I learned to shoot from my father. He taught me to align my sights, to maintain a good sight picture, to control my breathing, to smoothly pull the trigger so I didn’t spoil my aim. I learned about the importance of a good backstop, something hard enough to trap my bullets but not so hard that it would cause ricochets. I was told to aim for center mass. Shooting was all about practice and preparation, he preached.

When I stepped out of the vault and began shooting at the orcs, I did none of those things very well. I am sure if he had seen me at that moment he would have just shaken his head, walked over to me and demanded that I make my weapon safe and surrender it to him until I could prove to him that I could use it wisely and competently.

My sight alignment was crap. I couldn’t hold my hands very still, and my breath was pouring out of me in a sobbing scream. When I pulled the trigger of my pistol, I yanked it angrily. I had a difficult time controlling the pistol’s recoil. But I was nothing if not persistent, advancing towards the orcs and jerking the trigger over and over until either they died or I did. Spray and pray anyone?

When I stepped out of the vault, the orcs were still standing in front of the double wooden doors that I now assumed lead to the building’s exit. Their eyes widened as their tusked faces swung around to my position, their hands automatically dropping to the axes at their belts. There was no panic in them as they started advancing towards me. We were maybe twenty five feet away from one another when I entered the room. I had already popped off two rounds before they understood what was happening. As expected, I came nowhere near hitting them.

As I saw them beginning to advance on me, I stopped charging them. Although being closer would likely improve my aim, I had no desire to find out what being chopped apart by an axe feels like. They started rapidly closing the distance and I kept squeezing the trigger as fast as I could, trying to keep the barrel of the pistol down on my target.

On my sixth or seventh shot, I got lucky. The orc on my left, who was not the one I was aiming at by the way, let out a pained grunt as a bullet impacted his chest. I guess his chainmail could not stand up to the power of a fully operational battle station, err firearm. He was stopped in his tracks as blood started welling from his chest. It looked like he was having trouble breathing. Maybe I hit him in the lung. I didn’t have time to really evaluate him because his compatriot continued to advance towards me. As he got closer, I could see his arm pulling back, preparing to unleash a devastating blow once he got within range.

I turned my attention fully to him. I doubted that the orc that I hit was out of the fight but I knew who the bigger threat was. As my attacker grew larger and larger in from of me, I kept blasting away spasmodically. Thankfully, the range had closed enough that it was getting harder and harder to miss. The first round that hit him clipped his arm that was not holding the axe. It barely slowed him down. The next bullet tore into his right leg, and although he stumbled, he kept moving forward. Finally, a couple of shots later, when he was at most six feet away, he dropped to the ground bonelessly with a large hole in his head. Did I mention that I was aiming for center mass?

I quickly turned my attention the orc I had wounded initially. He was shambling towards me, one hand held over his chest wound. His skin was pale, and a bloody froth had appeared around his lips. I swung my handgun towards him and started pulling the trigger.

And nothing happened. I looked down and the slide was locked open. Apparently, I had exhausted my magazine. Well, crap.

So, what did I do? Did I pull out my new sword and fight it out with him? Did I grab the dead orc’s axe off the floor and begin swinging wildly? Maybe my McDojo training kicked in and I knocked him back with a flying side kick, or dropped down and adroitly swept his legs.

I am sorry, friends, but I did none of those things. When danger reared its ugly head, I bravely turned my tail and fled. Like Sir Robin, I bravely ran away. Hey, kiting enemies is a valid tactic in many of the games that I have played. I just wish that I would have thought of that tactic at the time. Nope, I just straight up ran for my life, headed to the far corner of the room.

I am sure in normal circumstances the orc would have caught up in just a few steps, but these were not normal circumstances. He was wounded and maybe bleeding out and I wasn’t. I sprinted to the far side of the room and back up the stairs to the balcony, fumbling with the zipper on my fanny pack with my left hand as I tried to access my spare magazines. When I was once again standing in front of the door to the room where I had entered this world, I stopped. I managed to thumb the release for my empty magazine, slamming another one home. I released the slide, making certain that the pistol was ready to fire, and spun to the stairs assuming that the orc was hot on my heels. He hadn’t reached the top of the stairs yet, so I aimed towards where he was certain to appear. Seconds passed and yet he never crested the stairs.

Had he decided to go for help? If he had, I couldn’t keep standing here. I would be quickly overwhelmed if I did.

Keeping my pistol aimed in front of me, I crept towards the stairs. When I reached the top, I looked down and saw that the orc had only made it about a third of the way up before he had fallen in a heap. He was still breathing shallowly but did not appear to be conscious. I carefully aimed at him and was preparing to pull the trigger again when a thought forced its way through my adrenaline-addled mind.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

What in the hell was I doing? I arrived in this land with seventy five rounds of ammunition. I had just spent fourteen rounds in a fight with two orcs and one round intimidating a bunch of kobolds. That was twenty percent of all the ammunition I had in the world.

I holstered my pistol and drew my sword. I approached the orc, hoping that he has not just playing possum, but he did not stir. And then I stabbed him a few times and the fight was over.

