First, darkness.
Then the feeling of cold, bumpy ground under him, of rocks and pebbles digging into his back in a thousand different sore spots.
Then the feeling of hot, wet, sloppy doggy kisses all around his face.
…Wait, what?
Hunter coughed up some phlegm, felt the sharp pain of bruised ribs, and opened his eyes. There was someone–something–watching him from very, very close, something with stinky breath, russet fur, and big, curious eyes.
And big, big, big teeth.
“Enough, you stupid mutt, he’s come to it alright,” Fawkes grumbled from somewhere above, pulling the wolf aside–the direwolf he’d fed his sausages to the previous day, Hunter was surprised to realize. “Grimnir’s beard, let him breathe!”
The woman’s face came into view, pale like a winter moon. She looked at Hunter with a mixture of exasperation and concern and wiped the drool off his cheeks with a handkerchief.
“You with us, lad?”
“Yes… I think. What happened? Where’s the bear?”
“I AM RIGHT HERE,” the rumbling voice said–a voice Hunter heard more clearly in his mind rather than with his ears.
“Shit, fuck…! What…?”
“BE AT EASE, AE-MAI. WE ARE FOES NO LONGER.”
Either this whole Elderpyre thing was taking a serious Alice In Wonderland kind of turn, or the blows had turned Hunter’s brain to a wonky paste. Or maybe both. There it was, a huge ursine form sitting cross-legged just a few feet away–and smoking a huge damn pipe, of all things. He could even smell the rich, woody scent of the aromatic smoke, too, if he really tried, despite his nose feeling like a swollen, bloody mess.
“Can you sit up?” Fawkes asked.
He could, as it turned out. He was sore all over, though for some reason it felt more like the dull muscle pain you get after leg day and less like the pain you get after getting whacked halfway across a creek by a giant fucking bear.
“This silly mutt here popped out of nowhere and pulled your chestnuts out of the fire” Fawkes explained, cocking a thumb towards the wolf. “After that, we palavered. I explained our situation to Arjen here, and we came to an understanding. He even was considerate enough to tend to your wounds.”
“Wasn’t he the one who made them happen in the first place?” Hunter groaned, which made Fawkes flash him a worried, lopsided smile.
“If you’re feeling well enough to give lip to a forest god, you’re feeling well enough.”
“I AM NO GOD,” the bear said with what sounded like humility–or at least it would have, if his voice wasn’t something straight out of a 1950s Hollywood production of the Old Testament. “I AM MERELY MIR’S ASPECT.”
“I’m aware,” Fawkes said, “but the distinction would only confuse the ae-mai.”
Hunter opened his mouth to ask what this new ae-mai business was all about, why was this giant talking bear suddenly their friend, and why was the direwolf making puppy eyes at him, but Fawkes stuck a gloved finger on his lips to silence him.
“Later, lad. Let the great one speak.”
The bear stuck its pipe at the corner of his mouth and gazed away.
“THERE IS A DARKNESS LINGERING IN THE MOUNDS OF THOSE YOU CALL THE GHOST NATION, WHISPERING THINGS IN VILE TONGUES. I SHALL OFFER YOU THE SAME COURTESY I OFFERED THE ONE THAT CAME BEFORE YOU. PROMISE TO SILENCE IT, AND I SHALL GRANT YOU SAFE PASSAGE AND PROTECTION IN MY DOMAIN. DO YOU ACCEPT?”
“We do,” said Fawkes, “and we thank you for your kindness.”
A new notification popped up in Hunter’s HUD.
Great, more talk about mysterious whispers coming from the Ghostbarrows, Hunter thought. Another reason not to want to go there. The whole thing gave him chills.
Still, there was a silver lining to it–especially since they were probably going straight for that whispering darkness anyway. More tasks meant more potential gain. Given how much he’d spent gambling on silly gacha games and loot boxes, there was no point in denying it. He was a sucker for the thrill of getting rewards.
Arjen raised his huge snout, sniffed the air, and frowned.
“IT IS SETTLED, THEN. GO. MIR WATCHES OVER YOU.”
“Pick your things up and let’s go, lad,” Fawkes told Hunter as she helped him up to his feet.
Hunter didn’t need to be told a second time. Friendly as he might seem now, the pipe-smoking bear was still terrifying. He picked up his glaive and his backpack from where they lay on the ground and started to make his way back to the trail they were following earlier. Curiously, the direwolf followed him the same way a dog would.
“AE-MAI. ONE MORE THING,” the bear said and flashed him a sinister grin full of huge fangs. “TELL YOUR MASTER TO COME SEEK ME OUT HIMSELF. WE’LL SEE WHO’S THE HUNTER AND WHO’S THE PREY.”
Hunter didn’t have any intention of getting into a pissing contest with the gigantic not-exactly-a-forest-god that had just bitch-slapped him to unconsciousness, of course. He just gave the bear a sheepish smile and tried to be as agreeable as possible.
“Uh… yes, will do.”
“I SHALL BE WAITING.”
