacombs.”
“So did most Travellers when they first appeared,” Rosie said, laying a hand on his shoulder and leaning in. “You should have seen the faces in here about a month in after the first Travellers arrived. You’d have thought we’d been invaded by zombies.”
Looking around the room at the well outfitted and healthy clientele enjoying a quiet beer, or a loud whiskey, Peter found it hard to imagine. “Wh…”
“Not these lot,” Rosie cut him off. “You’re just about the only active Traveller here today. We get a few who like to come back and help out every now and again, clearing the pests from the fields, running errands, that sort of thing. Most of them have Port Stones or fancy vehicles and riding beasts that they can use to get home though, they don’t stay here. Especially if they can get soft beds or home cooked meals in their hometowns. Speaking of meals, can I get you anything to eat?”
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
Considering the question for a moment, Peter put a hand to his stomach.“I’m not super hungry Rosie, but what do you have snack-wise?”
Rosie tilted her head back and placed a finger to her chin as she thought. “We’ve got the usual; nut bowl, hot potato chips or meat on a stick. They’re all five copper. I can have the kitchen whip up a sandwich with your choice of a meat and two toppings for ten coppers. Comes with an ale or fruit juice that does. The rest of the dinner menu is full plate meals.”
Peter dredged five coppers out of his inventory and asked for the nut bowl, just something to munch on while he was waiting, and to keep DB from making trouble too.
After Rosie had whisked off to fetch the requested food, Peter pulled out the paper and quill taken from the recovery room and set about trying to draw a map of the town and fields from memory. It seemed best to have a record of the monsters and their location to help prevent excessive trips to Jacob’s. He was so engrossed he didn’t notice Rosie return, place his order on the table and move on to the next hungry patron. DB did notice however, and helped himself to the assorted nibblies. After a while, his arm bagan to itch and heat like it had when he made the skinning knife. A quick glance at his Skills list showed Cartography: 1% glow briefly gold and his Scribing had reached 0.5%. “Well, that’s handy,” he noted absently, “I wonder what it does when levelled,” before returning to his work.
Eventually a silvery peal of laughter broke through the haze, bringing him back to himself. At a far table a familiar face held court, a circle of adoring fans attending her every word. Peter stood and tried to force his way through but the crowd resisted his every effort. In the end he was reduced to jumping up and down, waving his hands above his head. All he was rewarded with was a wink and a smirk before Dani returned to her admirers.
Disheartened, Peter returned to his table. DB had finished the bowl and stood on his hind legs at the edge of the table reaching out with both paws. “Well, buddy, looks like we’re on our own for now. Let’s get some air,” he extended his arm for DB to scamper up to his favorite nest.
Outside in the street most of the lamps had been extinguished for some reason, darkened fingers reaching into the starless void above. Shadows pooled in the corners in a way that seemed almost… alive. A strange scraping noise echoed across the square drawing his attention to one particular patch of inky darkness. A shadow rippled and slid up the wall bounding the mayor’s manor with a sound like stone dragging on stone. Peter stood aghast as the shadow formed a perfect circle, then bulged inwards. Deeper it went, deeper than should have been possible and from the depths came a pink mist, carrying a sweet, cloying scent. A sultry, throaty laugh just on the edge of hearing drifted on the breeze as a cloud of tiny bodies burst forth.
At first he thought they were bats, their leathery wings flapping and fluttering in a manner reminiscent of the flying mammals. Peter soon realised how wrong he was as the first little beast reached him with a cry. It was an imp with a dagger not much larger than a toothpick. It would have been laughable, had the bugger not just stuck it hilt deep into Peter’s cheek.
“Ow!” Peter staggered back clutching his face.
The imp was joined by it’s companions. “For the mistress!”
Their high pitched battle cry stung his ears, causing Peter to clamp his hands to the sides of his head. He hunched over in an attempt to shield himself with his arms and flung his wings about hoping to get a lucky strike.
The ringing in his ears fading, Peter pulled out his weapon as quickly as he could and dived under the ring of circling enemies. Rolling to his feet he flicked a wing one way and swung the other, scooping an imp straight onto the blade. “I may not be the greatest fighter but I can still take down you lot.”
The imps swarmed around Peter again trying to find an opening. One feinted in on his left as another dived under his arm on the right. Peter winced as the dagger dug deep between his ribs and the imps cackled at his pain. He tried the scoop maneuver again but missed and barely avoided cutting himself.
A cry from above was all the warning he got as one tried diving down from on high. Peter whipped himself to the side and swung for the fences. Feeling a solid whack reverberate through the shaft he watched the body sail across the square. Unfortunately for him, two attackers took the opportunity to stick him in the back. Reflexively he struck out with his wings and felt them connect squarely. Congratulations, you have unlocked a rare Skill. Unarmed Combat Specialisation: Wings popped up in the corner of his vision.
“Not what I was looking for, but I’ll take it,” Peter growled through the pain. “Gotta do something about these guys surrounding me or I’m going to keep getting stabbed in the back. Now I know how Julius Caesar felt.”
Peter backed up to the outside wall of the inn, surprised that the commotion hadn’t drawn any attention from inside. Sure enough, though, the imps couldn’t circle him anymore and were forced to hover, swooping in and out to deliver attacks. This made them much more predictable and all he had to do was wait for one to get close enough and would be sliced in half, falling to the ground and evaporating into black smoke.
The last imp, instead of lining up to die like it’s brethren, flipped mid-air and shot back across the square as fast as it’s leathery wings would carry it. It disappeared through the portal, which immediately faded back into a normal wall. The moment it was gone, the lights around the square began to flicker back to life.
The sound of heavy boots running up the road heralded the arrival of the city guard. Peter leaned on the outer wall of the inn as he caught his breath and watched the guardsmen spread out to find the source of the disturbance. A woman with gold chasing in her armour detached herself from the group and approached him.
“You, boy. What transpired here?”
Peter tried his best to describe what he had just faced. The moving shadows, the swarming imps, the dimming lights. The mention of the weird laughter clearly caught her attention.
“Say again, child? A woman’s laughter? Did you see this woman?”
“No ma’am.” Peter shook his head. “What’s going on? Who is she?”
As she opened her mouth to speak, another guard approached and saluted with a fist over the heart. “Lieutenant, we’re done. All threats are neutralised and magics dissipated.”
The lieutenant returned the salute. “Good man. Round up the rest and return to the barracks.” Turning her attention back to Peter, she held out a small leather purse. “Well done Traveller. Allow me to reward you for your efforts.”
Peter took the purse and opened it as the guards departed. It was filled with copper and silver coins. There glinting in the light of the gas lamps was more money than he had ever seen in one place.
A hand dropped onto his shoulder, making him scream and fumble the purse. Coins spilled out onto the ground. “Ooh. Shinies!” A familiar voice accompanied the hand.
“Dani! I nearly peed myself. Don’t DO that! What are you doing out here anyway?” he demanded.
Dani knelt and scooped up the fallen coins. “I saw you when you came inside but I couldn’t get away without arousing suspicion. Then, for some reason I couldn’t open the door. No-one could. What happened out here?”
For the second time that night Peter recounted the events of the square. When he reached the part about the weird laughter Dani made the same face that the guard had.
“So, she’s back. I thought something like that has been coming.” Dani held out the handful for Peter to take.
“She? Who is this she?”
“That damned Succubus. One of the Seven Deadly Sins that plague this world.” Dani opened the inn door. “Let’s talk about this over a drink. Your shout Mr Moneybags.”