Overall, it’s a nice walk back to the city, at least for the first couple hours. The sun shines through budding trees, and the light breeze is pleasant if a little chilly, bringing with it the smells of wet earth, damp leaves, and springtime flowers. As we walk, Jonas starts to sing, and he has a nice voice, a little John Lennon-y as he makes his way through a handful of what sound like folk songs. One speaks of Kellnor from the Dragon Wars, and I actually recognize it, flashing back to the ballad being sung during the PAX-East Friday night concert a few years back. Meg joins in on it, harmonizing with him. Her voice is a lovely dusky mezzo.
Meg has us returning to the city via the woods, not wanting to risk getting the attention of anyone else on the road— though to be fair, the road is really more of a wide path through the forest than it is a main thoroughfare through this part of the country.
Flynt clearly doesn’t love the idea and came close to arguing with her a few times, but he ended up going along with it when the rest of the team expressed general apathy. The fact he spent most of the morning assuring us that there wasn’t anything to worry about this close to the city didn’t give him much of a leg to stand on, frankly, and since Meg is the most experienced of us (and the one most likely to be able to take down the bad guys if they came), we kind of wanted to stick by her.
Though, come to find out, I’m not too bad either, if I do say so myself. At least against goblins. I did get those seven, including one close quarters. Maybe I found my calling. Elf Girl Keira: Goblin Hunter.
Though it’s not particularly lucrative work as Tyrus keeps complaining about. At five silver a pop, our twenty goblins will barely fetch us the equivalent of two gold pieces, well short of what we each got from the Silver Swords for just being in the wrong place at the right time yesterday. The fact there wasn’t even any loot to go along with our goblin adventure is a massive disappointment to most of us.
But what can you really do? The more I think about it, the more I realize Meg is probably right that we don’t want to risk getting wrapped up in whatever was going on with the hidden loot, especially if our goal is to level up so we can start seriously questing.
Which I guess is our goal? I realize I haven’t really thought about it much beyond the surface level I guess that sounds like a good enough idea to me. Since I got here, I’ve been sort of fumbling along with the flow of things, trying to get my bearings to decide if this is even real enough to engage with meaningfully. Sure, it feels real, but most dreams do while you’re in them, and I guess I’m just not ready to give into the delusion and accept it as anything but a coma-induced fantasy.
Because it is fantasy. The RPG skin, the friendly people who just want to help, the creatures, the ability I suddenly have to hit a goblin at thirty paces with a longbow… it’s all just fantasy.
That doesn’t mean I shouldn’t go along with it though, does it? It’s impossible to totally reject it because for whatever reason I seem stuck in it for the foreseeable future. Maybe seeing it through is the way my brain makes it out of the coma. Maybe I’ll find ruby slippers on one of the quests. Perhaps the mystery patron of Meg’s dreams will have access to a spell that can teleport me back to my reality and I’ll wake up that way. Or maybe they’ll teleport me back and I’ll find I’ve been missing for however many days, weeks, months, years with no hint of where I was. I’ll just snap back to that warehouse in Culver City, which will probably have been turned into loft apartments going for six grand a month.
My poor mother. Whatever the situation is, she’s probably apoplectic. I feel bad for my sister who’s going to have to deal with that. I’m suddenly thankful I never did get around to adopting a cat during the pandemic. I was going to. But at least now no one has to worry about feeding it while I’m comatose or missing or whatever.
Maybe I should feel a little weirder about this. Should I be more panicked? More concerned about what happens if I die in this… Experience? More focused on how I get back?
But, at the same time, part of me wonders what I would really be going back to— assuming there even is a ‘back.’ Obviously, I don’t want to be stuck in a coma dream for the rest of my life, but if this is real, if this is happening… I dunno. I look across the fantasy divide and see work stress, a condo that’s constantly falling apart on me (and the resulting credit card debt), and the loneliness I try to fill with workaholic tendencies and geeky collectors’ items. Bad first dates and worse second ones. Traffic.
I do love my friends, and I have some great ones. But they also generally have their own lives. We all do. We’re adults. They have romantic partners and pets and kiddos and careers. My own career takes up a lot of my time and can make me a little unpredictable at best. Depression and anxiety and textbook ADHD make that even worse.
Why don’t I feel anxiety here? Is that because it doesn’t feel real? Am I just so overwhelmed by everything that I’m hard into survival mode? Maybe. Something to unpack at some point.
Jonas’s singing tapers off after a while, and we trudge on more or less in silence as the sun falls quickly behind the mountains, leaving us in a shadowed twilight with another three hours or so still to go in our journey. The chill has crept up, too, and I wish that the hoodie in my bag was still a hoodie and not a [Legendary] magic item.
“When we get back to town,” I say through cold-clenched teeth, “I’m going to need to go shopping.”
Flynt glances at me and grimaces. “You don’t have a cloak or anything?”
I shake my head. “I didn’t prepare as well as I thought I did. I… never heard about Qeth being cold.”
“It can get that way here in the south. Are you going to be okay?”
