Lightning crackled across the darkened horizon as Malicius leaned down upon the highest balcony of the tallest tower of his incredibly ominous castle fortress, peering down at his equally ominous domain. He was the ‘The Phosphagus Dark Magus’, the demon lord of this land. The un-contested ruler of the heavenly demonic sect. Many many years ago, in his youth he had accidentally stumbled across an ancient tome written by some unhinged madman who, coincidentally, had a theory on cultivation that really resonated with Malicius. The theory went ‘Why do all the hard work yourself when you can just absorb the life forces of others? With this one trick you too can become the greatest, most feared, most powerful, and undoubtably the most handsome being to ever ascend from the mortal planes. Terms and conditions of the following prophecy apply…” He did not read any further.
“Excuse me, most dreaded one…” a voice filled with absolute reverence and fear called out from behind him. He knew they were there of course; no one could sneak up on him, certainly not one of his measly acolytes. Instead of verbally acknowledging his attendant, he sent out a weak burst of chi, not enough to harm the decrepit creature but enough to remind him of his immense power. “Ah yes, my lord, your sickening aura is most… um... sickening! Vile even!” His mook kowtowed before him. Malicius allowed a small smirk to spread across his emaciated face. Of course he was vile, he was The Phosphagus, the devourer of light, Antithesis of Hope. “Most despicable one, I bring news from your disciple, Vroma. She wishes to let you know she has arrived at her destination and will begin preparations for the next stage of your most nefarious plan…” his minion relayed. This really was good news. His disciples were sent out across the Hinterlands with the explicit goal of inciting fear and chaos among the plebian masses, where the artefacts he so benevolently bequeathed to his minions, would harvest the dark energies said fear and chaos would generate. After a short while, the attendant left his presence without further instruction. A most excellent servant, he would allow that one to live a little longer. Malicius content with the progress of his masterful plans sighed with relief. He loved doing absolutely nothing and getting everything exactly as he wanted.
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After attempting to mentally collect himself from waking up in a new world, possibly gaining some kind of magical power and then immediately being thrown into a fight with goblins, he gathered their corpses and began to go through their belongings where he found: a small sack of miscellaneous detritus and various wee trinkets, 11 bullets, 9 bronze coins, and 2 iron coins. He also found a partially full metal flask, a small tobacco pouch, something he assumed was a fire steel, a wide brimmed hat, and another gun; a single action revolver like the one he disarmed from the first goblin. Upon picking it up his sight was drawn to the gun, where something strange happened.
Item: Goblin Revolver Quality: POOR UNCOMMON
This rather awful revolver is originally of a reliable gnomish design, but after being tinkered with by goblin gearheads, it can fire a wide variety of ammunition. It is much more likely backfire, misfire, or otherwise cause you an unfortunate time.
The description flared in his mind, startling him. For some reason it spoke in a rather opulent English accent. He wasn’t sure why, but he felt strangely antagonistic against the thing.
“Uh, Hullo?” Dean started, hoping this would generate some sort of response. There was no reply. Dean had played his share of games, read his share of comics and novels. And wanted to try it out. The thing.
“Status!” Nothing happened.
“Inventory!” Nope.
“Menu! Open sesame!” Nae a bloody thing.
“For fucks sake, man!” he cried in frustration. Realising this was a waste of time, Dean clambered to his feet and took a deep breath. The sun was beginning its descent, and he had no idea where to go, or what to do. No, he did know. First and foremost, survival. He had a decent chance here; there was shelter and running water. But he wasn’t sure about food.
He had caught the goblin digging in the dirt, and it asked him for munching which he strongly guessed was food. He supposed he could eat the goblins but didn’t know if it was edible and, after the 8-point heavenly herb incident, he didn’t want to risk it lest it ‘sow the seeds of corruption across his dantian’ He had no idea what any of that meant but it sounded cool. He made his choice. He would go out in search of a people who could help. He emptied the flask of its contents, clambered up the rock side in search of the stream, found it after a short while, refilled the flask and stowing it in a jacket pocket. He then clambered down and decided North was a good direction and plodded off.
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Over the next few, incredibly uneventful, hours Dean’s mind began to wander back over the past few days. He knew he was not happy. He worked a very mundane IT desk job at an unremarkable company that paid exactly the average salary for his position, but demanded unpaid overtime to reach targets, and even didn’t let him have a day off for his birthday (That was something of a sore spot for Dean). The cold-hearted corporate machine had decided to cut down on his department after they all worked their asses off to create and deploy an automated pipelining service that would do their job without asking HR about the lack of birthday-related days off. Normally Dean would finish work around 7pm, cycle home for 7:30pm, play a round or two of whatever game Rob, his best friend and flatmate was playing, pop by his girlfriend Sophie’s house for tea (read: dinner) Who had most likely eaten already, and head home to tidy up, and head to bed.
After being given that fated notice of dismissal, Dean decided to head home early only to encounter Sophie and Rob playing Naked twister in the combined living room/ kitchen. Dean’s initial reaction was confusion, then denial; Sophie was supposed to be doing her Master’s, she was always busy with her Master’s. That’s why he hardly met up with her anymore. His next next emotion was anger, a seething white-hot anger. The fury of ten thousand suns surged through Dean’s body before dissolving away in the thick, viscous weight of depression. The whole moment was over in about 4 seconds. He entered the door, looked up at the scene before him, coughed, turned right back around left, closing the door softly behind him. He mindlessly waiting in front of the lift for a short while, got inside the rather claustrophobic metal box, and bent over with his hand on his knees, retching. But nothing would come. His body refused to throw up anything, but the taste of bile reached his throat causing him to hack and splutter. He quickly headed outside from the lift and walked to the nearby station, realizing that he could not be arsed to wait for the next train, he continued his march, all the way down to Kelvinhall.
Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.
He had a soft spot for the bars here. Rob, Soph, and he would always end up in one of them after classes when they studied at the nearby University of Glasgow. He thought those were good times, Him and Rob had plans to open a company that did Security consultation, or Web development, they could never decide. None of that happened. Soph knew what she wanted to do though, she always had it planned out. Bachelours in Computer Science, 2 years in Development until she had the experience to be a full stack developer, back to Uni for her Master’s studying neural networks in artificial intelligence, then a PhD in the same. Dean had always admired her drive and discipline. He wanted to marry her one day, maybe start a family? He wasn’t sure if he’d ever want kids, he knew she didn’t and that was okay. She wanted to prioritize herself, and he wanted to be there to support that, but he did want to have something. Something he could call a family.
As a teen Dean had lost his mum after complications with her lifelong illness, and his ol’ da did not take that well. He decided that Dean was old enough to be the man of the house, and he would take the incredible burden of being a deadbeat alcoholic very seriously. He once looked up to the man, he taught Dean how to fish, how to set up a tent, how to create his own shelter from what he had, all sorts of soldier stuff, despite never being in the forces himself. He was stern, and a bit distant, but ultimately loved Dean and his mother. But after her passing he changed completely. There was no hard but caring gaze, no unsolicited advice, just a cold void. A shell of the man who he once was. He too died a few years later, but dean had always thought he truly died that day with his ma. It was a lonely time after that.
The drinks came quickly, Beer, beer, whisky, beer, several shots of something that tasted like poison, but he didn’t care. It didn’t feel long but he was eventually asked to leave the premises by a very encouraging, very large bald man with a beard and missing teeth. Dean explained that he was fine, and not in fact, bladdered or ‘causing a scene’.
Then things got hazy. But he knew he ended up on the old ‘Our World’ Mural. The perspective made him dizzy, and he stumbled back on his ass, right in a puddle, where he sat and cried for a long time. He realized he was cold. He looked up into the sky and was not surprised to feel the drizzling rain. He also realized that there were very few people here. Scratch that, no one was around. In his state of great inebriation, it was only a bit strange to him in that, in the centre of a major city, it was all so still. The usual gusty winds were calm, there were no taxis blaring horns, no shouts from the fellow Weegies off on the pish. The only sounds the soft drizzle, the gentle slosh of the Clyde nearby. In that moment, he was at peace. He had found catharsis. The next thing he knew he woke in that cave.
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It was last light before Dean decided to stop and make camp for the night. He had found a reasonable clearing; he gathered some twigs and smaller branches from the brush around him to use for firewood. The land here was less arid, but still not as lush as he was used to. He was cautious of starting a fire he could lose control of in this drier climate. Surprisingly he wasn’t hungry yet, a wee bit peckish perhaps, but he would survive the night without food. Come morning however, he was not sure he would have the strength to trek very far, let alone all day as he had planned. He would need to eat. Thinking quickly, he tossed his coat and the little burlap sack that held much of his things, taking only his knife. He crept quietly away from his camp for quite some ways, until he spotted what he was looking for. A hole. Dean had never hunted, while he had the opportunity to, he never felt it was appropriate as a sport and not wanting for food so desperately, he did not need to hunt for his meals. Until now. He carefully unlaced his boots and began to prepare. He knew a few knots off by heart but was out of practice. He found a nearby sapling and began to set up his snare. He repeated the process with his other lace and made his way back in the direction he came. With no small amount of luck, he would have breakfast.
“Cheers.” Dean muttered as he bit into the slightly charred rabbit. He was elated, for the first time in so long he felt proud of himself. He had never caught anything to eat before, and despite his uncertainty he was successful. He wasn’t normally the type of person to be grateful for things like this, he came from a place where food was easy to come by, so long as you have a few quid you could buy yourself a burger or a sandwich. Obviously, there were those who struggled, even in a big city like Glasgow. Poverty was everywhere, but so was abundance. In Dean’s eyes it was a matter of greed.
Dean wasn’t sure how to dress a kill, so it came as no surprise that he mostly butchered the poor thing. He also didn’t have time to bleed it, so it wasn’t the greatest eating he had ever had. Despite that, it was good. Really good. He would kill for a packet of crisps and an IrnBru but knew that he would never taste them again.
As soon as he had finished his meal it happened again. His head shot with a blinding pain, but this time when he opened his eyes he was met with a screen:
--Log--
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Experience gained: Analytics. Analytics has gone from level 0 – level 0.
Experience gained: Botany. Botany has gone from level 0 – level 1.
Experience gained: Fortitude. Fortitude has gone from level 0 – level 1.
(The subskill ‘Poison resistance’ has been created from Fortitude)
Experience gained: Poison resistance. Poison resistance has gone from level 0 – level 0.
Experience gained: Stealth. Stealth has gone from level 0 – level 0.
Experience gained: Combat Prowess. Combat Prowess has gone from level 0 – level 1.
(The subskill ‘Flow’ has been created from Combat prowess)
Experience gained: Flow. Flow has gone from level 0 – level 0.
Experience gained: Firearms. Firearms has gone from level 0 – level 1.
Experience gained: Firearms: Pistol has gone from level 0 – level 1.
(The subskill ‘Quick-fire’ has been created from Firearms)
Experience gained: Quick-fire. Quick-fire has gone from level 1 – level 1.
Experience gained: Analytics. Analytics has gone from level 0 – level 1.
Experience gained: Hunting. Hunting has gone from level 0 – level 1.
(The subskill ‘Traps’ has been created from Hunting)
Experience gained: Traps. Traps has gone from level 0 – level 1.
Experience gained: Cooking. Cooking has gone from level 0 – level 1.
“Woah” Dean spoke out loud. “I know Kung-Fu”.