Angus awoke with a start. Grass tickled his nose and itched his nether regions.
His head pounded like a two-ton anvil had been dropped on it from an appreciable distance.
Was he hungover? That probably tracked. He’d been drinking more than usual lately. His job in insurance sales hadn’t been as enjoyable as he would’ve liked, and he made up for that fact by imbibing on the regular.
But this place was unrecognisable to him.
He was in what looked to be a forest glen, with soft koosh-like grass covering the ground between crops of pine trees. Trees that didn’t look like the ones he was used to - gumtrees, or acacia, or paperbark; Australian trees - because Angus is Australian, and that’s where he lives, in an area named ‘The Hills’ in Sydney, known for its - you guessed it - softly inclining hills and verdant semi-rural bushlands.
But this area seemed familiar in a distant sense. It looked like a fairytale forest. It appeared more like a wood than bush - the trees were more organised and equally spaced and had pine cones growing off of them. He half expected Robin Hood and Little John the friar to pop out and ask him to join their merry band of warriors. It felt familiar; like his bones knew the place - like some distant genetic memory. It felt…unmistakably…English.
He pulled himself to his feet, realising to his horror that he was all but naked, with nothing but a shaggy loincloth covering his privates. He covered himself pathetically with his hands, though no-one was there to note his humiliation.
“Hello?” He said hopefully.
The words echoed strangely, as if he were standing in a glass chasm. The echoes were bookended by what sounded like faint sounds of laughing from tiny high-pitched voices. Creepy stuff.
“Where the hell am I?” He muttered to himself.
Suddenly, a display popped into his field of view with a crisp “pop” sound. It was semi-translucent, and bordered in etched runes that Angus didn’t recognise. It hovered directly in front of him, moving with him as he turned his head left or right.
It seemed to be a map, or, at least the beginnings of one. There wasn’t much to it - there was a space shaded in in the middle, with trees surrounding it. It was marked “Eldin Gully and there was a marker that was flashing in the centre, with his name pointing to it: Angus Fairbairn. But that was it.
What a strange thing to happen. He felt along his head for the virtual reality headset that he thought he must have been wearing. The world seemed too real for a VR game, but he couldn’t understand why else he would be able to call upon a map just by uttering some words.
He started to pace forward towards the trees and thought how annoying this map display was and how he would want it gone - and then as if by magic, it disappeared, leaving Angus with full view of his surroundings.
The trees seemed real. They didn’t glitch. He searched for edges in the renderings where he might see something lag, but there was nothing. It was perfect.
If he was in a game, it was a very convincing one.
He walked for several paces into the trees, and spotted another clearing about 20 metres ahead. He approached cautiously and noticed that there was what looked like a felled tree in the centre. The tree trunk was missing, however, and next to the tree stump was a strong-looking length of wood, resting perfectly against the stump. It was bordered in light quite mysteriously, and had some more of the same runes from the display screen etched into it.
Angus approached the length of wood curiously. It wasn’t quite a staff - it wasn’t long enough. It was no more than a reasonably sturdy, symmetrical stick.
As he got within reaching distance, suddenly the stick was in his hands, and he heard trumpets heralding what sounded like a grand achievement. A new display popped up with a “pop” sound:
You have found a stick! Use it as a weapon, or light it on fire. Or just appreciate its sticky beauty.
Hmm. It’s sticky beauty? It was a nice-looking stick, but he couldn’t help feeling like the display system was having a laugh at him. Angus waved the display away with his hands.
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Angus passed the stick around in his hands, twirling it like a baton for a moment. He noticed it made a deep whirr sound when he twirled it. It seemed heftier than it first appeared.
Suddenly, Angus became aware of some rustling behind him. A shiver ran down his spine as he stiffened up completely, staying absolutely still in case it was an animal that scared easily.
He turned his head ever so slowly, clutching his new stick tightly.
He heard whatever it was jump, so he turned around fully, only to see what looked like a tarantula the size of a football arcing up its front legs and hissing.
Angus wasn’t prepared for this. His previous life as a mostly sedentary office worker gave him about all the guile and physical spontaneity of a tree sloth. His only experience in martial arts came from watching Jackie Chan movies on TV. So he did what came first to mind, which was to wave his stick around aimlessly with his eyes closed.
