It didn’t take long for Hunter to realize the new Abilities he’d picked up were indeed a solid choice. Granted, neither Mystic’s Eye nor the raven familiars would be much of use in a fight, but for the time being that was beyond the point. For a man lost in what essentially was a new and strange land, a reliable way to get knowledge and information was invaluable.
On the other hand, Hunter also found out that having familiars could be… disconcerting, at least in the beginning.
Biggs and Wedge–that’s what he’d decided to call the ravens, an homage to his nerdy upbringing–were like two excitable little voices he could hear in his head all the time, chattering non-stop. He couldn’t make out what they were saying, not exactly, but he got the gist of it. They were thrilled to be in this new world.
He asked Biggs and Wedge to scout ahead into the forest and keep an eye out for anything out of place, though he couldn’t be sure if they understood what he wanted them to do. The two windbags didn’t seem to understand the concept of speech. They had apparently just figured out how to caw and squeak and generally do bird noises, however, and wouldn’t shut up.
If there was anything or anyone out there, they would probably hear Hunter and his noisy entourage coming from a mile away. He wasn’t exactly in love with that idea.
In the end, he just projected his thoughts to their cheeky presences in his head, and hoped for the best. After a long moment of silence, they gave him the mental link equivalent of ‘Roger roger! and took wing.
As the two feathery forms disappeared beyond the tree canopy, he felt their voices and presences fade away. There was a limit to the range of the mental bond, he presumed. He wasn’t sure whether they’d be able to track his location or something, so he sat tight until they returned.
It turned out he was half-right; a quarter-hour or so later he felt the mental bond strengthen again and was pelted with a stream of excited ‘???’ notions–the ravens’ way of asking him where the hell he was. He responded with the telepathic version of ‘I’m right here, you feathery assholes,’ and the two black birds landed on the ground right beside him.
It wasn’t like he could hold a proper conversation with them, not even in his head, but the flashes of images and ideas they projected to him were good enough.
“Many trees, clear path, running water, THAT way!”
That sounded like a creek alright.
“Lead the way, o winged windbags," he projected, and was hit with another wave of mental ‘Roger roger!’.
Hunter followed them as they hopped from branch to branch chattering to each other. He kept an eye out for anything unusual–he still didn’t know what kind of beasts made their home in the woods, after all–but didn’t spot anything bigger or more menacing than a squirrel.
Back on familiar ground, he made a point to retrace his steps and make it back to where the remains of the Ancient Shambler lay. He picked through the weathered bones and torn brambles and gathered everything and anything that seemed interesting in a little pile on the ground beside him. He didn’t plan to return to Lormenheere anytime soon, but he figured he’d better have some kind of hunting trophy on him in case he needed it. Better to be safe than sorry.
The bones, antlers, and even the briar plants were self-explanatory; they were parts of the creature’s body, and if Hunter knew anything about video game items–which he was pretty confident he did–they were probably crafting materials of some sort. The essence, though… that was something else entirely.
For starters, Hunter wouldn’t have the slightest idea what it was supposed to be, had he not read the item’s name in the notification text. It looked like a brown-colored wisp of cotton candy, lighter than air, barely even solid. As for what it actually did, that would have to remain a mystery for the time being.
He took everything, although trying to fit the two Ancient Antlers through his bigger-on-the-inside backpack’s opening proved hard, and went on his way. His pace was a bit too slow for his new companions’ liking, so getting them to remain focused and not chatter about every single twig and leaf that caught their eye proved to be an issue.
This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.
In any case, Hunter made it to the creek in less than half an hour with no incident, and it only took him another half hour to get to the log cabin. Noisy as they were, his winged scouts were effective. As he went to take a look up close, a notification popped up on the ticker of his HUD.
Two down, one more to go.
As for the cabin, it wasn’t exactly a wonder of architecture; just four walls made of rough-hewn logs, a stone hearth, and a thatched roof. It was probably meant to be some kind of temporary shelter for local woodsmen and hunters to set up camp–not really a place for someone to settle down in and call home.
