“What do you mean you jumped off the tower?”
“It was the only way I could think of to get enough damage to hurt Sougath.”
Kendall’s hand held her drink halfway to her mouth. “This was a tower?”
Joe shrugged and held his hand, palm down, a foot or so over the table. “A short one. Only three stories. Probably thirty, forty feet high. Keep in mind I did have some backups against lethal damage, so it’s not quite as dumb as it sounds.”
They were sitting on the porch of a local tavern known as the Parrot’s Pearl. Each of them had a tall cool drink of some well-spiked punch. The glass pitcher was about two-thirds empty as he and Kendell were both on their third glasses. Joe was so grateful to find that ice was not a luxury of the rich but, thanks to magic, it was just as common here as it was on Earth.
He periodically swiped the condensation from his glass and rubbed it onto the back of his neck. While he genuinely liked Fort Coral, especially the people, Joe was finding the semi-tropical environment hotter than he was used to. Unlike most folks who were all too happy to bake themselves in the summer and hid indoors in the winter, Joe actually preferred to be cold than hot. Cold you could ignore. Hot beat down on you and made everything sticky and sweaty.
Thankfully, that was not so much of a problem at the Parrot. The covered patio he and Kendell were seated on had an amazing view of the harbor. A cooling breeze constantly flowed off the ocean, making what could have been sweltering into nicely balmy instead.
“Wait. You said that you had already lost the charm Hah’roo had given you when the Night Skinner bit you.”
“Yeah, but I still had [Healer’s Ward] and [Punching Bag].”
“The ward only reduces damage, right?” Kendell asked. She had an amazing mind for skills and details. When Joe nodded, she continued. “So you had injuries that prevented you from even getting to half health. How was a damage reduction going to be much help from a forty-foot fall?” Before Joe could answer the flabbergasted young woman, she added more. “And [Punching Bag] only has a 15% chance of activation. Those are terrible odds of survival.”
Joe’s [Punching Bag] trait was a wild card. If he ever hit 0 health, it had a small chance to auto-cast his [Healing Touch] spell on himself. So far it had only happened once, during the moment they were discussing.
“Ok, to be honest, when I jumped I kind of had forgotten I didn’t have Hah’roo's charm anymore,” he admitted sheepishly. “I was in really bad shape. It was only when I was airborne that I remembered and so I started spamming heals.”
“So what happened next?” Kendell breathed, leaning forward with bright eyes.
Joe decided that he would tell her about the spiritual battle and the lingering savageness it had left behind. He knew sooner or later she would pick up on it. She was too astute for Joe to think he could hide it from her. Besides, he liked talking to her and she was integral to the Adventurers Guild. If they were going to hang out and talk about progression and skills, he might as well come clean about the lingering primal instincts he had developed.
For the next ten minutes, she did not interrupt him as he detailed the fight for his soul. When he explained how he delayed the curse by converting the lycanthropic skills into replacements for the Fell Bane Hunter class, he could see her practically jumping out of her seat. Finally, she couldn't contain herself any longer.
“I knew it!” She exclaimed, rocking forward so hard in her chair she knocked over Joe’s drink. He reached to grab it only for his force hand to beat him to it. Since the upgrade it was as if he just had to think about something and he had a third hand there to help him with it.
“I knew something was weird with your build. I mean Fell Bane Hunter is not at all common, so I couldn't be sure. What, there are only like maybe three noble houses that have that heritage class.” She was excitedly talking a mile a minute. “Even so, I have read every Count Randeau penny dreadful that has ever been printed, and his skills and yours just didn’t match up. That pounce of yours. Count Randeau never pounced on anyone. He’d swing and dive and dash but pounce, never.”
“To make things even weirder,” Joe continued, blotting at the little bit of punch that had spilled. “At fourteenth level, I took Fell Bane Hunter’s core skill, [Spot Weakness] and it is not at all how he described it.”
“The stories describe how his eyes are drawn to the creature’s weak spots.”
