----------------------------------------
Chapter 4
Marcus – No, not Marcus, not here at least.
With a breath, Wanderer lifted a heavy head, feeling warm, rough bark rubbing against his long, matted hair.
“The fuck …” He whispered and opened his eyes to a green-tinged gloom.
An ancient forest stretched around him, the smell of earth, rot, and living green sufficing the air. The canopy was too thick, lending the space an eternal gloom that would have been right at home in an old Hammer film. Somewhere in the distance birds squawked loudly and fluttered into flight. Something about the sound seemed wrong to Wanderer but he couldn’t place it. Honestly, he couldn’t place much. The light was dim and omnipresent thanks to the canopy filled gloom. He couldn’t tell the time of day or the direction of the sun – hell, he couldn’t tell what color the sun might be in this new fantasy world he found himself in. Finally, the adventurer-to-be looked around, his dark eyes widening as he noticed his true predicament for the first time.
He was nailed to a tree.
Wanderer stared in wide-eyed horror for a moment before registering that he was in no pain, he could see that blood had flowed and formed streams going down his arms to the elbow before dropping off, creating stalactites of coagulated red goo at least an inch long. Bending down he could see the same had been done to his thighs and his overlapping feet. He pulled a little, expecting a sharp shock of electric pain as his abused flesh scraped the railroad like spikes that had torn through his flesh – still, no pain.
“What kind of starter zone, is this?!” He screamed into the gloom, causing a few more unseen birds to cry out before taking to the air.
Again, the large man pulled against the trunk, trying to wrest his feet free. Looking down he could see fresh blood starting to seep out of the wounds, slowly at first but with every move coming in a more regular stream. With a growl of frustration, he started pulling against the spike in his feet and after a centering breath, flexed both arms. He could hear something groan in protest, could feel his hands starting to pull free not from the tree but from the spikes …
Red light began to flash on the edges of his vision, pulsing in time with a panicked heartbeat he didn’t feel. Well shit, Wanderer thought. I damned near bled out from that.
“Now, what?” He whispered out loud.
A flutter of wings drew his attention. Turning his head to face the sound Wanderer couldn’t help but laugh. A few yards away a large bird – nearly six feet from talon to wickedly sharp beak – balanced itself on a low branch of another tree, its beady black eyes locked onto the large adventurer. A second later another of the large birds daintily landed a few feet away from the first, its beak opened slightly, reminding Wanderer of a panting dog. He didn’t have the breath to curse before the two birds were on him. He could feel them tearing at his flesh and muscle but still there was no pain.
With a silent curse Wanderer struggled as best he could to avoid the talons that tried in vain to rip open his stomach. He headbutted one as its beak went for one of his eyes, drawing a pained squawk. With a scream of effort Wanderer’s left arm tore free of the spike, blood exploding from the exposed wound. Wanderer didn’t care, all he saw was red and death – and it was his to deal. His arm struck out grabbing the avian by its long neck, with a twist of his wrist he heard the creature’s spine crack and it’s weight go limp. The other bird was too busy tearing at the meat of Wanderer’s ribs to notice the death of its companion, too busy with the sweet man-flesh to realize the danger until it was too late. With a swing of his arm Wanderer pummeled at the large predator with the corpse of the other. The bird squawked, tried to push off and escape but Wanderer – in his rage – was far quicker and strike after strike slammed into the creature until it fell to the ground as not much else but pulp and feather.
Wanderer let out an angry cry, causing small animals, predator and prey alike to dash away from the adventurer. Breathing heavily, he dropped the dead bird to the ground. With a final pull that stained his muscles and threatened to tear the skin from his body, Wanderer freed his legs from the brutal spikes that impaled him. His body swung to the right. “Fuck,” he hissed forgetting that his right arm was still bound. He could feel muscle and tendon ripping under the weight, could hear joints dislodging from one another. He made a choice and then like a child on a rope he swung his legs back, then forward. Once. Twice. On the third swing he felt his arm rip free, and he tumbled to the ground, slamming into the trunk of the tree the two dead birds had watched him from. Everything went black.
----------------------------------------
“Hello?” A voice, high-pitched like a sweet bell. “Hey, you haven’t derezzed so you’re still alive – right?”
