It was a wonderfully quiet hour before the wounds were patched, a splint made, and a set of sticks sharpened into spears, though Mitchell would instead use his branch as a crutch. It was during this hour that George discovered the first unspoken gift from the System: the Analyze skill. As he finished skinning the coyote and was holding the skin up to the light that he yelped with surprise and dropped the skin. Mitchell watched the distraction, as George narrowed his eyes suspiciously at a few more things, then stumbled over out of sorts and plopped down onto the forest floor. Nimbus scrambled out of the way.
“Cat got you-”
“Don’t.” George answered, cutting off Mitchell’s pained observation. Everything Mitchell did was pained, at this point, as Sarah worked to disinfect and wrap up his leg. “Just look at one of your token items, and try to figure out how it’s different now.”
Given her kit was already out in front of her, Sarah glared at it. She knew the kit very well, a St. John’s Ambulance standardised Level C kit. Definitely overkill for anything she would find in her previous life, she considered the token well spent as she traded gauze for lifeblood. With animal bites, like most injuries, First Aid trained her to bring the casualty to stability in preparation for a trip to the hospital. She knew, deep in her subconscious, that there was no hospital out there, but in lieu of any other ideas she continued to dress the ragged flesh of Mitchells leg in preparation for transport.
Metal First Aid Kit (Large)
A standardised First Aid Kit containing mundane materials in a steel case. Provides a small bonus to healing when applied to a wound created through mundane means.
Capacity 248/250
Sarah frowned, even as the window vanished before her eyes. Even if there were exactly 250 pieces to the kit, she’d used more than 3 alcohol wipes doing prep alone, nevermind the disinfectant and bandages. The only way it made sense would be if it had 250 applications, which would be absurd: even back in real life, you usually needed to restock a Level C kit after 5 or so incidents, or maybe 10 minor ones. Sarah sincerely hoped that was the case: If she could perform first aid for 248 more people without needing a new kit, she’d be ecstatic.
Miriam, having already been bandaged, had her arm in a makeshift sling. Glancing down at her own Systemized item, she scrutinised it.
Green Riding Hood (Common)
A handmade riding hood created by a struggling apprentice, this garment provides a small degree of protection from weather, and a small increase in Stamina efficiency while in the wilderness.
She looked at the description indignantly. She’d already been exhausted at the end of their encounter with the coyotes, and that was with an item giving her more Stamina? She was left to her grumbling, even as she corrected herself. She didn’t have more stamina, she could just use it more efficiently. Allegedly.
John was standing guard, and pointedly made sure everyone else had done as George asked before inspecting his own equipment. The group's conversation had moved on to next steps, and he tuned them out. He was fine with whatever was decided, so long as they stayed safe and together.
Corruption Filter (Straw) (Common)
A straw-shaped filter used as a crafting material in greater works with Pure, Water, Air, or Poison aspects.
Can also be used to convert liquids into clean drinking water by direct use.
Semi-armoured Boots (Common)
A set of leather boots that provides a small bonus to defence. Contains an alloyed toe-cap the increases the defence bonus.
Surplus Legionnaire Helm (Common)
A cast-off of the standard issue gear issued to certain classes, this helm did not meet the requirements for distribution. Provides miniscule benefits to defence.
Mitchell was too distracted to look at his own gear, though he didn’t expect much out of boots and a shield. No, what had Mitchell distracted, even past the steady throbbing pain, was the dry tickle in the back of his throat. He was thirsty, and looking at all the gear the group brought, he made a sudden realisation:
They had no water.
John and Sarah had survival straws, a brilliant idea, if only they had a water source to use them with. No canteens, no bottles, no jugs. Mitchell, in his infinite wisdom, had overlooked the most basic of human needs - water. If he wasn’t so busy propping himself up with one arm and holding his shield with the other, he would have facepalmed himself into next week. His heart plummeted like a stone in a well as he replayed every conversation he’d had with the group about what to bring. Not once, not a single time, did he mention water. He must have been daydreaming of a magical oasis waiting for them at their destination. Classic Mitchell, always assuming the best and forgetting to plan for the worst.
“Stupid.” He muttered to himself, drawing a concerned look from Miriam.
“What?”
“Water.” He spat out of his dry mouth. “We didn’t bring any water.”
Sarah, ever the lifesaver, raised a hand smeared with the day’s trials. “Easy, Mitch. I’ve got a few bottles in my pack. But let’s find a water source before we start dipping into our limited supply.”
George, having secured the coyote skin to his pack, stood tall. “And remember, we’re in Niagara, or somewhere similar. There should be plenty of creeks, if not rivers. We aren’t in the Sahara.”
