Chapter 7: A Draught of Arbuvoir

“Vetch!” I cursed, tapping my temple to check mana.

The combination of the low hiss and the massive shadow pissed me off. I hadn’t even gotten to loot the elemental demon, and those things often dropped useful stuff for a magic dealer such as myself.

I was at 30% mana. Not good. I’d used too much casting Thrombosilade. “Vetch! Vetching fark placker!”

Ha, I thought, slowly turning and readying a midlevel Arc Flash attack. Let’s see those bozos censor that!

I braced myself, ready to throw down with whatever monstrous beastie had cast such an immense shadow. I gasped at what I saw.

The shadow had been a cheat. The creature was larger than the shadow suggested. Much larger. In fact, it was the biggest Ember Shell I’d yet encountered.

Four scaled and heavily muscled tree-trunk limbs lifted the rest of its spiky, armored tortoise-shell bulk to a height of ten feet or more. Its head, now raised on its elongated neck, was shaped like a somewhat flattened pyramid, the point being the hooked beak of its serrated maw. It emitted that same rumbling hiss, and its bulbous eyes, fiery rings of red iris, kindled from red to angry-orange. The pupils, each struck through with a black slash, narrowed to slits, focusing on yours truly. Smoldering striations flared on the ridges of its rippling shell, and its heat washed over me. I could see the telltale molten light in the cracks of its jaws.

“Oh,” I said, dropping the spell prep, “it’s only you.”

Gam-Gam lumbered forward, one edge of his thick head barreling into my chest, knocking me back a few paces. The golden feathery tubercles that ran from his jawline and down the length of his neck combed my beard and tickled my cheek. He emitted a throaty burbling sound, and I scratched a little under his chin.

“Yes, yes. Who’s a good boy?” I asked, cooing stupidly. “Gam-Gam is. That’s who. You came back just in time, didn’t you, ya big fire turtle, you. We’ve got to get moving.”

As if he was raring to go, Gams kicked out his back legs, scratching at the ground and sending a hail of soil and stone flying.

“But first, I’ve got to collect my Looty-loot. Oh, yes, I do.” I gave him a playful swat on his hooked nose, and turned back to the remains of the demon.

I tapped my temple, and text appeared in opaque lettering:

“Yes.”

<1 Half-Eaten Choco-Lox Demon Brittle Bar>

Except for the junk item, this was better-than-average loot. The bracers were especially strong, much better than the tarnished leather things I’d been wearing. I equipped the enchanted armor, and turned back to Gam-Gam.

My friendly turtle mount looked at me, turning his head at an angle and chewing the air with his jaws.

“No, I’m sorry. Nothing for you in the loot. Hold on.” I tapped my temple and went to my inventory. “Oh, this might work.”

I selected a pile of Root Runt Filets. The slimy things appeared on my outstretched palm, and I tossed them up. Gam-Gam is an Ember Shell, a type of giant tortoise, and yet anything but slow. His head shot out on its telescoping neck, and he snatched the gnarly meat right out of the air.

“Good?”

Gam-Gam burped, releasing a little puff of black smoke. Pretty sure that meant, Yes, however the smell of that belch could peel bark off a tree. I quickly used the spikes on the side of his shell to climb up to my saddle and out of the cloud of burp-nasty.

Right about now you’re wondering how my pet turtle from my tank in Mauna Kea turned into a giant fire-breathing mount here in this forsaken fantasy land. I guess I haven’t caught you up enough quite yet. So let me take you back to Stormhaven.

[Insert Hiatus Marks]

My first morning in Stormhaven, I awoke with a fabulous yawn-stretch combo, and found Grand Elf leaning on a staff in the doorway backlit by glimmers of gold, white, and green.

“I don’t know what it is,” I said, patting the thin mattress beneath me, “but that was the best night of sleep I’ve had in years.”

“Stormhaven is a refuge, you know,” he replied. “Rest in a refuge is, by design, magnificent. You will find several refuge waypoints during your journey, and when you do, you will find me also. Refuges like this one are particularly good at healing the deeper wounds, the nerve-level weariness and the emotional toll, wounds that spells and potions cannot mend.”

Wounds that spells and potions cannot mend. The turbulence in my gut came back. Fiery visions of Mauna Kea erupting, exploding, being overcome by the black hole’s hunger—burst into my mind. Millions of people—billions—dead. I felt hollow, alone on a level that beggars imagination.