I went back upstairs and collected my empty magazine, then headed back down and started searching the bodies. I found some coins that I assumed had to be pocket change in the local currency, an unidentifiable meat snack that I was not nearly hungry enough to eat, and a wine skin full of some sort of acrid, vinegar-smelling brew. I grabbed the wine skin and coins. While I was searching the orc, I noticed that the kobolds were not lying to me. The orc’s gauntlets had six fingers on each hand. I pulled off the gauntlets, which were too big for my hands, and threw them in the pack as well. Then, I started plotting my escape.

I had no idea whether it was day or night. I didn’t know when the orcs would be missed, when someone else would come searching for them. I had to move now. There was no time for further preparation.

I pulled the hood of my cloak up and headed back down to the floor through the double wooden doors. I found myself in a long hallway. There were doors on my right, but I didn’t have time to see what was behind them. I am certain that if anyone was behind those doors, given all the noise I had made, I would have seen them by now. After walking about thirty feet, the hallway turned to my right and continued another ten feet or so, ending in another set of double doors. I crept towards the doors and cracked them open, peeking through the slit.

The doors opened to the outside of the building. Across what appeared to be a small lane there was another set of doors facing me. It appeared that the sun had just set, the shadows rapidly lengthening as day turned to night. I listened carefully, but could not hear anyone moving or talking. I gathered my courage and made myself step out of the doorway. I was, in fact, on a small dirt path between two buildings. To my left, there was a wooden palisade a little taller than a basketball goal. A rough wooden walkway ran the length of the wall about eight feet above the ground. The diffuse light of the failing sun filtered over the top of the wooden logs of the palisade, but the area beneath the wall was already starting to be covered in darkness.

To my right, the lane led deeper into the camp. Once in awhile, I could hear snatches of wind-carried conversation from that direction. It was just the faint whisper of voices, nothing very comprehensible

I crept towards the end of the building closest to the palisade. Glancing left and right, I noticed that there was a gap large enough for a wagon or a car along the entire length of the wall. Far to my left, I noticed that there were a pair of orcs on the wall, likely guarding the wall or a gate. To the right, I noticed an open-sided shed with a low roof had been built against the wall. There were items stored under the roof that were covered with some sort of tarp made of hides.

Making certain that the guards on the wall were not looking my direction, I walked over to the stored items. I didn’t run because running draws attention. When I reached the storage area, I glanced around to make certain that nobody was in the vicinity. Then, I ducked into the shed and waited for night to fall. I made myself small and tried to make as little noise as possible, even though my heart was still trying to pound its way out of my chest. I knew I could not stay here for very long. When none of the kobolds or orcs showed up for dinner or bed, I knew there would be an investigation and I needed to be long gone when that occurred.

In just a few minutes, the last faint rays of the sunset failed and day had given way to night. I felt around at the roof over my head. Would it support my weight? If it would, I could easily make it to the walkway and then drop over the wall. I hoped that there wasn’t a moat or a bunch of pit traps outside the wall. I stood up and hopped in the air, pulling myself onto the low roof. It creaked ominously, obviously not designed to bear much weight. I moved to the center of the roof, trying to keep my body as spread out as possible. Reaching over my head, I felt the rough wooden frame of the walkway just a couple of feet above me. I grabbed it and somehow managed to pull myself up enough to roll onto the walkway.

Looking up and down along the walkway, it didn’t appear anyone had noticed me. There were gaps between the logs and between them I saw only darkness. I stood up in a crouch and grabbed the top of the palisade. Thankfully, the logs had not been sharpened and apparently concertina wire wasn’t a thing in this world. Throwing a leg over the top of the wall and grasping it firmly with both hands, I swung off of it and slowly lowered myself down. The sound of my body and my gear sliding along the wall seemed extraordinarily loud but I didn’t hear any cries of alarm. Reaching down with my feet as far as they could go, I felt only air.

I didn’t have the upper body strength to pull myself back over the wall even if I wanted to do so. Quickly wishing myself luck, I let go of the wall. And then I fell maybe four feet and flopped down flat on my ass, landing on packed dirt.

Scampering back to my feet, I ducked and headed away from the wall. Could orcs have dark vision like they did in the stories that I read and the games that I played? I hoped they couldn’t or at least that I was out of their range. Staying low, I headed directly away from the wall. After about fifty feet, the shadows in front of me resolved into a row of trees, the edge of a forest. I ducked into the forest and tried to head directly away from the wall but I soon lost my sense of direction. I knew that if the orcs could track, I was leaving a trail that even a novice could likely follow. And if they had hounds, I was in a lot of trouble.

As a moved deeper into the forest, I realized that I had made it this far with luck rather than skill. If I was to survive, I would need to strengthen myself. I would need to become skilled enough to find food and water and shelter, and to protect myself. I had no idea how to begin. One step at a time is what I told myself. One step at a time.

As I made my way further into the trees, tripping over roots, crashing through brush, trying not to break an ankle, a strange sound carried to me from back towards the camp. A mournful, warbling, howling sound floated through the air. Shit. Were the orcs blowing horns and sounding an alarm?

Uh oh.