“Just head down, right?” Mitchel suggested, touched at the clear attempt to cheer him up.
“I- Well- It’s more complicated than that, but yes.” George turned away and idly petted his cat, glancing into the surrounding forest trees.
Miriam, her voice echoing the urgency of their situation, declared, “Either way, we need to move somewhere.” She gestured towards the lifeless form of one of the coyotes, its stillness a stark contrast to the vibrant life it once held. “Something hungry is going to come along sooner or later for these guys.”
The words hung in the air, a grim reminder of the circle of life. The wilderness was a place of survival, where every creature had a role to play, and death was merely a part of the cycle. The carcass would not go to waste; it would provide sustenance for the scavengers, the cleaners of the wild. They would in turn grow old, die, and become food themselves. Humans liked to think that they escaped the cycle with things like cremation, but they just delayed it.
Mitchell frowned, his mind racing through the implications. “Coyotes, vultures, insects… do we have any more scavengers?” His question was more than a mere inquiry; it was a reflection of the harsh reality they were facing.
George, ever the realist, spoke up easily. “Worms, possums, raccoons, martens, ravens, foxes, some hawks, and…” He paused, leaving the last word unsaid. He chuckled lightly, attempting to lighten the mood, “Doubt we’ll find any of the last ones though, and even all banged up I bet even you two could take a fox or bird.”
Civilization had always been a deterrent for wild creatures. The noise, the lights, the unfamiliar scents, all served as a warning to stay away. But now, they were far from civilization, far from the safety it provided. They were in the wilderness, where the rules of nature prevailed.
“Why do you doubt we’ll find… them?” John asked, picking up on George’s hesitation. He was helping Sarah gather up the trash from the First Aid Kit, his hurried actions belying the tension that was slowly building up.
George looked at him, his eyes reflecting a dawning realisation. “Too far south. They wouldn’t dare go to where…” His voice trailed off, the implication of his words sinking in. A chill ran down their spines as they all realised the gravity of their situation. The unspoken word hung in the air, a dire prediction of what was to come. Wolves.
With nothing to stop them from hunting.
To their credit, the group made somewhat good pace before they came across the first wolf a half hour later. It came out of a gap between trees, scarred and snarling and reaching up to Miriam's chest in height. Yet, it was not what they expected. She tested something she had idly theorised about earlier when getting bandaged.
Young Direwolf Pup
Level 3
Analyze skill insufficient for more data
“Guys, Analyze works on creatures!” She called out, secretly cheering that it had worked. “Direwolf, Level 3!”
Mitchell struggled to keep his shield in between himself and the beasts snapping jaws. “That’s nice! Get it off me!”
Not a second after he spoke, the weight lifted, and John finished his tackle. The two tumbled off to the side, slamming into a thick trunk with a grunt and a yelp of pain, and it was a frantic, bloody grapple for the briefest of seconds before John lifted its jaw and George smashed its throat in with a rock.
Sarah was already tending to Mitchell’s reopened wounds, and Miriam took a brief moment to feel guilty that she’d been excited about something while her fiance was getting attacked. True to character, though, Mitchell did his best to joke lightly with Sarah during the aid, and didn’t complain once as they resumed their march. The only sign he gave of being in pain was the occasional hiss of breath.
The battered group continued, the sounds of howling wolves trailing behind them.
It was a moment of almost silence before John spoke up. “So… I don’t know about you guys, but when I think Direwolf, I think something much bigger.”
George nodded. “Yep. Bear-sized or bigger, in most media.”
“So if that was a pup… and it took two of us to take it down…”
The group hurried their pace.
Mitchell spoke up through the pained limp, and the strain in his voice finally clued them in that he wasn’t holding up as well as they’d thought. “Mammoths stand taller than any bear, with thicker skin and more dangerous weapons. Tell me, George, do mammoths still exist?”
George’s face brightened, and he began scanning the forest floor as they walked. With the injured parties, there was no change in pace.
Sarah didn’t follow. “What do mammoths have to do with wolves?”
Mitchell took a few more laboured steps. “Who hunted the Mammoths to extinction?”
“Probably some dude named Ooga Booga.” John smiled, nudging his life partner. “He’s reminding us we’re at the top.”
“Technically, no.” Miriam answered. “Experts think that- well, they did think that we were removed from the food chain entirely. There are no ecosystems where humans are a regular source of food, and good luck establishing the food chain for an urbanite eating a poke salad and drinking an 8 fruit smoothie.”
