Things as they were had a tendency to roll off the rails really fast. Escalate downhill in other words, especially for lack of rails and when said hill had the integrity of a wet sandcastle. The ground was replete with water, soggy earth slipping away under every step, turning the initially jovial progress into a calf-burning, ankle-twisting disaster.
The undead milling about the road had some fault too, though they suffered similarly from the bad footing. Except the dogs. Those in particular were nasty. Whenever Elia didn’t get a jump on them, they flung their bony bodies at her like suicidal heat-seeking missiles, often from unfortunately strategic angles.
Even more unfortunate was their tendency to travel in packs, either paired with another dreg, or with one or two other dogs. Presently, a total of seven ravenously snapping beasts of bone were nipping at her heels, making the descent that much more involved.
Oh my gosh, Oh my gosh! I can’t look–
Elia slid down a crumbling ravine, grabbed a protruding root and nearly slipped out of her gloves. Mud covered them on the inside and out. She wasn’t quite certain if the root could hold her weight and had little time to ponder. The baying was closer than ever as she measured the fall to a poorly defined trail in the forest sinking ever more into the nearby swamp.
Eh, she’d survive.
Elia let go, regretting the decision only a moment after rolling down a slope before meeting a tree with her forehead. Dazed, but mostly alive, Elia came to a halt after inertia and friction had done their duty, the pack growling and snapping at her from atop the ten-foot fall.
The forest so far had been less than inviting and all the more confusing. Conifers stood with their needles all pointing straight up, some trees bloomed flowers while not a single leaf was in sight and in her immediate vicinity, the trees looked more like anemones transplanted from the sea and turned into gnarled woody constructs grasping for the sky.
Miraculously, she didn’t sustain any major injuries despite the poor footing. A small mercy which was quickly drowned by two thumps sounding out nearby. Two hounds both stupid enough to have followed her and unlucky enough to have broken a leg or two in the process stared back with starved eyes.
Elia guessed she’d be hungry too, without a stomach or most of her digestive tract. With still spinning vision she stumbled to the first dog, doming it in the head. She could get used to this axe, but the simple stab–retract motion of her old shortsword would always hold a special place in her heart. For now, the still twitching dog demanded her full attention.
You have gained: Bone shard [Common] x1
One dead. Good. On to the next.
C-can I look yet?
The second dog had nearly righted itself when she gave it a good kick in the kidney. Not that it had anything there besides bones. Though they were bleached and brittle, the hurt went both ways. Elia decided to check for broken toes afterwards when her foot suddenly gave out and she toppled on top of the dog.
“Uh-oh.” She said, staring down at slavering jaws.
Uh–oh? What do you mean, uh-oh!?
“Keep your eyes – away – shut!” She tried hitting the dog with the hilt of her axe. The dog bit her punching arm, sharp teeth closing in around her bracers with uncomfortable pressure.
What are those noises? Eee, I don’t want to know, I’ll open my eyes laaater!
The struggle went on for a few seconds, the dog trying frantically to dislodge her arm by wrenching its head side to side while Elia was leaning more on the ‘let’s not do that’ side. Her magic staff was useless and after dropping it she pulled out a dagger she had repossessed.
It found its way into the dog’s neck. It died, and Elia immediately minimized the smoke confirming her victory. The baying was distant now, they were looking for a way around. They’d find it too, given time. Undead were persistent like that, no matter the type.
What else was there that could turn undead? Werewolves, hydras, dragons?
“Rye, does your world have any dragons?”
Dragons? W-well, I heard Worga fought some, though maybe those were just stories and fairytales. Can I open my eyes yet?
“Yeah. Man, I’d love to have a dragon. I’d love to be a dragon. Scales, fire, death, RAWR–” Elia stilled. Were those barks drifting closer or further away? “I’d love to be a fast dragon. Time to move.”
She struggled to stand. The moment she put weight on her left foot, pain that she couldn’t ignore lanced up her leg. She definitely twisted her ankle on that fall. Running was out of the question now, hiding as well if the dogs could still smell her.
Elia gave the path ahead that seemed to move mostly on planks and into an actual swamp a look before soldiering on.
“This wouldn’t have happened if you’d just hit your shot.”