Wanderer groaned angrily, annoyed that once again one of his daughters was breaking his one rule – never wake him up if it’s not an emergency. A gentle, small hand pushed at his shoulder. He groaned again. “If it’s Isolde, go back to bed. If it’s Iseult, you damn well know better, girl.”
There was a surprised intake of breath and the scrap of leaves. That worried, Wanderer. Why were leaves in his bedroom? Mentally protesting the unfairness of life, the old man his eyes. The green gloom of the ancient forest greeted him, he could see the leaves nearest him were saturated in blood, most likely his blood, he thought as the events of the last few minutes before he lost consciousness came back to him. What more though was the small child that knelt on her hunches before him.
“Are you okay?” She asked in that clarion call of a voice again.
So, I dreamt it was one of the girls.
Marcus sat up, a habitual – but utterly unnecessary groan – passing through his lips, causing the strange girl to giggle. He eyed the stranger for a moment. She was presenting herself as young, a child on the cusp of womanhood, much of her frame lost in baggy white and red robes. Her face was narrow but still carried a bit of baby fat, her eyes were wide, their gold trimmed aqua reflecting his own questioning face back at him. Strangest of all though, were the cat-ears that poked out of her honey-gold hair.
“I didn’t think I saw cat-girl as a race option.” He said flatly.
The girl blushed. “There isn’t one,” she said as she brushed back her hair, revealing the delicate short, curved ears of the Sprig. “The ears are a cosmetic item I made when I started.”
Wanderer let out of laugh. It was silly to do, and the girl may find it hurtful, but he couldn’t help himself. Of course, the first person he’d run into in game would be a cosplayer. He wiped his eyes, ignoring the coarseness of his blood encrusted arm and looked at the girl. “Sorry, I hope that didn’t come off as rude.” He said, trying his best to sound gentle but coming off as vaguely grumpy. He held out his hand. “I’m called Wanderer.”
The girl stared at his hand, disgust badly hidden. “I’m called Cast’Ia,” she said almost timidly. “If you don’t mind, I’ll shake your hand after you clean up.”
Wanderer looked down at this hand, seeing for the first time just how much blood – and a few feathers – covered it. He let out another chuckle. “Sounds good.”
Cast’Ia pointed to her left. “There is a settlement a good day’s walk that way. I was going their myself when I heard something bellow.” She shook a little. “I hope that wasn’t a new [World Boss] … sounded horrible.” She smiled wanly.
I’ll have to find out what’s so bad about these [World Bosses]. Wanderer thought to himself. To cause that kind of reaction in the girl.
“Anyway,” Cast’Ia continued. “As I was running to investigate, I saw you flying through the air and … well here we are.”
Wanderer nodded and went stood up.
“Oh my God!” The Sprig screeched. “You’re bleeding!”
Wanderer nodded. “Yeah, that’s pretty much been my day.” He sighed. “Mind if I join you if you’re still headed for the settlement?”
The girl threw her arms up in a stopping gesture. “Hold still!” She yelled, panic in her voice.
Wanderer watched as Cast’Ia began to mumble in a language that seemed more song than speech. Green light began to form around the girl’s chest spinning and dipping, taking on the shape of a glowing globe. Cast’Ia opened her eyes and taking the glowing green orb into her hand pressed it at Wanderer. As it got with in an inch of his body the globe started to shake, and Cast’Ia’s eyes grey wide before she narrowed them and pushed the light harder. There was a popping sound as the globe – looking smaller than when it was formed – pushed through whatever was blocking it and into him. Wanderer gasped in surprise as his body seemed to lighten slightly as if some invisible weight had been removed.
“What the hell was that?!” Cast’Ia hissed, holding her head and wincing at her own voice.
“What do you mean?” Wanderer asked.
“You resisted my healing spell!” She yelled than whimpered and pressed fingers into her eyes. “And gave me a splitting headache in the process.”
Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
Wanderer shrugged. “No clue. I figured that was normal.”
The Sprig healer shook her head. “Not a chance of that … Can I see you CP?”
“CP?”
Cast’Ia sighed in annoyance. “Fucking newbs. CP – [Character Page]. Just swipe the air and when it appears, twirl it around with the intent of sharing it.”
Wanderer eyed her for a moment. Intent? He filed that away with the ever-growing list of questions he was compiling and did as the girl said. A blue, semi-transparent window appeared before him displaying an abbreviated list of his in-game facts. He didn’t bother to look it over; he could do that later in an inn or tavern and twirled it around so that Cast’Ia could see it.