“Yeah, that is not how it works for me. It’s a feeling, like a predator stalking prey. When I sense the vulnerability my hackles go up like a dog.”
“That’s so cool.”
“Maybe. But I think it's harder to interpret. What I am afraid of is that any future spells or skills I take might be corrupted by whatever Sougath infected me with.”
“Don’t say it like that,” Kendell scolded. “The Myrrhceeian clergy declared you cured right.”
“Yeah,” he admitted, leaning back again in his woven wicker chair.
“Then you are clean. Some churches can be half-assed with their healing but the Myrrhceeians are the second best healers in all of Illuminaria. If they say you are cured then you can bet on it.”
“Who are the best?”
“The followers of the goddess Wehl are supposedly able to cure anything. She is a desert goddess of healing and oases from the Voiceless Dunes. That’s the desert south of here. There is one story of a Wehlian priest who cured an elder vampire. I’m not sure if I buy that one, but the Wehlians are so good that it might be true.”
“Well, if the Myrrhceeians turn out to be wrong, I guess I’m taking a trip into the desert.”
Joe winced at the look on Kendell’s face. He was trying to kid around but his joke had come off as pessimistic. Unfortunately, he did not know how to recover either. Suddenly, there was a long awkward silence in the non-stop chatter between them
Joe’s dating experience was non-existent. He had a few ‘dates’ as a very young man but they were the kind that parents drove you to and picked you up from. He had received his driver's license and his positive cancer screening within a month of each other. That had thrown ‘average teenager’ out the window. By the time he had come to terms with his illness, the opportunity to have something as normal as a first date had come and gone.
In that uneasy moment, they both looked out over the wharves to see the sun heading down towards the horizon. Joe was amazed that they had talked for hours and yet it had seemed like no time at all.
Kendall must have come to a different conclusion.
“Oh no,” she cried. “I am so late. I’m sorry Joe, I have to go. Hey, that rhymes.” Bounding to her feet, she dropped a small handful of silver coins on the table. “I’m busy tomorrow. Sorry. I’d keep training for one more day if I were you before you try to tackle the trail again. Alright. I’m so sorry. It’s so late. Come find me afterward. Bye.”
And she was gone.
Joe sat for a while longer wondering how he had messed it up with her that quickly. He had played in some terrible games where somehow he just could not get along with another player. At a few of those sessions, tempers had flared and sometimes the other player snapped and stormed off.
But this had seemed to be going so well.
Joe paid his share of the tab and wandered down toward the beach, feeling a bit glum. He passed through a series of low walls that seemed more likely to prevent storm surges than hostile creatures. When he reached the shore he had to admit that Fort Coral had one beautiful beach. The sand was fine and so pale it was almost white. The palm trees leaning out over the strand would likely provide some nice shade during midday.
Joe reached down and pulled out a partially buried seashell. As he brushed the grains from the bright orange shell, he scanned the few remaining beach-goers. None were Hah’roo. He had kind of hoped to find her still there, though he was not at all surprised she had left. Even as dedicated as she had been to her beach time, twelve-plus hours was a long time to spend laying on the sands.
As Joe walked the shore he could see where the fort got its name. Through the clear blue water, he could see bundles and branches of brightly colored coral growing across the sandy ocean floor. He also noted dozens of rune obelisks had been dug into the silt. He surmised they must be part of the reason the Fort felt safe from aquatic raiders.
Any other time he might have pondered this discovery further but Kendell’s hasty retreat from the table cast a pall over what had been a pretty great day up until that point.
This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.
Well, getting his ass pounded by the badboons had sucked. But afterward, everything turned around. He met Kendell and Myllo. He developed not one but three useful combat skills. He had a plan for improving himself.
If he wasn’t just such a social loser he might have had a perfect day.
Joe sat on the beach watching the sunset behind the forests to the west. It was too bad the view in that direction was not open water. Somehow it would have felt fitting to see the sun sink into the ocean, lighting the sky with a brilliant sunset.