Luckily, the offending arachnid had a body that was soft and not impervious to hard sticky things, like Angus’ stick.
When Angus opened his eyes, what he saw was a mess of hairy legs and oozing body parts, as the last chittering noises came from the tarantula’s mangled mouth in a squeaky death rattle groan. Suddenly, the life inside the animal escaped and it laid motionless on the ground. It was a grotesque sight to behold, and not without some level of personal trauma to Angus, as he stood there, shaking in fear.
He very nearly wet his loincloth, it should be said…
Then, rudely, another blasted display appeared, with a “pop”:
Loot corpse? [Y/N]
Angus indicated that, yes, he suppose he would like to loot the corpse - because well frankly he was naked in a loincloth with a stick; anything new would be a vest improvement, he reasoned.
Suddenly, the tarantula’s body evaporated, and he felt a swoosh go through his body. It felt like pure vitality coursing through his veins.
Then another display appeared, this time about 40 columns with a title that said Inventory.
All were empty, but two spots:
Tultula venom [1]
Taupe coins [7]
He assumed that the Tultula referred to the beast he had just squashed with his trusty stick.
He reached out towards the Tultula venom, and plucked it from the floating display. It was now in his hands, in a convenient little bottle with a dropper.
Tultula venom [1] used for potions and spells
Potions and spells?
It was hardly much more unusual for magic to be real, now that every thought Angus had came with an accompanying display screen. But still. His mind boggled at the possibilities. He placed the container back in the screen and waved it away.
As he cast his eyes around at the clearing, he noticed another space just vaguely past the far row of trees, but in this area, a figure stood, or rather, sat. Maybe this person would know more about where they were - and how he could find some clothing.
Angus crept closer, readying his stick in case the figure was not friendly. But as he approached, he noticed that the figure looked old and hunched, wearing a hooded cloak of tattered green velvet.
He stepped on a twig, and the crack of the parched wood breaking alerted the figure, who turned his head quickly to meet Angus’ gaze. What stared back at him frightened him - his eyes; for it was a man - an old man; were but empty hollows, and his mouth bore no more than three broken teeth. He cleared his throat to speak.
“A traveller, at last,” said the elderly wastrel. “Sit. I’ve been waiting for you.”
He motioned towards a space in front of him, where a tree stump conveniently sat. The tree stump bore an insignia that Angus did not recognise. Angus sat, bristling at the feel of the rough timber against his bare skin.
“Do you know where I am?” Said Angus hesitantly. “I think there’s been some sort of mistake.”
“SILENCE,” croaked the old man. “There is too much at stake.”
Then the man sat, silent, staring menacingly at Angus, then he spoke again. This time he fumbled under his cloak, producing an old length of parchment.
“The scriptures speak of a traveller from another world, brought here to bring light to the darkness. You, I assume, are not of this world?”
“Yes, well I certainly think that is the case. I’m an insurance agent. I was at a conference in Cherrybrook. This isn’t Cherrybrook, is it?”
The old man looked at the parchment with his hollowed-out eyes, which Angus now noticed had spinning vortexes inside them that looked like endless expanses.
“You shall find all the equipment you need on your travels here - but you will need to earn it.” The old man said mysteriously, as he rolled the parchment back up and stuffed it in his cloak. “Only the traveller born of the other world will be able to rise through enough challenges to earn the sacred force, and only when he has melded himself with the sacred force will he be able to defeat the darkness. It is written.”
Angus looked pathetic in his loincloth sitting jauntily on the tree stump. He certainly didn’t feel like he would be able to arise to many challenges, not in his current form.
“You will be given choices to make, attributes to build and enemies to conquer,” Said the old man, as a new display window appeared with a “pop.” Instead of a map, this time it looked like a stats screen.
Angus Fairbairn
Race: Human
Rank: Normal
Class: Undecided
Attributes
[Strength] normal
[Speed] normal
[Recovery] normal
[Luck] normal
Sacred Force
Ability level: uninitiated
“You will be able to choose your class, when it becomes relevant. Only you will know when that moment is.” Said the old man.
Suddenly, there was a rustle in the trees behind Angus, and he turned around to see nothing but a swinging branch.
He turned around again, and the old man had vanished.
Angus gripped his stick closer this time, and scanned the woods.
And then suddenly, he felt a sharp, searing pain in his calf.