The Sprig looked the page over, her eyes looking bored as she flipped through expansions of terms and the like. Eventually her eyes went wide, and she looked at Wanderer with a mixture of pity and fear. “Someone really hates you, Wanderer.” She said, with a soft whistle in her voice.
“What do you mean?”
She twirled the screen back to him. “Look for yourself under [Boon].”
With a nod, Wanderer read.
Boon:
God’s Choice
Magic Resistance: You are resistant to 25% of all magical effects. This percentage may increase with time and experience.
BONUS!
The Gods of ǽther favor you [Outsider] for trusting in them in your [Boon]. As such you have been granted a secondary [Boon] based on your soul and willingness to throw caution to the wind.
Masochist’s Lament: You cannot feel any but the most extreme pain. This does not mean you cannot be hurt only that when you are, you will not feel it. Tread carefully [Outsider] others who have had this boon walked a hard – and sometimes legless – path without ever knowing it until it was too late.
“What the fuck!” Wanderer hissed.
“One more thing,” Cast’Ia asked and Wanderer noticed for the first time, the Sprig was pointedly not looking directly at him.
“Yeah?”
The healer pointed to the general area of his pelvis. “Where are your clothes?”
----------------------------------------
The forest was ancient, the trees for the most part were so wide around, Wanderer could easily hide his bulk behind the smallest of them. There wasn’t much in the way of ground growth, judging from the perpetual green gloom, Wanderer figured anything that tried to grow here was choked out by the massive old trees and the lack full light. Still, the smell of the forest was refreshing, reminding the old man of the deep forests of the Appalachians back in his childhood home … and maybe that was the point, the system drawing on his memory of those mountain forests to populate this one. Wanderer shook his head; this system was light years ahead of anything and everything he’d ever encountered or learned. Pilgrimage had somehow revolutionized the human/machine experience without a peep ever making it to the outside world.
Cast’Ia skipped along the path slightly ahead of Wanderer, pointedly ignoring the tree branch the older man was carrying in lieu of a weapon, and leafy vines he had wrapped around his waist like a loin cloth. It hadn’t been difficult to reach the path – really a glorified game trail – from where Cast’Ia had found him, a few dozen steps and some rocks big enough to trip over was really all that stood between where the old adventurer-to-be had woken up and the way to civilization.
“So, let me get this straight,” the Sprig said, turning and effortlessly skipping backwards. “You woke up nailed to a tree, ripped your own hand off the nail and beat a [Dusk Craven] to death with another [Dusk Craven]?”
Wanderer shrugged. “Is that what those vulture things were called?” He asked.
The girl sighed. “Didn’t you look over the command list in the tavern?”
“No, I was far too busy enjoying a good ale with a short stack and playing with the creation tools.”
Cast’Ia sighed and swung around without missing a beat of her skip. “Figures, even in a virtual world all men are pervs.” She chuckled, as if the statement was a private joke and continued. “If you focus on another creature, you’ll see their name and rank.”
Wanderer nodded. “Hmmm, that sounds a lot like what Stein - I mean Steinella - told me about other players.”
Cast’Ia stumbled and almost fell flat on her face but managed to turn the fall into a forward roll, coming up with hands outstretched like a gymnast. “Stein!?” She bellowed, turning to face Wanderer. “The Dr. Amelia Stein, creator and head of Project ǽther?”
Wanderer shrugged. “Yeah, what of it?” He scratched at his thick beard. “She was the one who interviewed me, I figured that was SOP for this thing.”
Cast’Ia stared at him her slacked jawed.
“Just who the hell are you that you get such a treat while I get stuck with some low-level functionary who cared more about me knowing where the tit slider was than the game itself?!” The Sprig shrieked as she recovered from her shock. “Seriously, there is no fucking justice in this world!”
Cast’Ia paced – although it is more of a stomp, Wanderer thought – before the old man, mumbling and occasionally glaring at him as she moved back and forth. Finally, she stopped took a breath and spoke. “Sorry, I’ve been a fan of Dr. Stein’s since she was an amateur posting Maker games on Scratch.io back in the day.”
Wanderer nodded. He’d made a few Maker games himself in the past but could never transition to “premium” content that would allow him to make money off his endeavors – and in the end, money had been the be-all and end-all of his life. “Ah, I see,” was all he said, however.