“I have to be, don’t I? The rest of you seem fine.”
“The rest of us aren’t full blooded elves,” he replies, stepping over a fallen tree branch.
His feet crunch over the detritus of the forest floor. My footsteps, meanwhile, are smooth and almost silent as if I’m nearly weightless. Nice to know pop culture got some things right about elves. I like the sure light-footedness.
“I think Da might have an elven cloak in the old stock at the Emporium,” he offers. “It doesn’t help now, of course, but I’m sure I could get you a good price.” He offers me a small smile. “Meanwhile, if we pause, I might have enough Essence restored that I can dry you off a little.”
“That would be amazing.”
“We are stopping a moment!” Flynt calls up toward the others, rubbing his hands together.
“We’re losing daylight,” Meg says, doubling back toward us, scowling. Her crankiness has ratcheted up again, despite the fact that she’s won more than a few arguments today. “Can’t it wait?”
Given her tone, Flynt sighs softly, clearly trying to hide his exasperation. “She’s freezing.”
“Where’s her cloak?”
“I don’t have one, Meg.”
“Why don’t you have a cloak?”
“Because I’m unprepared.”
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“She wasn’t aware of how cold it can get,” Flynt rephrases for me, giving me a look that screams have more tact. “We can hardly blame her.”
“She’s an elf and she doesn’t have a cloak?” Meg’s heavily booted feet announce each of her movements. “I thought your kind had them permanently sewn on.”
“Some of us like some wardrobe flexibility,” I deadpan. “He’s going to help me get rid of the goo. I’ll be able to go faster if I’m not freezing.”
“If you went faster, you probably wouldn’t be freezing,” Meg says.
“I’m doing my best. Give me a break. You may be level three, but I’m not.”
She frowns at that, giving me a weird look that I’ve come to expect by now. “What do you mean?”
“I mean that I don’t have much experience yet, okay? If we’d taken the road—”
“I said why we shouldn’t take the road.”
“Hey, friends?” Jonas asks, his voice hesitant from up ahead of us.
“Yeah, I know, it was a whole thing,” I tell her, shaking my head. “Which I still don’t understand. There’s just as likely to be bandits up in the woods, if not more so.”
“We have more maneuverability—”
“Can I just cast the spell?” Flynt asks. “We can rehash the argument after.”
“Everyone?" Jonas interrupts again. “Can you… for a moment?” He's a good thirty feet or so up ahead, crouched down. Tyrus is a few paces from him likewise crouched, almost invisible against a thick tree trunk.
Then I feel it. It’s a dull thud that trembles up through the soles of my feet and into my bones, somewhere between a sound and a physical sensation. Goosebumps crawl up my arms so sharp that they’re painful, and a shiver wracks up my spine as there’s another thud.
“Please tell me you don’t have a T-Rex,” I whisper as quietly as I can.
Meg just gives me a look while Flynt seems horrified, staring through the woods toward where our other two party members crouch as the fog begins to tumble through. It moves quickly, clinging low to the forest floor. Ice crystals form on anything the fog touches. Meg meets Flynt’s eyes, and he nods, grabbing my arm and tugging me to the right while Meg ducks to the left, silently unsheathing her sword.
The fog bites at us as it tumbles through the area, leaving frost on the tree trunks. Some of the blooming flowers abruptly shut in on themselves, and I realize that everything is very quiet as if the forest is holding its breath. It’s hard not to imitate that, and I realize that Flynt is barely breathing either as we huddle close together against the tree hiding from what, I’m not sure— though I have a very good guess.
Another thud. And another. The sound of a tree falling somewhere close by. My fingers and nose and the pointed tips of my ears are going numb and I’m trembling hard with ice cold nerves.
“It’s a giant,” I murmur, unable to hold back the thought as my voice quivers.
Flynt’s hand tightens on my shoulder, and I can feel his warmth against my back as well as the trembling of his own body. I glance across the makeshift path we were walking and toward Meg, whose expression is stone as she stares upward, the muscles of her face as taut as the arm holding her sword. I don’t know what she can possibly think she could do against a giant, especially as the thud comes so close that it feels like an earthquake. I’d have lost my balance if I weren’t holding onto a tree and Flynt.
I peer out around the trunk (unable not to) and, at first, I think I’m just staring at a tree that suddenly sprouted up where there wasn’t one before. Then it computes that it’s wearing clothing as I follow it up and up toward the canopy. The person— and it very much looks like a person— is easily as tall as a two-story house, though he doesn’t clear the treetops, which stretch on another thirty feet above his head. He must have stepped directly out of Norse myth, with pale blue skin and dark hair worn long to his shoulders. He wears Viking-style clothing, even: heavy furs and brown leathers, massive boots that are almost as tall as I am. I’d barely come up to this being’s knee if we were standing next to one another. I’d be the equivalent of a Boston Terrier to him.
I shudder. This is what terror feels like. My breath catches. My body wants to cough but I don’t dare.