“See? We’re so rad, we break natural systems. Men hunt mammoth. Men hunt wolves. Men hun-”
“I think the plural of mammoth is actually mammoths.” George idly corrected, a small bundle of sticks in his arms.
“That’s the point, there are no plurals of mammoths anymore except in a historical context.”
“Historical context? John, have you eaten a book since we last saw you?”
Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.
“Ha ha. You know I trained my intelligence up to 5, right?”
Mitchell pushed down the sense of wrongness he felt and worked to interrupt the coming discussion. “You could train it up to 1000 and single handedly invent faster than light travel, George’ll be George. Besides, didn’t you know? He took too long getting some stats to 12, so his Intelligence is only 7 last he told me.”
“Heh. What stats?”
“Agility, Reflex, and Instinct. He’s going for some sort of archer guy.”
“Ranger, damnit!” George turned and clarified, almost tripping over Nimbus in the process. The cat scurried up ahead with a hiss, then climbed to a low branch and watched the group pass, hopping between trees to keep up.
“Right, that. So basically, John, you now know, empirically, what you’re better at than him.”
“Everything?”
Mitchell grunted, having been yanked aside when George threw a stick at John in response. The larger fellow dodged it, just as deftly as Mitchell had diverted any discussion of the stats changing people fundamentally.
It was one thing to bring your strength up and be able to lift more, the only personality change that would provide is improving self-confidence. Becoming more intelligent? Having more willpower? Honing your instincts? Practising and developing your Charisma? All of these were markers of who someone was at their core. To change that… Well, it’d be interesting to meet up with Bill if they made it through the tutorial.
“Got one!” Miriam called out, pleasure clear on her face. With a flourish she presented to George: a stick.
He took it from her reverently, horseplay with John forgotten. “Truly? This… is for me?”
Miriam nodded solemnly, even as her smile threatened to break into laughter. “Verily, there is none for any other.”
George grasped the stick and held it aloft. “I. Have. The power!”
Wooden Arrow (Poor)
Hardly more than a sharp stick, the quality of this arrow is so poor it is guaranteed to break after the first shot, and has a 25% chance to miss completely.
Sarah rolled her eyes at their antics, then flinched as the faint sound of a howl cut through the trees. Without a word between them, the group quieted down and concentrated on making their way through the woods.
Their march was largely unimpeded. George was proficient enough to lead them around rougher terrain, and the one time a wolf pup found them again, he dispatched it with his bow and arrow, breaking one of his three. Considering it only took the one shot, though, he considered it a net gain.
Even if the loot-goblin in his soul protested leaving the carcass behind.
Mitchell was getting used to travelling on the injured leg. It had pained him terribly at the start, but at this point had faded to a dull, throbbing ache. He had spent his time trying to think of a weapon other than a sharpened stick to use, but everything always came back to materials: They had no metal, and none of them knew enough to work bone into something usable. They had no string or rope or shovels for making traps, nor any camouflage with which to hide. The only weapon among the five of them was George’s bow. They had a fair spread of armour, though that would just ensure that they were defeated slowly.
As the group ventured deeper into the wilderness, the howls of the wolves became a haunting melody that underscored their journey. Each encounter was a dance of danger and survival. George’s bow sang as it released wooden arrows, each one miraculously finding its mark with deadly precision. Mitchell, despite his injury, stood firm, his shield a bulwark against the snapping jaws of the wolf pups. John fought with main strength, his size and bulk enough where he could easily hold a wolf back. Miriam sat back, covering Sarah and keeping an eye on their surroundings, who herself seemed to be keeping a close eye on the fighters. When a wolf was defeated, Sarah pushed forwards, applying hasty bandages and pouring disinfectant on wounds, but the damage was starting to accumulate. Bandages soaked with blood. Small cuts going untreated. There was simply no time.
The encounters with the wolves were harrowing, but they served to strengthen the group’s resolve. They learned to anticipate the wolves’ movements, to strike first and strike hard. They learned to trust in each other, their survival hinging on their unity.
After what felt like an eternity, the sound of rushing water reached their ears. Hope surged within them as they quickened their pace, the promise of fresh water spurring them on. As they emerged from the treeline, the sight of the river took their breath away. It flowed with a serene might, its waters glistening under the sun. The riverbank was dotted with pebbles, the water lapping at them gently.
But they knew better than to let the serene scene lull them into complacency. They had learned the hard way that danger often lurked where least expected. As they approached the river in the fading light of sunset, they did so with caution, their senses heightened. They were not just survivors; they were fighters now, ready to face whatever the wilderness threw at them.