“Hello?” called Hunter, doing his best to sound friendly and non-threatening. “Anybody here?”
No response. Good. He told Biggs and Wedge to keep an eye on the surroundings–they finally seemed to have gotten the hang of understanding words–and circled around the place to make sure there weren’t any nasty surprises around.
As it turned out, he did find something worth checking out; there was a small shrine behind the cabin. It was a headstone with some unintelligible writing on it and a smattering of offerings, small trinkets, and charms neatly placed around it.
It didn’t look particularly dangerous or menacing, but his traumatic experience with the standing stone was still painfully fresh in Hunter’s mind. It would be a while before he was going to be running around and randomly touching mystical-looking stuff again.
He summoned his essence, let it flood his mind, and went through the mental steps of the Mystic’s Eye invocation. That same disturbing essence of saltwater and copper rushed in and flooded him, eating at the empty space behind his nose and eyes like battery acid. He gagged, reeled, and leaned on his glaive to steady himself. Knowledge came at a price, it looked like, and that price really sucked balls.
Alright, that sounded a lot less murdery than the standing stone. The extra information he got was mostly fluff and filler, but the accompanying Ability increase was a welcome bonus. Gaining some more ranks in Mystic’s Eye and trying again would probably reveal more.
Since Mortimer had mentioned it earlier, Hunter had actually been wondering when he’d stumble upon a Place of Power to anchor himself to. Checkpoints were always nice. Scenic as the forest route might be, he was already getting sick of spawning all the way back to the cave under the crag.
Not to mention the damn pool.
He had no idea how he was supposed to pay his respects, so he simply played it by ear. He took a knee before the shrine, lowered his head, and let his hand rest on the headstone’s weather-beaten surface.
It worked well enough, apparently, because a prompt popped up before him.
“Hell yes,” he willed and felt something tug at his core and shift inside him. Hunter instantly and instinctively knew he no longer had a connection to the Place of Power in the cave. Instead, he felt the little wayshrine embrace him with a warm feeling of welcome.
While he was at it, Hunter was tempted to cast Mystic’s Eye again, though he didn’t feel like getting smacked in the brain with all those side effects any more often than it was strictly necessary. Maybe gaining ranks would lessen the effect of the feedback.
Envisioning this Serendipity game term, he went through the motions and conjured the ability once again–and regretted almost instantly. Saltwater, the taste of pennies, and the tang of acid hit him like a ton of bricks, stronger than ever. It hurt like hell, even more than before. He spat a string of the four-letter words that would make an orphanage nun blanch, and wondered why the hell he continued to do this to himself.
Interesting. If his memory served, it was a special encounter that had scored him his glaive and had pitted him against the Ancient Shambler–indirectly giving him the chance to win a handful of other loot, as well as Skill ranks and new Abilities.
Now that his Serendipity was again above zero, he could sooner or later expect to stumble upon another such bountiful encounter–couldn’t he?
For the time being, however, he’d had enough excitement to last him for a good, long while. It wasn’t just the standing stone incident and the mental and emotional toll it had taken on him. Even before getting arrested, Alex had been living under constant pressure and uncertainty.
Now that he had a chance to take a break of all that, he would gladly take it. The log cabin was a nice spot to kick back and relax. He had shelter, the scenery was pretty, and his two new windbag besties weren’t so bad as far as company went. Even if things went sideways in one way or another, he still had the choice of logging out of Elderpyre and spending some quiet time in the Happy Motel.
The prospect brought a slight smile to his face. For the first time since those cops first banged at his door, Hunter caught himself feeling optimistic.
Aernor had proven to be a strange, dangerous place, but there was beauty to it, too. There was excitement, wonder, the kind of which the life of a poor neighborhood kid like Alex had always been lacking. He’d stick around, he decided, try and make the best out of these few months. Murderous specters and horrible trauma notwithstanding, he was beginning to really like this new, simple life.