Excuse me? You’re the one who saw a patrol of four swordsmen, two mages and some militia and said ‘dome that one on the right’. How was I supposed to know you didn’t mean the dog, but the guy with a crossbow?
“Hey, it isn’t my fault you can’t prioritize your targets for shit. We could have done them all cleanly in a row, metal-gear style but no, you just had to go for the dog right in his line of sight.”
I don’t wanna use it on people! I’m also completely new to magic, it’s very different from a rock and sling, alright? Especially when you whip your head around like that, it makes it hard to aim and focus. And… I still hit the mage with it.
Elia nearly slipped on an algae-covered plank. The improvised walkway was proving a deathtrap for someone with only a single functioning foot.
“That was totally by accident. You wouldn’t even hit people if I bribed you,” Elia said, measuring the depth of the swamp with a stick at roughly two feet. “You’re terribly hard to work with, you know that?”
This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.
You’re horrible at communicating! I’m not the one with fighting experience, you should take that into account when I’ve barely been at this for a day.
Neither of the two spoke for a while as Elia hobbled along a path that was starting to even out, stopping to listen for pursuers every few steps.
“…yeah, you’re right. You are very new to this. Shouldn’t have expected you to be the Legolas to my Gimli just yet.”
See? Admitting your fault in this wasn’t so hard, right?
“You still can’t hit for shit though.”
Hey! Languaaage!
All concerns for proper language aside, Rye’s lack of aim was a serious issue. “It’s like you’re relying on divine ballistic intervention more than actual skill.”
She threw up two parts of her breath that seemed relevant.
Undead cursemark: Swelling.
Greatly diminishes spirit. Moderately diminishes body. Slightly diminishes sense and mind.
While she didn’t know why it changed from quelled to swelling, the greatly diminished soul was an issue with Rye’s boon being dependent on that stat. And it was weak as an unlearned child’s.
I… yes, you’re right, I am a poor shot. If I had to learn magic the hard way, I’d have studied how to heal sickness or shoot fireworks from my hands. But I don’t have a choice, do I? I have a boon and now I just have to make the best of it. And that means practicing hitting my few shots.
Elia perked up, blinking in mild astonishment. “Way to go, brain bud. You’re finally getting into that die-or-grind mentality.”
Also, the bolt is super hard to control. Like trying to press a wet bar of soap in your hand. It’s hard to grasp and… slippery. I’m doing my best, alright?
Elia giggled immaturely. “That’s what she said.”
Yes, I did. Your point?
“Nevermind.”
They trudged past a swamp-soaked corpse, again empty of all loot. The trail went past a row of half-sunken walls little more than lines of rubble before a less completely dilapidated ruin peeked out between the endless trees growing ever twisted up ahead. It must have been a church once, or a chapel given its size, foundations sinking into the surrounding swamp which at this point was a nearly knee-deep mire.
The forest isn’t a place for us. Only beasts and the inhuman walk here.
They both listened for any sign of an ambush. “At least there aren’t any leeches, mosquitos or other lil’ shits.”
Elia’s checkpoint-sense was tingling. Not an official boon by any means, but the years spent in the maze had gained her an instinct for finding them and loot. No two checkpoints were too far apart, and this place seemed a likely candidate for the next one.
Elia could do without the pain of a broken rib and foot. Bruises and small cuts littering her body were also waiting for the sweet rejuvenation of the healing water, but as she put a hand on the doorless doorway, instincts hammered in over lifetimes brought her next step to a halt.
An arrow whooshed by her chest, embedding into the side of a willowy tree. Elia froze for a second, saw no cover within hobbling distance, and instead made for a mad hobble towards the stone ruin. It was that damned waterlogged corpse they’d passed. She forgot the number one rule that applied even in a medieval zombie apocalypse: Always double tap.
Another arrow struck, and both her and Rye screamed as this time it pierced her thigh where the chainmail didn’t reach. The impact rung sharp through her bone, but she staggered only once before pulling herself through the doorway, waging herself in safety.
She had moments to see the club approach her face.
EEEK!
“FUCK!” She stumbled out back and another arrow struck, this time center mass. She clutched her staff and axe, feeling her strength leaving her, making it hard to stand. Just business as usual, stacks upon stacks of odds against her. The thought alone gave her the guts to take a step forward, embedding her hatchet in the lanky club–wielder’s neck.