A collapsed stone mill was the first building that any of them saw, and with hope of a place to rest on her mind, Miriam rushed forwards towards the building, caution abandoned in favour of a warm place with walls.
“Miri, no!” George’s warning came too late. Miriam tripped over the round pebbles of the shore, falling flat on her face. As she pushed herself up, a massive bear charged out of the ruin. Its fur was brown and matted, and its heavy footsteps sent vibrations through the ground. Miriam froze as the beast tumbled over her, its paw scraping against her back and tearing her cloak free.
Mitchell had already dropped his crutch and ran forwards, his mind screaming the whole while. Without practice from the wolves, Mitchell knew that he would not be able to advance. Without his own fiance being in mortal peril, he would’ve limped his way forth. Without the gruelling training of the past week, he wouldn’t have had the reaction time to notice and the willpower to push his injury down, deep, into a place where the pain couldn’t stop him from doing what he had to.
He remembered his brief lessons on leverage and how to hold a shield, and other lessons on centre of gravity. All of this combined meant that as the bear charged a second time at the prone woman, Mitchell was already there, standing in between her and it. For no other reason than hyping himself up, he slammed his fist against the front of his shield and bellowed with all his might.
The bear impacted like a bus with claws, and Mitchell was barrelled over, rolling a few painful feet across the pebbles of the shore. It was enough, though, because it distracted the bear long enough for John to grab Miri under the shoulders and drag her to her feet, the two of them retreating to the tree line.
George, meanwhile, was preparing to fight. He drew an arrow from his quiver, his hands shaking slightly. “This one’s a cub too? What’s in the water here?!” he exclaimed, more to himself than anyone else. He released the arrow, watching as it sliced through the air.
The glorified stick sunk itself into the bear's haunch midstride, and the beast roared in pain, eyes looking for the trees even as time seemed to focus for Mitchell. He could almost see the paths stretching out before him, one where they ran and took their chances with the wolves, one where he ran to help the group, and one final gambit. It only took a brief moment to decide, and Mitchell moved.
“You’d better not miss!”
George only had a brief moment to realise that it was him being talked to, before he saw the plan unfold. Lifting his bow, he saw Mitchell drop his weight and take off, shield held before him. Drawing an arrow from his belt and nocking it, he saw the bear turn its gaze from the group at the treeline and towards the lone man charging it. A cold sweat erupted across the archers body as he drew the string and breathed, even as the clanging of claw striking shield and the screech of rending metal faded to background noise against the rhythm of his heart.
“Someone do something!” Miriam screamed.
Mitchell stepped backwards, shield mangled and blood dripping from the arm behind it, but he bellowed again and swung the injured arm at the bears head. A snap of jaws, a horrified, pale face, and Mitchell stumbled back, blood spraying from a severed wrist as the shield clattered to the stone.
Faster.
No.
George knew better than to rush, and took in his breath, letting it out slowly.
Faster!
NO!
He finally loosed the arrow, a perfect shot, more straight and true than any he had ever released. He burst with pride, watching the trajectory head straight for the bear's throat, a kill shot that should still disorient it long enough for Mitchell to make it out. It was with despair he saw the arrow fly, shiver in the air as if some force had acted upon it, then veer off into the underbrush. His hand scrambled at his belt even as he knew he had no more arrows, his own face going pale as he realised that Mitchell would die.
And it was all his fault. He had missed.
The next few moments were a blur for Mitchell, one that was hot and at the same time growing colder, full of action interspersed with peace. He saw John above him, dragging him away from where George stood, defiant and unarmed against the beast. He saw Sarah, pulling things out of the First Aid Kit with wild abandon, screaming at Miriam, who screamed back with a face red with anger and eyes wide with fear. He saw the sun, for a brief moment, before shade took over. With the stone, he barely realised he must have been dragged into the ruin. Miriam darted back out, and John scrambled with something on the floor. Mitch thought he was trying to speak to him. Why would someone speak to him? He was tired, and was trying to sleep. Yes, sleep sounded like the be-
“Don’t you god damned dare!” Sarah kneeled over him, palm raised and bloody. She’d worked so hard to keep them all safe, and now she was dirty. That wasn’t fair. Mitchell tried to lift his hand to grab the bottle of alcohol that had been tossed to the floor, to try and help her clean. It would be a nice thing to do. “Now answer the bloody question!”
“Huh?”
“How much intelligence does Miri have?!” John stopped himself short of shaking Mitchells shoulders, but it was close.
“She’s the smartest.” Mitchell replied, confused. Didn’t everyone know that? Nobody was smarter than her. John slapped him in agreement.
“The number, dumbass!”
