A clouded morning witnessed the return of the dwarf to his fields. Not only did he inspect the seeded areas carefully assessing moisture but, with the aid of his rusted pickaxe, the dwarf ploughed through more netting further levels in ‘MINING’, even if it didn’t really make much sense to him. Busy as well was he with scooping animal waste into crates assigned composting, along with other organic material found nearby. No Tryse had been spotted despite once a claim made otherwise regarding the chapel’s land. Though so long past, the dwarf remembered: flared stem, blue petals. Were the latter thick or thin? And why couldn’t he find any at all? But the dwarf could not will himself to call on Funguayou for advice. It was lucky enough, thought he, the doctor did not bring the illegitimate son on its visits--the next in two days.
“FARMING SKILL INCREASED TO 4”
“FARMING SKILL INCREASED TO 5”
“FARMING SKILL INCREASED TO 6”
“FARMING SKILL INCREASED TO 7”
With more planted, the dwarf imagined the great yield in the coming months; he’d be depending on it. But, contrasted the dwarf, desperation was not quite true. With Doetrieve as captain, he doubted the elf would let him starve. But nonetheless wishing not to abuse his connection, the dwarf aimed for self sufficiency.
“FARMING SKILL INCREASED TO 8”
“FARMING SKILL INCREASED TO 9”
“FARMING SKILL INCREASED TO 10”
Having skipped lunch, the dwarf rested in the shade munching on mushroom loaf. Indeed the taste did not bother him so badly now. But he still yearned for apples and wondered why he’d not spied any in the wild. Yet the dwarf had never particularly searched them out. Stirred into action by pure desire, he rose from his break beneath the roof of the steeple and crossed the river to explore trees within the nest of great towering rock topped with pine. He kept alert for amphibious assassins.
Some fruit did hang from branches, but they were no apple. A round shape with multiple bumps and indents, various warm colors melting into one another, the firm thing received a squeeze; the dwarf imagined its flesh between his teeth. If Funguayou were present, he mused, it’d know of the discovery’s hypothetical safety. The dwarf could only otherwise test the fruit on his flock if not himself. Towards the former he was unwilling, but what of his dwarfen body, he mused. What did it matter if a poisoning followed? The dwarf just the day previous received such horrible agony from the feasting of the undead on his ankles that he could not imagine a worse pain or feeling. With resolve, the dwarf brought his teeth down onto the object of bumps and bruises and tore a chunk savagely, its juices dribbling down his cheeks and beard.
It was delicious. The dwarf, in moments, lay dead.
“LOADING... LOADED.”
Having saved his ‘FARMING’ experience beforehand, the dwarf did not stir over the mercifully fast death. But the mysterious taste of the deadly fruit lingered. He could not even remember the symptoms as they came about--only that he reappeared in the chapel as relied upon. With one danger stricken, at least, the dwarf exited boldly back into the wilderness for further testing. He came upon red berries once spat--what would it have mattered had they killed him then? But the dwarf could not recall whether having ‘SAVED’ at the time, and he supposed himself grateful for his wariness when he couldn’t afford not to be.
Sun some few hours from its setting, a dwarfen eyebrow raised in response to a high hanging triangular fruit, sloped and aimed downwards. Its color changed with every blink. What was blue was not until it was yet again. The full spectrum of color traveled over its smooth skin, and the dwarf began climbing bark.
The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
“ATHLETICS SKILL INCREASED TO 46”
The dwarf landed on his geta with a louder than usual clack. Eyes still stuck to the ever-changing fruit’s hues, he gave it a bite. It was delicious. In moments, he lay dead.
“LOADING... LOADED.”
Stomping out from the steeple, the dwarf nearly came to blows with a nearby tree. It was The Ponderous One’s memory that strangely stayed his fist. But how could two different fruits treat him the same? Again he considered the possible advice of Funguayou. The dwarf wondered why he tolerated the doctor’s presence but not the illegitimate son. The former struck, the latter watched, he recalled. Was watching allowing? But it was not as if the dwarf cared much for Mallow; it was a necessary evil for ‘FAITH’. The dwarf thought of wooden planks collapsing beneath his sandals sucking him down four undead infested floors. If not for the doctor’s training, what chance would he have had? But in the end he perished, the dwarf argued. What little advantage did ‘FAITH’ bring him in a world still intent on his death?
Besides, thought the dwarf. Of the found fruit, Doctor Mallow could be asked...
A third fruit lay gripped in the dwarf’s hand. It seemed as if a mound of overflowing flesh, lumps raised over one another in a sickly pale color. The dwarf hesitated. Despite every assurance to himself of his return, every signal in the dwarf’s body responded in the negative. He shut his eyes and forced the thing to his teeth.
“LOADING... LOADED.”
The dwarf spent the rest of the day doing nothing in particular, casually collecting experience in ‘ANIMAL HUSBANDRY’ and filling his remaining snack sessions with mushroom loaf. The following morning the dwarf did not rise from tile, limbs exhausted from the day previous’ plowing. The planks normally blocking the entrance granted a gap. On little pattering across the echoing floor the dwarf glanced at Funguayou. It gave Waspig and Pistol scratches behind the ears before appearing before him.
“Hey, buddy. Nice duds.”
The dwarf relented and rose to lay his back against brick. Funguayou, stubby dwarfen limbs in action, came and continued standing.
“Sorry it took me so long to come back out here. Not like dad forbade it or anything. Been busy. You know what it’s like.”
The dwarf wasn’t following.
“Your animals’ animals, dwarf. Dad doesn’t do anything for ‘em. And they aren’t allowed inside. So I’ve to corral them and keep the things happy, but I’m also responsible with cleaning up the place, since he doesn’t have time for that either. You know, I was excited, truthfully, that one time. That straw covered spawn?” Funguayou laughed. “Caring for a pet is one thing, a flock another. I’ve got knowledge. But putting it into action... And get this, dwarf. He wants me to get a farm going, suddenly he’s not content with mushroom loaf. Just another add-on to the pile, huh buddy? Hey, sorry again, I didn’t mean to come here to whine. I do have some supplies. Care for an apple?”
The dwarf’s eyes lightened and he set to Funguayou the question regarding the fruits of his previous lives. But Funguayou only began laughing.
“You have to lick ‘em first. Your saliva seeps through and neutralizes what kills you. Except that last one, the bumpers? Don’t eat bumpers, dwarf. Waspig knows better. And it makes me happy to see ‘im, and the rest of ‘em, doing so well. They don’t really need much, I guess. But when they’re smaller and faster... I’m doing it again. Hey, I can’t stay for long, I really just wanted to get out to greet you, congratulate you. Yea, dad told me. Think you can do something about their funguay law? Well, if you can. Hey, really, I’m happy to see you, Waspig. You too, Pistol. Bathiel. Alright, I better head back, or I’m yelled at, again. Or, wait, you wouldn’t happen to... No, sorry, it’s nothing, dwarf.”
The dwarf stretched and exited his slouch against the wall to go over and grab the lighter. Funguayou bowed. Herb inhaled and released, the illegitimate child of funguay and dwarf sprinted away down the trail back towards Doctor Mallow. On the following day, its father appeared at the steeple during the especially bright dawn. No words exchanged, the doctor approached the large Pistol and sauntered atop, dwarf’s jaw unhinging.
“Come, dwarf. For today’s lesson, we ride for the cold ruins of Omelette.”