“On your feet, lad,” Grand Elf said, raising me up out of bed. He escorted me out of the shadowy bedroom and into the many-windowed light of the vast parlor. The wonder of dwelling in a living tree once again stole over me.

My eyes misting a bit, Grand Elf sat me down at a small round table. And, even though I had eaten the same menu the night before, my mouth watered as he gave me a heaping plate of breakfast: bacon, scones and gravy, home-fried potatoes, and these strange, smoky little meat pies that reminded me of scrapple.

My mind pleasantly distracted by the food, I asked, “You make a killer breakfast, Grand Elf, but ah… why no eggs?”

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He let a skillet slide from his hand into a wash basin and stared at me drolly. “Because you do not like eggs.”

“How… how did you—?”

“Really, of all the questions itching your mind, the eggs compel you?”

I shut up and ate my second breakfast at Stormhaven.

[Insert Hiatus Marks]

Grand Elf had suggested that I get dressed in all the gear I’d been wearing when he found me the previous day. Honestly, it had been more like a command than a suggestion.

When I again entered the parlor, Grand Elf clapped his hands once and said, “Follow me.”

He led the way out of the parlor and along a curling hallway. We came to a majestic set of stained French doors that opened onto a wide balcony facing the woods. The sun was almost directly overhead, and it was comfortably warm. Light filtering down through the trees gave the forest a dazzling gray-green illumination that undulated as the trunks swayed.

Grand Elf guided me to a bench polished by many years and probably many derrières. Both balcony and bench were shaped without cut or nail, growing directly from the rich amber wood of the massive tree. I sat and immediately became aware of a peculiar leaden decanter resting upon a shelf of flaky white lichen growing on the trunk. The small pitcher was an arm’s reach away and nearly full of rainwater or some other clear liquid.

Booh-wip. A drop fell into the pitcher from heights unseen.

“Go ahead,” Grand Elf said as he joined me on the bench, “pour us each a cup.” He handed me two slender frosted glass cups that looked a little like overstretched shot glasses. I hadn’t seen them in his hand as we walked outside, nor had I seen him remove them from a satchel.

I took the decanter. It was heavier than it looked and a little unwieldy to pour into two narrow glasses. I managed, replaced the decanter, and handed one glass to Grand Elf.

“What are we drinking to?” I asked.

“Not that sort of drink,” Grand Elf replied, a coarse edge in his voice. His expression softened. “I suppose some sort of toast might be in order. In that case, to the Outcasts of the world.”

He held up his glass, so I held up mine. Just before he drank, he said something I didn’t quite catch.

After I drank, I asked, “What was that you said? Sounded like some kind of cheers thing, but I—”

He held up his gnarled hand and signaled a countdown. “Three… two… one…”

Holy biscuits and gravy! Whatever the drink was, it hit me like a mack truck. Not like a shot of bourbon. Not an alcoholic mack truck at all. More like a paradise mack truck. It was all I could do not to bust out some James Brown, “I feel good!”

Maybe it was the goofy grin on my face, but Grand Elf laughed, his shoulders hopping up and down in genuine mirth. When he collected himself, he said, “Bar a’ Fa healt-wan… is what I said. A traditional blessing in this realm.”

“No doubt,” I said, shivering with delight. “That stuff’s amazing.”

The little blue light blinked in my periphery, so I touched my temple. The scroll appeared, and that lovely British lady voice said: *[New Achievement Earned: You’ve Been Buffed, 10 Achievement Points. The potion you just drank provides +5 to all Stats for Three Hours!]*

“Tasty, eh?” Grand Elf asked with a chuckle. “Those Arbuvoir buffs will come in handy. I have just given you a flask of the stuff for your inventory. Use it sparingly.”

The achievement flew away to its tab on the scroll. The Inventory tab glistened, so I mentally tapped it. The drop down menu showed my old leather bracers, the runt filets, potions, and a Flask of Arbuvoir with a little number 5 subscript.

“Five uses?” I muttered.

“Quite right,” Grand Elf said. “How did you… ah, right, your earthly gaming experiences will serve you well here.”

I stared. “This is messing with my categories,” I grumbled. “Look, I’m more than happy to keep going with the dream motif. Y’know, something like I’m in a coma having a fever dream where I’ve fallen into one of the fantasy games I used to love? But, last night, you convinced me that this is all… real.”

