Wynter spent a couple hours searching the camp, she had to add a third crude backpack just to hold all the coins, shiny stones, torch crystals, and miscellany. The important bits were the Shaman’s staff, a curious knife, and a belt of linked metal panels. All the Matriarch had was her two-handed cudgel, an ornate earring, and the key to the hatch.
Examining everything,
Pine Spirit Staff 8/12 durability
0/10 Charges of Fear Sending (Rechargeable)
On Crit – Strike to Torment (Save vs Mind or suffer agony)
Sacrificial Knife 476/500 durability
Soul Siphon on Hit versus defenseless foe
Silver Belt of Haste
+10% to Movement Speed (cost 1 MP/5minutes)
Maul of Maiming
When wielded with 2-hands, all hits have 20% chance to cripple
Platinum Earring of Storage
(locked)
She had no use for the Staff, Maul, or Knife, but could see how valuable they might be. The belt she wrapped around her waist, having it become a coin belt. The silver contrasting nicely with her dress.
The earring she turned over and over in her hands as she sat at the base of the ladder. A precious metal, a large clear gem that looked like a diamond. Did she dare leave it out to be seen? Not that there had been anyone to steal anything. Still, how did it work? Wynter sent a tendril of mana into the earring, which it absorbed happily. More and more mana flowed in until at 120 mana the ring was suddenly full, but it still just sat there?
“Well, Queenie? Want to tell me the secret?” Wynter looked over at the matriarch’s corpse, “No, I don’t suppose you do.”
Tugging down her right earlobe Wynter reached across and taking a deep breath plunged the pointed stem through her ear. Quickly screwing on the stem cap Wynter clapped her hands.
“There! That’s done.”
As she went to stand she stumbled as suddenly she saw not the Kobold Camp, but a swirling void holding stacks of items. None remained in their crates. Maybe three dozen rifles, as many metal ammunition cases and a large pile of magazines. A small pile of five, no six, tubes that reminded her of the bazookas from old movies. Only a few areas remained empty. Overwhelmed, she almost missed two books laying next to each other. The covers glowing faintly.
Wynter reached to the books and they flew to her hand, and suddenly she was back in the campsite with the books in her hand.
She looked at the ladder she was going to have to climb, and the three over stuffed backpacks and pile of weapons. Lifting the backpacks, she smiled,
“Open up!”
“Open Sesame?”
“Storage Open?”
“Oh, you have to be freaking kidding me!”
“Allahkazaam!” her growling tone rising, “Abra-ca-fucking-dabra!”
Then looking to the shadow torches,
“Can it be that easy?” Sending a touch of mana into the earring it opened. She left the backpacks and weapons inside and noted there was very little space left.
She was a little worried when she tried to take the earring off and found the knurled cap to now be smooth and no matter how hard she tried it wouldn’t turn.
She tried focusing on it to Inspect it,
Platinum Earring of Storage
96/100 Capacity
Then turning to the two books,
On the Clarity of Will
Minimum Req: MND 16, INT 12
Granted: MND +2, INT +2, VIT +1, Class: Psiontist, Psionic Arts +1, Skill: Meditation +1
Uses 1/1 remaining
The Hundred Steps
Minimum Req: AGI 14, STR 12, VIT 12
Granted: AGI +2, PER +2, VIT +1, Trait: Nimble Reflexes, Skill: Martial Dance
Uses 1/1 remaining
She saw that she didn’t quite qualify for the Dance manual, but she was pretty sure dancing wouldn’t help a whole lot.
The first book though. She opened the cover and started reading.
Each page turned amazed her further. Was the Mind really laid out like that? Meditation increased the rate her Mana and Psionic pools replenished by how much!? Not realizing she had sat there for most of an hour, as she closed the book after the last page, it crumbled to dust. Each word, each diagram, now engraved on her mind and soul.
Returning the Dance Manual to storage, she examined herself,
Titles: Bunker Buster
Name: Wynter
Race: Beastkin – Felidae (Shadowcat)
Age: 18 (March 22nd, 2032)
Traits: Racial – Affinity to Shadows, Racial – Darkvision, Racial – Obligate Carnivore, Racial – Sensitivity to Light, Racial – Natural Weapons, Racial – Natural Armor, Learned – Toughness 1
You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.