You have gained: Soul x125
Another strike – a third one!? – swung from the side and spun her head like a carousel. Her vision went, then her consciousness, then her will to stand. She met the soggy floor of the swamp, the smell of rotting algae a last remembrance lingering before everything was quiet again.
----------------------------------------
The car-ride back from the police station was quiet, filling the impeccably clean insides of the coupé with an air of silent judgement. Elia sat in the back, fourteen years old, dressed in a black-on-black fashion disaster with rainbow gloves purposefully mismatching her other arm laden with too many bracelets. Her eyes were fixated on some inscrutable point in the distance.
Her father didn’t sigh. He never did, no disappointment or any other negative emotion ever escaped his normally placid façade. Sometimes, it looked as if he was just a passenger in his own body, playing a role as he drifted on a second-hand experience of the world instead of truly looking through his soft green eyes and bothering to care.
Though to be fair, he could muster genuine human emotions at times like these.
“I can’t believe you tried to break into our own house.”
Not that she succeeded. Whatever she could scrounge up in the garage was not enough to open the front or back door. It wasn’t her fault that her key snapped mid twist. Keys didn’t do that, normally, though the snap freeze was most likely at fault for turning the stamped metal brittle.
Somehow, this all was conspiring to turn out to be her fault in the end.
Ridiculous.
“Should be glad I didn’t smash any windows. Or use your power tools.”
“You broke the lock!” Her father tried to yell. It came out as more of a complaint. “The police found lockpicks in your bag, Elia. Lockpicks!”
Yes. Her RECREATIONAL lockpicks. The ones she tried to get the broken bit of key out of the lock with. “You were supposed to be home! Not at some stupid artsy gathering.”
“I sell art for a living Elia. And as exhausting as it is, networking is necessary.”
“Well, then get a new job!”
The silence reigned again, but the last sentence spiced it with a tinge of silliness. Her father broke it first, chuckling in that weird way that sounded like a man with hiccups being strangled. It lightened her mood a tad and she hid her creeping smirk behind a veneer of dismissive snorts. Soon, she had returned to her survey of passing cars on the highway. A yellow car overtook them slowly and they soon broke sight as they drove up the off ramp. Immediately, opportunistic junk-food chains bombarded her senses with promises of a quick burger, tacos, or pizzas.
“I’m not looking forward to explaining this whole situation to your mother.”
“Just don’t.” Elia’s stomach grumbled. “Put the locksmith down under ‘company expenses’.”
“Wish it were that easy. Not that I’m the only one who’s getting an earful. Smoothie?”
“Hot chocolate.”
A quick five minutes in a particularly packed drive through later and Elia was feeling somewhat better, slurping her maxi cup of milk-equivalent hot goodness. She’d regret this later, but sometimes a craving hit her; intolerance be damned. Would have been nice to have had a hot chocolate while she was freezing her ass off trying to get inside. But maybe staying quiet would make her dad finally put this topic to rest.
“So, got a boyfriend yet?”
The hot chocolate nearly found its way out her nose.
“Dad!”
“What? I’m just saying: My cute little girl is growing up and surely I’m not the only one who noticed.”
“No. Boyfriends.” As the silence dragged on and she knew her father wouldn’t be sated with that much, she continued on. “All the boys in my class suck.”
“A girlfriend then? Girlfriend’s fine, too.” He glanced at the rearview mirror for a split second. “Guess not. Any… friend friends?”
“No.” She took a defiant sip, kicking her dark plateau boots against the front seat. “I’m fine being alone.”
Her father exhaled much in the way of a sigh, an artificial sign as superfluous as him blinking right into a roundabout.
“Well, I can only hope my little fighter changes her mind.” They drove up a suburban road, her dad taking his time as he approached their driveway. “Now, I’ll talk it out with Mom and Grandma, and you’ll get your lockpicks back as long as you promise not to take them with you to school, alright?”
“Alright,” Elia muttered.
The car stopped, but instead of stopping, Elia jerked forwards straight through the back of the seat, tumbling, falling down into indefinite darkness.