Cast’Ia gave him a final glare then turned back around and began to once again skip toward the settlement.
“Just how far is this settlement anyway?” Wanderer asked.
“Like I said, another day or so.” She looked back at him. “Really it depends on how many more bombshells you decide to throw at me, Wanderer.”
----------------------------------------
Dale was in the middle of her nightly teeth brushing ritual when Lucy appeared in her diamond form in the mirror.
“Good evening, Mistress.” The Assistant said. “I wanted to give you a quick update on the progress of the Daimon.”
Dale held up a hand and quickly rinsed out her mouth. “Go ahead,” she said quietly as she grabbed the hand towel.
The daimon bobbed and give a single quick pulse, a sign Dale associated with acquiescence.
“The Daimon has breached the first layer of security, Mistress and has access to most non-confidential files.” The AI said, a hint of pep in her voice. “This includes employee rosters, shit logs, and basic payroll details.”
Dale nodded and took a seat on the lip of the old plexiglass tub. “What does that mean for Marcus?”
The AI’s color shifted momentarily. “The Human Resources Department of Pilgrimage works very fast, Mistress, and they have already added the Master to their systems.” The assistant paused for a moment. “Oddly, outside of the very basics, he is under a confidential lock – the Daimon is working to secure a work around, but it may take time.”
Dale nodded and began to chew her cheek, a nervous habit she’d had since childhood. “Give me what you got, Lucy.”
The diamond bobbed and information scrolled up the mirror.
Employee ID: MK080344112-S5
Name: Marcus Kline
Employment Date: Confidential
Paygrade: S1
Payrate: 450,000 Annual + review bonuses 50-150,000
Department: Genesis Development – Recreational Division
Role: Confidential
History: Confidential
Dale almost choked looking at the pay. If the information was real, Marcus would finally be making more than her. True, only by 50k, but still he’d never even come within fifty percent of her annual pay, especially not since she opened her own practice.
“Well, damn …” Dale whispered. “Lucy, what is Genesis Development?”
The diamond Bobbed. “Unfortunately, Mistress that is also behind the Confidential wall.” The AI sounded almost sad. “I will alert you when and if the daimon breaches the next security level.
Dale stood and nodded to the AI before moving to the bedroom, the AI zipping to her personal display. “Get the lights, Lucy and don’t worry about sleeping protocols, alert me immediately.”
The diamond nodded once as the lights in the room dimmed to the preset levels for ambient sleep. “Good night, Mistress.”
----------------------------------------
The ambient light of the ancient waned into a dreary dusk that left Wanderer half blind. He grumbled to himself about humans always getting the short end of the vision stick as Cast’Ia seemed to have no problem navigating the increasingly rough trail.
“It’s been a while since I’ve been through these parts.” She said conversationally. “This isn’t exactly a newbie zone, and even with experience on your side it could be dangerous.”
Wanderer grunted and stumbled to his right barely missing a low hanging branch. “Are we planning to walk all night?”
The girl shook her head. “Hardly, the game does its best to mimic reality. We need to eat and sleep.” She moved off to her left, vanishing from Wanderer’s sight. She continued to speak though. “There should be a clearing nearby, we can build a fire and rest for the night.” There was a momentary pause. “Found it!” She cried and reappeared next to wanderer, taking the big man’s hand into her own. “This way.”
Wanderer let the girl guide him along a much narrower trail for a for a few moments, distracted by the warmth and softness of her hand. This level of tactile of date is insane, he thought and questioned if he could actually feel a slight hint of pulse or if he was imagining it.
“Here,” Cast’Ia said as they broke into a small clearing, ripping Wanderer out of his musings.
The large man looked around; the clearing was maybe 15 feet in diameter bordered on one side by a large glacial rock formation that – again – reminded him of the old forests that bordered his childhood home in Virginia. The rest was deep forest, so dark and gloomy he couldn’t well see past the first row of tightly packed trees. Before the rock formation was a simple circle of smaller stones, and a small pile of wood.
“Well, that’s convenient.” He said as Cast’Ia led him over to the circle.
“On of the few QoLs the game provides.” The girl said as she grabbed a small wad of cotton from her pack. “I think they were worried about deforestation if we had to cut or own wood her these.”