When it was near dark he headed back toward the center of town. He knew Hah’roo planned to stay at the Captain’s Glass Inn and decided he might as well see if they had another open room. The Inn was easy enough to find. The signboard displayed the bust of a pretty sailor with a large captain's hat. She had a monocle over one eye and her hand, which was tucked into the bottom corner of the carving, was holding a tall glass of liquor. Joe smiled at the double meaning of the ‘captain’s glass’.
The lobby was well-furnished. Thick rugs covered the floors and the lanterns glowed with illuminating crystals. The light from the luminous stone flickered much like candles would, making the atmosphere warm and inviting.
Behind the front desk stood a Selkie. Though Joe had seen plenty of these aquatic people here and in Peregrine Bay, this was the first chance he had to speak with one. Selkies, like his own changeling race, were offshoots of the fey. Earth legends about them told they could switch between a human form and that of a seal. If Joe had not had his panic attack, Selkie was very likely the race he would’ve chosen. Selkies had slightly elvish features. They had high cheekbones and large deeply colored eyes, typically blue or green but Joe had seen purple too. They could also breathe in air or water, which is why they were commonly found in port towns and around ships.
“Good evening, sir. Are you looking for a room?” the man asked.
“I am,” Joe answered as he reached the selkie’s counter.
The concierge flipped open a book and grabbed a pen, dipping it into his inkwell. “For how many nights?”
“Ahhh, good question. I plan to stay in Fort Coral for a while but I think I might not be able to afford your lodgings for the whole time. I’ll probably have to find someplace to rent for the long-term soon.”
“In that case, I would recommend Copper Kettle Boardinghouse. It lies two blocks east of here and is a well-maintained establishment. Unless you are looking for something a bit more rambunctious. The Swabby’s Bunk and the Frayed Knot are favorites of the sailors on long stays. They are lively but are still respectable.”
“You had me pegged correctly the first time. The Copper Kettle sounds great. I think I’ll take a room here for a few days first. I have some errands I’d like to get finished up before I take the time to settle in somewhere.”
“Excellent choice. We will take good care of you. Our basic rooms are three silver a night. You will have your own water-closet and breakfast comes with the room.” The man looked down at his book and added, “We do have one room left that also has a sitting room for five silver a night.”
“The basic room will be fine. Thanks.” Joe took out a gold piece and two silvers to pay for two nights. He received the key and the instructions on how to reach his room. Joe thanked the selkie one more time before he headed upstairs. The price seemed well worth the cost as the upstairs was just as nicely appointed as the first floor. He found his room towards the end of the hall and let himself in. It was a fairly large space with a wide bed and a large glassless window. The shutters were hooked open. There were two small doors. One opened to a miniature clothing closet and the other to a tiny bathroom, with nothing more than a sink and a commode. Joe lifted the lid and found that there was no smelly hole but instead a clean deep pan. On the underside of the lid, there was a brass plaque with the following notice.
Warning - Disintegration: Do not put any organic material against the bottom of the bowl. It will be vaporized.
Joe could see the advantages of a magic toilet over water and pipes. Still, it was a slightly terrifying thought to place your privates a foot above a disintegration field. Joe used the sink and a small towel to wash his face and hands before putting out the lights and climbing onto the bed.
His opinion of the Captain’s Glass went up another notch as the mattress was amazingly comfortable, just the right level of firm and soft.
He knew he was tired but once again he was wide awake. As he lay there, staring at the ceiling, he was beginning to wonder if he was becoming addicted to the rocking of a ship. He had never slept better than on both of his sea voyages.
He mulled over his day and his plans for tomorrow and for Windsday, which was the day after. After his third time through the same thoughts, he reached out to see if his spectral guide felt like talking.
‘Hey, Hawking? Are you busy?’
Your question is illogical. I am always in a state of activity. Currently, I am maintaining the progressions of approximately 18 million beings.
‘Oh, never mind. If you are too busy …’
I have more than adequate resources to perform my tasks and converse with you, Joe. Is there something you need?