“Lad, come,” Fawkes prodded Hunter. “Day’s a-wasting.”
She didn’t need to prod again. The faster he put some distance between himself and Arjen’s excited killer grin, the better.
***
“May I ask now?”
“Ask.”
“What the ever-loving fuck?”
That drew a snigger from Fawkes.
“That was another incandescent, like you. Well, not like you. A godling. Don’t you have those in your world?”
Hunter just gave her the blankest of stares.
“You’re pulling my leg, aren’t you?”
“I don’t know, lad. Am I?”
She most definitely was.
“What does that ae-mai thing the godling bear kept calling me, by the way?”
“Ae-mai,” she said, letting the vowels roll off her tongue in a slow, almost lazy way. “An idiot. One made a fool by mischievous spirits.”
Well, wasn’t that nice.
“Is that what I am?” Hunter frowned.
“Apparently, yes. You bear the mark of Herne. You should never have approached Arjen’s den so carelessly.”
“I’m not even sure who this Herne is.”
“Oh, you poor fool. And you wonder what an ae-mai is. Oh, the irony.”
“So, what’s a Herne, and why do I have its mark?”
“A rival spirit, or so I gather. As for why you have his mark… that’s what I should be asking you.”
“Oh.”
“Oh?”
“Oh.”
The accord.
Crap.
That made sense. Hunter should have realized it sooner.
“Herne or no Herne,” Hunter tried to lighten the mood, “that goddamn bear almost gave me a hernia.”
Fawkes arched an eyebrow.
“A pun, lad? Is that what passes for humor in your world?”
“Oh, shut up, Fawkes. At least we got indoor plumbing.”
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
They poked fun at each other like that for the best part of an hour–an attempt to blow off steam and make light of the brush with death they had just narrowly escaped. To his surprise, Hunter found their banter and budding camaraderie very enjoyable and refreshing.
Back on his side of things, Alex had never been short on raiding buddies and casual acquaintances. He’d learned the hard way, however, that true friends were few and far between.
And Fawkes? Despite the fact he only knew her a few days, that crazy old bat started to feel like she could one day become a true friend.
Interestingly, the direwolf was still tagging after Hunter, albeit at a distance. He’d been very friendly earlier, but now he was back to just being cautious. Fawkes paid him no heed.
“Don’t feed him again. Don’t even look at him. Sooner or later, he’ll get bored and leave,” she said.
Hunter kind of hoped he didn’t. How cool would it be if he could get a direwolf as an animal companion of sorts? Pretty damn cool, if he said so himself.
While on the subject of animal companions, Biggs and Wedge were back on scouting duty. They were being unusually quiet. Hunter was a bit pissed at the feathery windbags for leading him and Fawkes straight into Arjen’s lair, and that probably bled through their mental link.
Not that they were really in need of a lookout. The godling had granted them safe passage, and Mir was watching over them. Whatever that meant, it was more than idle talk. A sense of reverence followed Fawkes and Hunter wherever they went, an aura that made the Weald around them quieter, less intimidating.
Still, despite all the quiet and all the friendly atmosphere, Hunter felt a tightness in the pit of his stomach. The feeling that something was very wrong, and he was being blind to it. There were so many questions he had, so much that he wanted answers about. What did it mean to be incandescent? What fine print did his accord with the antler-helmed spirit have that he wasn’t yet aware of?
Brennai, missing people, ritual killings, Ghostbarrows…
And the worst part? These things were beginning to feel important. Hunter spent most of his time on Elderpyre. The more he was sucked into this world, the more like reality it felt, and the less like a game.
And therein lay the problem; it had to be one or another–it couldn’t be both.
To make things worse, Hunter felt like he had no say in what was happening to him, no agency at all.
Grimm had offered him the world’s geekiest Faustian bargain, and was now ignoring him.
That spirit, Herne, had practically strong-armed him into joining his faction.
Fawkes was stringing him along almost on a whim, using him as a punching bag for her biting comments and snide remarks.
The Brennai folken would probably turn him away or worse, especially now that he’d gotten in a scrap with the alderman’s son. A scrap which, incidentally, hadn’t even started himself.
Arjen had attacked him on sight for reasons he didn’t even understand, and had almost killed him in a single blow. Hunter could still feel the crunch of his ribs shattering under the massive force of the bear’s attack.
Even the low-dwellers back in that bloody clearing would probably had torn him to pieces, weren’t it for Fawkes.
He didn’t like to feel like that, powerless.
It was about time he started pulling his own weight, make his own decisions.
That would be much easier if he was stronger. He opened the character sheet window again and took another look at his stats.
The encounter with Arjen had increased his Insight quality by 1 to a grand total of 2. That was good. Both his Mystic’s Eye and Conjure Familiar abilities were tied to that quality, and probably even scaled off it.
Just as importantly, that point in Insight had granted him a handful of new Abilities to consider investing in.
“Tiffany’s tits!” Hunter exclaimed. “Now we’re talking!”
“Who is this Tiffany,” asked Fawkes with a raised eyebrow, “and what’s so special about her tits?”