Wanderer nodded and took a seat against the cool rocks, watching as Cast’Ia placed the cotton under some kindling, grabbed some wood and set about making a fire. He began to hum after a few moments, an old dirge of a song from a fantasy movie soundtrack. He was barely a verse in when he caught Cast’Ia staring at him wide-eyed.
“What?” He asked, giving the Sprig a questioning look.
The girl shook her head, and hurriedly went back to making the fire. As Wanderer began to relax as he resumed humming and was surprised when Cast’Ia joined him. She appeared too young to know the song, but what did he know, she may have been a grandmother IRL. Or, he thought. More likely she’s a movie buff and watched the film over the ‘net.
Soon enough a fire danced before them, its small flames inviting them to stare at the soul of the fire. Cast’Ia was reclining near him, resting her back on her pack, a long blade of sweet tasting grass hanging from her mouth.
Wanderer cleared his throat grabbing the girl’s attention. “Not to sound ungrateful,” he said, his voice far gruffier than he intended. “But, why are helping me?”
The healer shrugged and sat up. “You’re a newb who got the worst starting roll ever.” She said with a laugh. “You were lucky to get me instead of some ganking fuckwad.”
Wanderer nodded and leaned back, closing his eyes. The sensation of the cool rock on the back of head, the warmth of the crackling fire on his legs, and the cool breeze stirring through the trees simply amazed him. He took in a deep breath, taking in the smell of the sweet grass and ancient forest around him. So much like a new world that he could easily forget it was a game. A new world full of wonders to be explored, secrets to reveal, adventures to be had … and yet there were still those who would choose to sully this world with senseless player killing. He let out a frustrated sigh. Pk’ers, gankers, whatever someone wanted to call them had been a plague in plague in online games since UO back in the ‘90s. “It’s just a game,” “get gud,” a bunch of lowlife trash as far as Wanderer was considered. Marcus been part of Hunter parties back in the days of ForeverQuest, patrolling the newbie zones to try and dissuade PK’ers from ruining the game on new players, he continued that trend through FantasyCraft, FQ2, FQNext, but there were always more of them, and the hunting never ended. Eventually, he’d grown tired of it all, the game had become a second job and to him he was as burnout as a cop 2 days from retirement. It also didn’t help that the Isolde – his first daughter – was on the way, and Dale was demanding more and more of his time.
He opened his eyes and looked over at Cast’Ia who was busying herself with a large tome. “How bad is it, the PK’ing?” His voice was somewhat subdued.
Cast’Ia looked over at him, her face obscured by the dancing shadows cast by the fire. “Depends on the person, I guess.” She said, her voice hesitant. “The game doesn’t have a pain filter – you’re the rare exception – so you can feel it, and for some it’s a bit too much.” She closed her book. “The major cities are safe zones, no PK’ing allowed. A few test players hole up in them after their first death, just waiting around for their time to run out … other’s use the emergency log-out function and never come back.”
Wanderer nodded. That made sense. He’d almost died once back in Iraq, and it was an experience he would never wish on anyone. “How about you,” he asked suddenly. “Have you ever died in game?”
Cast’Ia looked at him, a terrified expression coming over her face. She looked around, then down at her sacred tome. “Nothing so far,” she mumbled quietly. “Maybe I can …” She trailed off and whipped her head to look at Wanderer sharply. “It’s all good! Doesn’t stop me!” She said …
… Something was off. Wanderer looked bewildered. For a second why she spoke her voice sounded strange, like the overdubbing in a TV movie – Yippee Ki-Yay Mister Falcon – What’s more her face didn’t match the glibness of the words, her eyes were afraid …
Wanderer was still pondering this when a sound broke through the forest. The roar of some beast, but strangely enough underscored by what sounded like a dial-up connection.
Cast’Ia jumped to her feet, the fear in her face growing. “Fuck!” She screamed, as she scanned the forest, her hand reaching for her staff. “We need to run, forget everything else!” She barked at Wanderer. “Now!”
Wanderer jumped to his feet, grabbing his impromptu club and started to rush toward the path, Cast’Ia at his heels. Just as they were about to exit the clearing the ground shook and several trees flew past them.
“Too late,” Cast’Ia cried, her voice several octaves higher.
Wanderer turned, standing where the fire had been, was a giant black bear, easily twelve feet tall, and standing on its hind legs. That, Wanderer noticed, wasn’t the scary part. No, the scary part was the leather armor and giant double-bladed axe it carried in one hand.