‘Need not so much. I am curious about a few things only you can answer though.’
Ask your questions.
‘Why are there so many similarities to Earth here? I mean, humans look like humans. The other races look like they could have stepped out of Fellowship of the Ring or the Player’s Handbook. There are similar expressions and idioms. The ships and architecture are nearly identical to places on Earth. Robin Goodfellow? Even the names of the week are almost the same: Sunsday, Moonsday, Dewsdays which rhymes with Tuesday. Windsday, Mersday, another rhyme. Fireday, Starsday. Actually, that last one is the only one that is not a dead-ringer but it is clearly Saturday.’
Illuminaria was created. When it was created, Earth and specific aspects of Earth culture were used as a template for the world.
Joe slid himself up into a sitting position against the headboard of the bed. That was not the answer he had expected. He had just assumed there was some sort of cosmic coincidence between fantasy worlds and Earth. Maybe some sort of universal truth, like math. He had not anticipated Illuminaria having been shaped by his world and its folklore.
He started to reply to the ceiling but realized that would get uncomfortable quickly. Instead, he randomly picked a spot in the room to think toward.
‘Who created it?’
There is a complex answer to that question. One that may negatively impact any further interaction you have with the world.
‘Why do you say that?’
Because there is already a recorded case of this phenomenon. On learning of the origin of Illuminaria, a transported soul from Earth has utilized that knowledge to alter the world’s natural progression.
‘I feel like I am pulling teeth here, Hawking. Can you tell who this person was?’
‘Is’ is the more appropriate tense. The being known as Hoojack97 has become the entity known as the Blood King and is in the process of creating an empire where no such dominion was ever projected to exist. It is due to this occurrence that I am reluctant to elaborate further on the nature of the Illuminaria.
‘Wait? The Blood King is some Earth gamer who died like I did?’
Essentially, yes.
‘Why not just kick him out then?’
There are wider implications in doing so that we have not yet been able to fully discern.
Joe wanted to press further but he could also tell that Hawking was reluctant to talk about this topic. He decided to give the spectral being a break and follow another line of thought.
‘We? Are there more like you?’
In a manner, yes. Each of us oversees a portion of the Existencia, the multiple planes of existence.
‘But the gods are something different right?’
Correct the divinity of Illuminaria and the overseers of the planes are completely different.
An idea hit Joe as soon as Hawking relayed that thought. As did a large yawn. ‘So if you are Robin Goodfellow to them, but the One Above here, then they must have their own overseer. Right?’
That is correct, Joe. The planes of the Fey have their own guide. As does the plane of the Abyss, as well as the Celestial plane.
‘So. Robin Goodfellow? Do you prefer that to Hawking?’
No. It would cause confusion should you somehow have to interact with the overseer of the Feylands. He too goes by the name Robin Goodfellow.
‘That seems awkward. How do you know which one of you people mean when they refer to Robin Goodfellow then?’
Context.
Joe tried to wrap his head around the full meaning of that one-word answer but it was a bit of a struggle. His thoughts were getting muddy. He realized his very long day was quickly catching up with him. He and Hah’roo had landed in Fort Coral less than 24 hours ago and yet it seemed like he had gotten more done in this one day than he had since his first few days in Illuminaria. His mind drifted a bit, losing the question, as he was quickly fading from wakefulness.
‘Good. I like Hawking better anyway.’
I agree. There is a deeper significance to your designation which both the One Above and Robin Goodfellow fails to achieve. I would prefer to remain Hawking with you.
Joe let his thoughts ramble around for a few seconds as his eyes kept drifting closed. Finally, he pulled together one more coherent thought for his spectral companion.
‘So I think I am finally starting to get a hang of this world. Any advice yet?’ he asked, settling down onto his pillow.
Still no, Joe. Continue to make choices and you will be fulfilling the purpose of your inclusion into Illuminaria.
‘Yeah, I figured that’s what you’d say,’ were Joe’s last thoughts before he slipped off to sleep.