Class: Novice Dancer
HP: 84
MP: 144 (136)
PP: 180
SP: 89
AC: 6
Evasion: na
Dodge: 26%
STR: 11
VIT: 14
AGI: 18
INT: 17+1
MND: 20
PER: 18
CHR: 6 (18 base)
Luck*: 2
Skills
Small Blades: 2
Hand-to-Hand: 24
::Martial Kick: 17
::Martial Strike: 24
::Martial Throw: 6
Armor: 12
Parry: 18
Dance: 16
::Exotic: 16
::Folk: 12
Acrobatics: 14
Jump: 11
Climb: 8
Dodge: 13
Tracking: 11
Stealth: 18
::Sneak Attack (passive): 3
Survival: 3
Accuracy: 19
Sex: 9
::Foreplay: 7
::Oral: 6
::Anal: 1
::Lesbian: 3
Psionic Arts: 20
::Reinforcements: 19
Psiontist: 1
:: Meditation: 1
Shadow: 11
Inspection – 9
Lore (General) – 5 0%
::Lore (Beastkin) – 3 0%
Professions (0/4)
>none
Spells (3/0/3/0)
>Physical Reinforcement 14 (STR)
>Vision Reinforcement 14 (PER)
>Health Reinforcement 21 (HP)
>Sense Shadows (5MP) 1
>Shadow Step (40MP) 1
>Shadow Armor (1MP/Sec) 3 (+Armor, +Stealth)
Equipment
>Fine Snakeskin Robe
>Platinum Earring of Storage
>Silver Belt of Haste
>Poor Copper Ring of Intelligence
=-=-=-=-
Giving one last look around, Wynter tucked two of the shadow torches into her belt and started climbing. Doing her best to not look down, she hooked an elbow around the top rung and after a near slip, the key finally slipped into the lock. Turning the key right, then left, nothing would make it move.
Twisting hard she felt that the key might break.
Looking down, there must be a hundred rungs on the ladder. Was there a different key hidden down there, a different way out?
One last thing to try, she gathered up her mana and like she coated her fur, she sent it into the lock, shielding and reinforcing the key. Turning the key again, she twisted harder and harder until there was a tiny give. Sending her mana in further she felt the pins and springs that had been covered in soils and debris as the moisture above trickled in. Using her mana like a tiny blade she pushed, scraped, disposed of all the obstructions.
Nearing the end of her mana, Wynter gave one last try. With a click the lock fell away as it snapped open. Wynter had to push and push hard as the disused hinges slowly yielded. Fighting her way off the ladder and into the enclosed space, she looked around. Almost like one of the burrows she had slept in, this space was barely as long as she was. Having to close the hatch to get to the exit she looked out into the forest.
Climbing out she looked up at the heavily overcast sky,
“Well! Which way is west?” the a second later, with a laugh, “Does it matter?” Flipping a metaphorical coin, she closed her eyes and spun, giggling a bit she took two unsteady steps,
“Okay! This way!”
And marched off.
=-=-=-=-
Wynter had stopped counting days but she supposed it was about a week after leaving the Bunker. Her days spent walking almost straight South now. She practiced [Shadow Step] and [Shadow Armor] almost constantly, [Reinforcement] as well. Whenever she ran low she would pause and use [Meditation] until fully charged. Only last night she had a breakthrough and while she was killing her daily rabbit, the shadow armor on her claws changed into a new skill [Shadow Claws] that seemed to work the same as the armor but gave bonuses to penetration and damage.
She recharged her two active shadow torches, they didn’t work in direct sunlight but here under the canopy of leaves they eased the strain on her eyes.
It was nearing evening when there was a loud noise, *CRACK* *CRACK*! Without her will or intent, Wynter’s body twisted into a sudden backbend and roll.
Two voices sounding out,
“Shit! You missed it!” a bit gruff but sounding young.
“Well, you did too!” slightly higher pitched and even younger sounding.
Spotting the two men some distance away Wynter used [Sense Shadows] and then [Shadow Step] to appear behind the two. [Shadow Armor] and [Shadow Claws] flowed over her, [Physical Reinforcement] pumped power into her muscles and for the first time she felt it boost her agility as well. [Stealth] flowed through her as she all but vanished in the evening shadows.
Stepping up to the two, she saw two boys, maybe fifteen or sixteen looking. Dressed in green camouflage and holding rifles. She was readying to strike when a voice came from the side,
“Jenkins, Brewer? Damnit! You two wasting ammo again?”
“No sir!” said the older looking one, “It was a Beast!”
Wynter looked over and saw an older male, his camouflage having a set of badges and rank emblems. A rifle slung over his shoulder and a pistol and knife at his hip. The stern expression on his unshaven face even frightened Wynter a little.
“What? Another Rabbit or Elk?”
“No, sir! It walked upright, but it wasn’t human. It didn’t move right!” said the older one again.
“Is that right, Brewer?”
“Yes, sir! It was right there as we shot it!”
“Well, then, where is this phantom Beast? Tell me that hunh?”
Wynter grabbed the two boys by the backs of their necks and lifted them up onto their toes.
“That would be me right here.” She smiled politely, “These two children yours?”
Seeing her appear out of thin air, he stepped back and reached for his rifle. Seeing the thin trace of blood, but no real signs of great pain he froze, then spoke carefully,
“I take it my two idiot charges didn’t hurt you? If you could see yourself to maybe releasing them to my care, I will have them polishing pans until they are old men!”