“He’s in shock, John! Take it easy!”
Shock? How? There was no power anymore. “Bzzt.” He said, explaining his sound reasoning. His leg stopped hurting, and he sighed in relief. “Bzzt. Bzzt.” He tried, but it didn’t fix the other hurt.
John glanced at Sarah, their faces a mirrored expression of dismay and horror. “Mitch, please buddy, please just keep it together for one more second. Just.. Just give me another buzz if her Intelligence is over 8.”
Mitchell buzzed himself into unconsciousness with a smile on his face, thinking of how smart and wonderful Miri was and how excited she’d be to learn about how one of his arms was hot and one of them was colder than ice.
----------------------------------------
Miriam didn’t know what to do, and with George narrowly staying ahead of the bear as it crashed through the trees, she was running out of time.
Sure, her mind was moving a mile a minute, and since her intelligence started going up, her thoughts were more ordered, and organised, and she found it much easier to come to definitive conclusions about things and feel confident in not needing another opinion. That was a stark contrast to before. Yet she couldn’t help but think to herself:
If this is what I return to when it comes down to it, did I really get better at all?
So she fell back on the framework she had created for herself, during her hyper-lucid march.
Define Problem
That one was easy. There was a 6th level Spinebear Cub about to take a bite out of George. George is better with all of his flesh.
Identify Solve-State
Rather than finding a solution, she worked backwards. What results were what she wanted? Everything in her instincts told her that this wasn’t the way to do it, but she trusted her past self, her rational self. The situation would be solved through many options. The bear left, the bear died, the bear found other food, the bear- it all boiled down to the bear, and it suddenly wanting to stop doing what was natural to it.
Assets Available?
She had her armour, though it wouldn’t hold up better than Mitch’s shield had. She had her hood, which was lying torn on the rivershore. She had her hygiene kit, but didn’t think a spritz of chamomile scent would deter the creature overmuch. She thought about what she knew from home: was it brown bears or black bears that you’re supposed to play dead with? Irrelevant, this was a Spinebear. In fact, she could see that the hair on its head wasn’t clumped, but a pair of small horn nubs jutted from its brow. Her assets were herself, George if he could find another arrow, John acting as a corpsman and Sarah as Medic. They had brief survivability, but no way to put down the beast. Their best bet would be to make themselves not worth the fight, but if the ruins were its den, that just wouldn’t happen.
“Miri, catch!” John bellowed from the ruins, tucking back into the door after whipping a stick at her. An arrow!
Her mind whirled, gears shifting into an unseen realm.
Assuming she caught the arrow, she needed to get it to the treeline and to George without the bear deciding she was easier prey. Her best strategy was to place the arrow in George’s path, hoping he could retrieve it during his frantic evasion. If not, his demise was all but certain. She committed to her plan, selecting a point where a crooked branch could cradle the arrow. She dared not contemplate the arrow’s fate should it be thrust into a- where was the point?
Miriam barely managed to keep from stumbling. The arrow wasn’t sharp! It was just a twisted piece of wood, what was John thinking?! What was she supposed to do with such a-
Wand of Magic Dart
Requires Intelligence 8 to wield.
Invoke to cast the spell Magic Dart without utilising arrays or materials. Damage and range scale with Intelligence.
A revelation struck her, as if a veil had been lifted. The plans and conditions she had considered rearranged themselves in an instant, and clarity dawned.
She extended the stick in her hand, feeling incredibly exposed and foolish brandishing a stick at the monstrous creature. As George deftly ascended a branch to evade a swipe of the bear’s paw, Miriam focused her gaze on the beast, marshalling her willpower, and thought with all her might:
Invoke!
At the tip of the stick - no, the wand - a brief cyan spark danced, tracing an intricate geometric pattern too complex to follow, leaving behind trails of faint blue light that shimmered even under the midday sun. In less than a blink, the residual blue energy left by the spark coalesced into a small blue line that quivered in the air, then shot off towards the Spinebear.
She held her breath in anticipation, watching as the dart sped through the trees, growing dimmer as it travelled, until the blue light splashed against the bears flank with a soft popping sound. The bear roared, a mix of pain and surprise, and whipped its head around to glare at her, leaving George ignored.
Miriam idly considered how she would never have done something like this before, as her arm pointed the wand steady at the bear. She felt ethereal, as if she was observing someone else control her body, but still she focused and still she poured everything she had into it.
Invoke! Invoke! Invoke! Invoke! INVOKE! INVO-
Miriam didn’t even notice when she slipped into unconsciousness. She’d been attacking a smouldering corpse.