Jenna carried out a bag of some of the loose parchments that Lawrence had scattered about his room and the shoebox. I carried out Lawrence's dog, some other parchments, and books collected from the doors. Why was he collecting this stuff? Before he would have even known about war-efra he had to have been collecting this stuff. Was there a market for it? Did he think they contained some arcane rites? Notebooks filled with scribbles and random words lay scattered among the parchments. Drawings of various things; rough sketches, really, of the faces of the Rats, and several renditions of the picture inside of the locket in the shoebox.
As soon as I sat Clio down she ran over to Lawrence’s body, and lay on top of him. Whining.
“Is that all his stuff?” Jenna asked as she sat the box and bag down on the table across the room.
“I think so.”
“Good, can you help me clean his room out for the next guests?”
We spend the next hour and a half cleaning the room; vacuuming; taking out the trash; and replacing the bedding. Jenna asked about the fight, and what happened. I repeated the story that I had told the medic downstairs; leaving out the part of the story where I had intentionally drawn the attention of the horde. I told her that a Rat sentry had spotted us as soon as we got in. Was it a lie? Not exactly. I just left out a little bit of information.
We part when the cleaning is finished, and I see her back to the receptionist’s office. I could feel her eyes on my back as I walk back to my room, they fall away as I enter.
With a quick shower, the wounds and fatigue I felt during the day fell away. It was a far cry from the immortality that I wished for — Lugh didn’t have that kind of power anymore, but it was, perhaps, the greatest tool in my arsenal. I didn’t need to sleep any longer. I set aside half the cash I gathered from the last door for Shawn; some 11,000 dollars in total. That was probably more than he had gotten overall. I add a bit more from my backpack as well, to pad it out to 13,000.
What should I do? I needed a new weapon, but it wasn’t a pressing issue. I could just go inside a low-level door and steal one from one of the enemies, of course, but I needed something more. I had used my entire arsenal of explosives and Molotovs, and they were a key part of my gate-closing strategy, at least here, anyways. I’d lead packs of Rats or Jackals into a house, or into a choke point of some sort; build the burl into a wall in front of me, and lob them over. If there were more than 10, that is. If there were fewer, then I could just fight them off with a spear and shield. It wasn't like this back in Reno. The doors there opened up into a desert town, where all the buildings were loose canvas tents and yurts. There were no closed spaces, and if I used a pipebomb, all the shrapnel would have been lost to the sands, and a Molotov? Forget it. That would have caused the entire city to burn down.
I log onto war-efra and browse to the store section. There were a few people selling guns, and, like always, a few suckers were looking to buy. It wasn’t well known just yet, but the gods did not want us bringing modern firearms over to Efra. I had heard that there were people who brought In one of my first ones, I brought a 9 mm, that vanished while I was passing through the liminal space between Earth and Efra. Apparently, if someone were to die with a modern firearm its technology would be broken down and reversed engineered pretty quickly, and Earth would lose its only real advantage when the anchoring period was over.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
I place an order for a dozen or so pipe bombs; using the rest of what was in my bank account. I would have to sell some more things to Ortega, or on the website. Thinking that, I pull the strange cluster of stones from my pocket that was on the tail of the Rat mage, I turn it over in my hands. I wonder how much I could sell it for. Would it even be worth anything? I toss it up and let it clatter to the tabletop, and pull off the Burl. The roots that bound it to my arm detached with a squelch. I pull the green orb out and place it on the tabletop in front of me.
“Show me what I can purchase.”
With that request, a light shines from the orb and casts a projection on the wall behind it. In the top right corner of the table was the number 239 — the combined, “levels,” of all of the Rats that I had killed since using it.
“How many points would it take to raise my Strength?”
A separate projection opened on top of the table.
20 per increase, for another 3 increases.
“Good, put 60 points into that.”
A table showing my personal stats replaces the message:
Name: Shawn O’Leary
Age: 26
Class: Hero
Patron: Lugh, War God
Available Points: 239
Strength: 77 (+10)
Endurance: 66
Stamina: 22
Intelligence: 9
Creativity: 13
Perceptiveness: 15
Growth Equipment:
Oaken Burl (Growth Available)
Javelin Quiver (Growth Available)
Combat Skills:
Weapons
Spear: 150/999
Thrown: 300/999
Haymaker: 214/999
Shields: 387/999
Explosives: 92/999
Spells
Strength of Many: 21/999
Root Strike: 43/999
Non-Combat Skills:
Shield Wall: 187/999
Wood Affinity: 301/999
Undying ???/???
The 239 ticks all the way down to 179, and my strength increases to 80. The familiar burn of my muscles being reconstructed fills me.
“How many points to increase my Endurance?”
“15 points per increase for another 4.”
“Good, put another 60 in there as well.”
The 179 ticks down to 119, while the 66 goes up to 70. and I feel my lungs and heartburn.
“I’d like to see what I can do with the Burl.”
The table falls away, and a flow chart opens up. I haven’t done much investment into the Burl; I was able to change the shape into a heater, a round, and a tower shield naturally, and, ‘root strike,’ allowed me to manipulate all wood that I touched, and grow as many roots as I want. That’s why the siege tower door that I first took Lawrence on was so simple. Underground, however? I could only use what wood I had on my shield. The only other skill I had unlocked was Shield Wall, which allowed me to grow a palisade with half the wood of my shield. I could manipulate the angle of it as I wished as it grew.
There was another skill that I could get, however. A branch off of Shield Wall Phalanx. The description read as — using a quarter of the Burl, grow a line of spears to hold off and strike at your foes. If I used that in conjunction with Root Strike... It was 100 points.
“Buy Phalanx,” I tell the Emerald Orb.
The 119 drains down to 19. Too low to do anything of value. I grab hold of the orb and put it back into the Burl, and slide the bracer over my wrist. The roots once more graft themselves onto the bone of my arm. I wince and let the wave of pain that always accompanied it. After it passes, I change into my armor, quiver, and toss it on. Sleep was rare. Increasingly so. As I grew stronger, the less I needed it. All the better in the face of extinction.