“Done, then!” She duck-walked the two over to the older man and with a push, left them sprawled at his feet. “I am Wynter, well the last name doesn’t matter.”
“Sergeant Frank Jones, at your service. Would you like to come to join us for dinner?”
“I would be delighted! It has been ages since I had a cooked meal.”
The Sergeant grabbed the two boys and walked off, Wynter following behind. Whispering, unaware that Wynter could hear them,
“Idiots! What made you shoot at someone in a dress?”
“She’s not human, and Pastor Rickett says as how all them not humans are just Beasts in disguise.” Said Jenkins.
“Yeah, it’s all furry and stuff!” said Brewer.
“Stop listening to Pastor bigot and do your jobs. Brewer, run ahead and let them know we are coming, don’t want any mistakes.”
Shortly they entered a clearing with upwards of a hundred soldiers moving about at various tasks.
“Here. Take this tent. Dinner will be in an hour and I’ll have some come and get you then. Water and clean towels are inside. Just let me grab my things.”
“I couldn’t take your tent!”
“I’ll just bunk with my men tonight. We leave in the morning, so it won’t be an imposition at all!”
With that, he grabbed up an armful of clothes and a shaving kit and was gone.
It was the first chance since she had awoken to get clean. She was amazed at the tangles and mats her claws pulled out. She would have to get a good brush at the first chance. Once all her fur was at least laying smoothly, she pulled the Snakeskin Robe back on. Examining herself in a handheld mirror, her face was flat and shaped like hers had been before. The grey fur now surrounding eyes that were a green that was so dark it was almost black. Her lips and tongue now black, her teeth more jagged and razor sharp.
Running the mirror over the rest of her, her breasts seemed plumper, her waist thicker, her hips more rounded over muscular thighs. Where the tail emerged in back it held the skirt up, exposing her cute tight butt. Did she just think of her butt as cute? Damn. She’d been away from people too long.
“Ma’am? Dinner is ready, and your presence is requested.”
She looked out at young Brewer,
“Lead the way.”
Arriving at a huge tent. Several folding tables had been set up. Folding chairs on all sides. Young Brewer led her to her seat next to a man with a chest full of medals and ribbons. The man rose and held her chair for her as she seated herself.
“Allow me to introduce myself. Colonel Gerald Perry, commanding the 138th Infantry Regiment. Welcome to Kansas, as this damn map calls it. We are currently in what would have been Iowa. So, my dear. Where are you from?”
“Me? Well, my name is Wynter, with a ‘y’. I was from the Twin Cities, right at Ground Zero. I got to watch as the crystal came down. Then, well, I think everyone close was killed. It sounded like I was one of the last to be restored.”
“Restored, hmm, yes. But what have you been doing this last decade since the event?”
Before he could answer, trays were carried in and set in front of everyone. She lost the thread of the conversation as she ate. The soup was too salty, but her body seemed to need it. The vegetables overcooked and limp, she only pecked at. The roast slice of meat in a savory gravy, and the bread she blotted up the last of the gravy and juices with, she couldn’t get enough of. The dessert a cornbread in a seared honey crust she almost inhaled.
“Ah… It has been so long since I last ate a cooked meal. In answer to your question from before the food arrived. To me it hasn’t been ten years, it has been more like a month and a half, maybe two? The Core explained some basics to me, then threw me out. I appeared in a forest and have been wandering since. I did find a place, Bunker #3, that had been overrun by Kobolds and have all the loot I could carry after killing them all.”
“You found Bunker 3?” asked the Colonel. “Where is it?”
At the same time as a chorus of others exclaimed,
“No way she cleared it!” “Wow! She is amazing!” “I wonder who did it for her?” “Braggart!”
Turning to the Colonel, Wynter answered,
“I really can’t say exactly where about six days walk from here to the North. I just didn’t have a map or compass, so can’t know for sure.”
“Compass? Those things haven’t worked since the Event.” Pulling out a stone, a 3D map appeared. Using a pinch like with a smartphone he shrunk the map until the entire USA lay before her. Only it was so different. Where there had been state lines and highways, now there were scattered cities and huge hexagonal chunks. The entire country seemed like five or six hexes across, and four top to bottom.
“The US has changed that much?”
“The USA? Gone, none of the nations really exist, at least that I have heard of.”
“Why not? Seems like a solid government is needed in times like these?”
“You really don’t know? Every hex has its own rules, its own laws. We are pretty lenient here. Most Tech and Magic work fine. Now to the Northeast are those Chicago Bastards! Magic doesn’t work, really High Tech works there, even Psionics is weak there. Then we have places like New Orleans, trader a while back came through, said no Tech higher than steam engines, and that all Magic is stronger there. Radio no longer works, so no one knows what the rest of the world is like.”
“Even this map stone?”
“Yes. This can only show at best the three hex rings around you. Not even that in any detail.”
=-=-=-=-