The giant looks around, just taking his time. I notice the massive club he carries, slung up against his shoulder. What is he looking for? What is he doing? We’re probably eight, maybe ten miles from the city, but that’s not very far in the scheme of things— is it? Shouldn’t there be patrols? Or high-level adventurers ready to discourage this kind of thing? What if the giant makes it down toward the farms along the opposite side of the road?
A tear slides down my cheek as the giant starts moving again— moving forward, toward us. I watch it step within a couple of feet of Jonas and I cringe, pulling myself back to hide fully against the tree trunk. I grab hold of Flynt— or maybe he grabs hold of me, I’m not sure— and, as the giant moves closer toward us, we slowly ease around the tree trunk trying to stay out of sight. We try not to breathe lest our breath gives us away in this freezing cold. I cover my mouth and nose in the crook of my arm, and Flynt does the same, his slate gray eyes staring into mine.
More giant footsteps and, over Flynt’s shoulder, I can see the back of the giant coming into view. I urge us farther around the tree trunk, trying to keep it between the giant and us. Something crunches under Flynt’s foot as we move, and everything stutters a beat as the giant draws a sharp breath.
I swear I can feel it staring at our tree. The trunk we’re pressed against starts to get cold— real cold— and it seeps through my clothing, casting ice crystals on my tunic and leather vest where my body touches the bark. There’s a cracking sound as the tree begins to freeze under the attention. And in it, I find myself moving, stupidly, separating myself from Flynt just enough to ease the bow off my shoulder. His eyes go wide, and he shakes his head, but with numb fingers I take an arrow out of my quiver. I know exactly the one I want: when I was collecting them off the goblins, I noticed that some had bigger, sharper heads, while others were light and hollow, so I investigated and discovered that there are a few different types I hadn’t taken the time to notice before. I find one with a serrated edge to it.
Everything in my head shouts at me to stop. Everything in Flynt’s eyes tells me I’m an idiot for even thinking about this. But there’s something else moving my body, something I can’t explain. Maybe it’s hubris. Maybe it’s something in the back of my brain wondering if I can even die in this place, so why not try at the hand of a giant? But more than any of that there’s a sheer animal need to get this thing as far away from me as I possibly can.
I nock the arrow and stand just slightly back from the wide tree trunk, making sure to keep myself as hidden as I can while I scan to try and find the hunter’s trap that I spotted a little earlier up in the trees a couple hundred feet back. It takes a moment, but I do: a deadfall trap tethered to a rope. I only recognized it thanks to working on the ad campaign for a terrible survivalist thriller a couple of years back. It’s funny the sorts of things your brain retains.
It’s a long shot (literally and figuratively), and there’s absolutely no reason why it should work. In fact, it probably shouldn’t, and if we were in the real world, I wouldn’t even consider it. But we’re not in the real world, and this is the kind of shit that would work in a videogame. So. Here goes.
Drawing the bow back, I sight the rope, say a silent prayer— to what or whom I’m not sure— and I let it fly before quickly ducking back against the tree.
Please don’t let the giant have seen that, please don’t let the giant have seen that…
There’s a beat as the arrow flies, then a crashing noise in the distance.
> [ACHIEVEMENT: LONG SHOT]
Our giant friend lets out a growl before the footsteps pick up in earnest down that direction. It’s only two hundred feet at most, he must be able to make that in ten seconds tops. But it’s breathing space at least. I feel Flynt’s hand on my shoulder, and it squeezes; then he hugs me, tight. We stay rooted there like that, my face in his chest, and we tremble together in the cold for what feels like hours before the fog starts to slowly lift. In the contrast, the chilly late afternoon starts to feel balmy.
> [ACHIEVEMENT: HIDE AND TREMBLE]
“They’re only rumor, huh?”
Flynt lets out a nervous chuckle as he slowly releases me, peering around the trunk one direction and then the other, where Meg is also coming slowly out of hiding. Her face is ashen and she’s trying to hide the fact that she’s also shaking. She’s still holding her sword as if ready for something to jump out at her. Jonas and Tyrus are both slowly picking their way back toward us, arms tight around their own bodies, both looking just as terrified as I feel.
We pause there, standing ringed around one giant footprint that’s pressed deep into the earth, all of us staring down at it.
“It almost stepped on me,” Jonas whispers, breaking the silence. “I almost pissed myself because it almost stepped on me. What was it even doing here? Aren’t the frost giants supposed to be on the other side of the Pass?”
“Come on.” Meg’s voice is soft as she looks at me and Flynt. “Do your spell. Then let’s get as far from here as we can.”
Flynt nods and rubs his hands together, pressing one to each of my shoulders as he mutters an incantation I couldn’t phonetically recreate if I tried. Warmth coasts over me, and the terrible smell of goblin, which I’d all but gone nose-blind to, disappears. My clothing is suddenly dry and free of goo and blood. The chill is still there but far, far lessened due to no longer feeling damp all over.
And that’s when I notice it— the little symbol on the bottom right of my vision: a bright little medal shaped icon. The moment I think about it, it enlarges.
> [WELCOME TO LEVEL 2]