“You wouldn’t understand. It’s a transient thing.”
Barely containing his excitement, Hunter ignored the dirty look Fawkes threw at him and pulled up a list of all the new abilities he could currently learn.
Abilities Available:
Augmented Familiar
Craft Spirit Charm
Eldritch Power
Make Contact
Mystical Phenomena
Pathfinder
Rite of the Hunt
Wildcrafting
Inspiration: 1
That single point of Inspiration meant he could learn one of those Abilities–just one. Eager to spend it and gain a new Ability to toy with, he considered his options.
He started by taking a second look at the Abilities he’d gained access to earlier, when his Survival hit 20. Pathfinder and Wildcrafting were simple, straightforward utilitarian options, neither of which looked particularly appealing at the moment. Hunter could see how they could both prove valuable–especially in an environment like the Weald. Given how limited his supply of Inspiration was, though, he wanted to pick something with more bang for his buck.
Eldritch Power had that kind of bang, alright. It was a caster-type ability that would allow him to use magical attacks–a solid option, but still one he wasn’t a fan of. Running around blasting foes with magic had never been his cup of tea, and old habits did die hard.
Make Contact, on the other hand, was something he already meant to pick up sooner or later. Supernatural beings and Places of Power seemed to play quite an important role in Elderpyre, and having a way to commune with them–whatever that actually meant–would probably prove to be useful. Hunter made a mental note to consider it further.
Next, he moved on to the Insight Abilities he had just gained access to. Those were all intriguing. He was still limited by his lack of knowledge, though, so he’d have to be extra careful with the fine print in their descriptions.
Augmented Familiar was a bit of a gamble; depending on what were the advanced abilities his familiars would learn, it could prove to be either a winner or a total waste of Inspiration. The two feathery buffoons were loveable and Fawkes had suggested he should learn to better utilize them, but didn’t exactly have the best track record when it came to being dependable.
Craft Spirit Charm sounded catchy; in all his gaming career, Hunter had been more of a scrapper than a craftsman, but Elderpyre was different. Crafting gear and items himself could definitely prove to be worth it, and he had to admit the whole infusing charms with mystical effects sounded amazing. According to the ability’s description, however, some of those effects could be negative, so that was something to keep in mind.
Mystical Phenomena sounded both nebulously mysterious and totally awesome. Again, however, Hunter had no idea what “subtly manipulating the laws of the cosmos” exactly meant. It kind of sounded like using the Force or something. The “drawing unwanted attention” part sounded very suspicious, however, so he resisted the impulse to pick it right then and there just to see what it was all about. He moved further down to his last remaining option on the list.
Of all the Abilities he could learn, Rite of the Hunt was the one that sounded the most, well, badass. Single someone or something out as Prey and declare a Hunt? Hunter could already imagine himself as a monster hunter or bounty hunter type, going on Hunt after Hunt, tracking his foes and taking them down with terrifying skill. Well, that fantasy was just that, a fantasy–at least for the time being. For now, he had to focus more on not getting hunted and preyed upon himself.
In the end, Hunter submitted to what Packman, his old raiding group’s resident tactical thinker, called the ‘sunk cost fallacy’. He’d already invested in his Conjure Familiar, so doubling down on it seemed the prudent thing to do. Capitalize on the advantages Biggs and Wedge brought to the table–wasn’t that what Fawkes had told him?
The seal on the back of his hand itched and burned for a moment, and Hunter got his new Ability.
Now that this was done, Hunter thought, maybe it was time he took a closer look at the two feathery windbags and what they could actually do. He willed their Character Sheet in existence–which, as it turned out, had been something he could do all along–and looked at their Attributes and Abilities.
Familiar Information:
Name:
Biggs, Wedge
Type:
Twin Ravens
Attributes:
Health
15
Essence
80
Stamina
200
Strength
1
Dexterity
8
Intellect
7
Willpower
7
Presence
7
Abilities:
Dive Bomb
6
Mental Link
6
Ill Omen
1
Summon/Unsummon
6
Now that was interesting.
The familiars’ Health and Strength were laughable, as expected, but their other Attributes looked pretty decent for a couple of feathery fucks. Hunter noted that most of their Abilities had a rank of 6–which was also the rank of his own Conjure Familiar Ability, so there probably was some direct correlation there.
Their newly-gained Ill Omen Ability, whatever it was, had a rank of 1. Would it be safe to assume it also depended on his own newly-gained Augmented Familiar? Time would tell.
Hunter focused on this new Ability, and a window with its description popped up.
Hunter would probably have to do some field testing to see the extent of Ill Omen’s effectiveness, but it looked like a solid pick. That was good. He’d kick himself in the nuts if it turned out he’d spent a point of Inspiration on something mediocre.
There was more to Augmented Familiar than just Ill Omen, too; the familiars’ chatter Hunter could “hear” through their mental link already sounded more coherent, if no less incessant. It was like the two windbags had gotten a sudden IQ boost.
Had they really, though?
Hunter wouldn’t exactly bet on that–not without some cold, hard evidence.