The mirth vanished from his expression like a vapor, and only his thunderstorm eyes remained. “Rick,” he said, “of all the lies I wish were true, I wish most that I could say to you, ‘Have no fear; you are dreaming.’ Such prevarication, however, would most certainly get you killed. The truth is… you and the other Outcasts were spared from death, but your world and life as you previously knew it… are dead.”

In spite of the Arbuvoir, I didn’t feel so great any longer. The cold, hollow ache churning in my gut confirmed once again that Earth was gone. My throat contracted, but I glurked out, “What is this place?”

“The world is called Illdari. The continent is made of seven realms. Stormhaven is at the southern tip of the Realm of Timbervale. This is where your journey begins.”

“Are the others like me, the Outcasts, are they here too?”

“Somewhere in Illdari, yes. Their journeys begin in other refuges like this one, in other realms, with other guides like me.”

“You keep using the word journey. What does that mean… for me?”

“Your path will lead you through all the Seven Realms,” he said. “Timbervale, first. It will be a long and arduous route, fraught with terrible dangers.”

I thought of the Root Runt that had nearly gnawed off my arm. “You’re coming with me, right?”

Grand Elf turned away from me so abruptly that his beard whipped up over his shoulder. He glared out over the balcony’s rail into the forest.

I got chills. “What? What’s out there?”

“Spying imps,” he muttered between gritted teeth.

I stood and leaned over the rail, but at first, saw no sign. “I don’t see—” I started to say, but in that moment, I spotted a shape near an old white birch, a shape that was akimbo and knobby like a branch but wasn’t a branch.

I had no opportunity to identify the unnerving figure because Grand Elf smashed the butt of his staff to the floor. A geyser of blue-white flame erupted in that spot next to the birch. When I looked again, I saw gossamer ash falling to the forest floor, but the birch was unscathed, not even smudged.

“Whoa!” I blurted. In my own ears, I sounded like Keanu Reeves circa Bill and Ted era. “What was that?”

Grand Elf looked admiringly at his staff and said, “That was Wisp Ignition, a rather potent conflagration spell, if I do say so myself.”

“Please tell me you’re coming with me on this journey thing.”

“No, I am afraid not. As a guide, I must remain here in Stormhaven, but you will have access to this place and to me wherever you find a Waypoint.” He stood and leered into the woods. “Hmph. When you depart this afternoon, I suggest the northern road. That way, you will find the first Waypoint quite soon and hopefully defy the attention of those pesky imps.”

I’m not entirely sure what Grand Elf said beyond this afternoon. “What?” I gasped. “I’m leaving today?”

“Well, yes. You’ve rested. I’ve stocked your inventory.”

“Are you serious?” I blurted, throwing my hands up in the air. “You aren’t going to take a few months to teach me how to fight and cast spells? Don’t I at least get a cool training montage with some rocking but anachronistic tunes?”

“That is not how training works here,” Grand Elf replied. “Here you must level up to gain most new abilities, and to level up, you need to fight, explore, craft, and earn achievements.”

I sat on the bench with a thump. “This is all happening too fast. I’m an astronomer not a warrior or wizard.”

“You will find friends unlooked for along your way,” Grand Elf said. “You will likely meet other Outcasts, chosen like you were, and a host of beings who will play some role in your quest for good or ill.”

I let my head thump back against the tree trunk and closed my eyes. “I don’t get it. I’m an Outcast, and we’re all chosen for this?”

I opened my eyes to see Grand Elf nodding.

“But chosen for what? I mean, do we have goals of some kind? What’s the point? For that matter, chosen by whom?” Is it who or whom? I can never remember.

“As for who chose you,” Grand Elf said, “time will reveal much. At this point, I am honestly not certain of your sponsor. But yes, you and the other Outcasts have several goals: cross each of the Seven Realms of Illdari, gain loot, levels, and experience, defeat enemies—including the Border Guardians, which I suppose you would call bosses—and complete a side quest or three.”

I hunched over, hands on my knees, and sighed. “This is crazy,” I muttered. “We all—back on Earth—we all had beliefs and theories about what would happen… you know, after? But I never expected the afterlife to be some giant, cosmic video game.”

“This is not the afterlife,” Grand Elf corrected. “You and the other Outcasts are not dead. But, Rick, this is anything but a game. Get as strong as you can in as many ways as you can. Gather those you can trust, but above all: stay alive. In the wilds of Illdari, there is no reset button.”