John’s stroll through the Everdale was slow, the sleuth beast was a constant nag in the back of his mind, but he felt more prepared as he had retrieved the two stolen hand axes before he left Graow-luks encampment. He chucked softly to himself as he recalled the smelly little creatures. They were prone to making child-like mistakes and tripping over air when not riled up and blood-crazed. He recalled the battle, and the emotions of what he had done finally started to tug on his mind. He felt awful that he had killed the small goblins; perhaps, under different circumstances, the wanton slaughter, and his own deaths could have been avoided. He ran through a few scenarios wherein he had fled instead of fighting. He could have just left after the first death while the goblins were distracted by his corpse. He realized that even if he had left the goblins would have likely been on the hill when he inevitably returned again. That thought caused him to furrow his brow.

“I am too weak for this world,” he said bitterly. “Although, I'm sure that was the driving factor in Kelldar’s plan for me. I need to find someone that can teach me how to fight.”

John looked up at his surroundings. The forest floor was dim and hazy, he realized he hadn't been paying attention to where he was walking. He turned around and stared back. Spinning around again, he said, “Shit, way to go, John.”

He walked forward, hoping that he would eventually stumble onto the dirt road that led to Valorwood. The countless trees bled together at his sedate pace; he often stopped to observe strange animals and plants, soaking in the quiet beauty of the Everdale. On a particular occasion, he stopped to watch a finger-sized humanoid with wings as it chased around a giant fly. The tiny woman swung a twig in futility as the fly spun circles around her. The fly bumped into her, and she fell to the ground, only just catching herself with a furious beat of her dragonfly-esque wings. She put her hands on her knees and panted as the fly swooped around, heading to bump her again. John took three steps from the tree he had crouched behind and stuck out his hand. The fly, unable to change course or slow itself, thumped into the back of his hand and buzzed away erratically. John looked to where the little winged humanoid had been, but she was gone, likely hiding in one of the nearby trees. A little disappointed, John shrugged and continued down the animal trail he had been following. The path was obviously well-used because it had been blessedly free of pinecones. Regardless of the lack of pinecones, however, John’s feet ached terribly as the dim forest floor darkened with the receding of the sun.

“It doesn’t feel like it's been a full half day of walking, but my feet are telling a different story,” He said to himself. Sitting down on the fallen trunk of a tree, he messaged his dirty feet. The light and airy smell of pine wafted through the forest, and the area he found himself in was packed with mossy trunks that stood quite close to one another. As the darkness took hold, the mossy trunks began to glow a soft green and gold light. John marveled at the strange lichen, the color of the light softly illuminated the darkness, and he decided that the illuminated trees would be the best alternative to fire for the night. Looking around, he found a few fallen branches barren of any pine needles; dragging them to the fallen tree, he placed the thick end of each limb on top of the log. Gathered brush was piled on top of his small building, and soon enough, he had an adequate shelter for the night. Sitting near the entrance to his tiny lean-to John pulled the dry bread and water skin from the sack the goblins had provided him. He chewed into the tough bread and grimaced. The first thing he had eaten in this world was stale bread; he wished more than anything for a hamburger or a simple ham sandwich. It took several swallows, but he managed to force the bread down his dry throat. As he drank deeply from the waterskin, John suddenly realized it was his third day on Herjalt.

How have I gone three days without eating a thing? It must have something to do with my rebirth or respawn; I’m unsure what to call it. I remember being hungry before the attack on Valorwood and looking forward to eating then, but I didn't get the chance. Was I hungry this morning in the tent? Also, was it morning because Iaid in that place for so long or because I died so far from the hill?

He shrugged, resolving to solve the unanswered questions later. He crawled back into his small shelter and lay on the hard ground. Saying a quick prayer to ward off the predators, he closed his eyes. Sleep did not come to him quickly as the forest was alive with sounds. Twigs snapped, leaves rustled; animals howled, yipped, and roared. Finally, the exhaustion won, and John fell into a deep sleep.

Sometime early the following day, John’s eyes snapped open; a clanking scraping noise was coming from just outside his shelter. The smell of smoke and meat wafted through the dead branches of his lean-to; John’s stomach growled pitifully at the smell of food.

“You should learn to sleep lighter and maybe train yourself not to snore like a hibernating bear if you're going to sleep out in these woods.” A deep baritone voice said.

Startled, he reached for his axes, preparing himself for a fight, when the voice spoke again.

“I mean you no harm; come out and share a meal with me.”

John gathered his axes from his side and slowly crawled from the meager protection of his shelter. Peering around the entrance, he saw the most enormous man he had ever seen. In height alone, this man was comparable to Kelldar; however, this man was as wide as a truck. He wore a huge tanned skin as a poncho, and a pair of loose-flowing pants covered his legs. His long shaggy brown hair was tied back in a messy bun, and his beard was braided tightly and adorned with beads and small bones. His thick hardened hands held a normal-sized serving spoon that he used to stir a castiron pan suspended above a low fire. John found the entire image of this massive man squatting using normal-sized utensils for cooking, comical. The spoon looked like a child’s toy in front of the giant’s hand, and a small laugh escaped John’s mouth as he approached, observing the man. The stranger looked up, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m sorry,” John said humorously. “Don’t you have supplies that fit your size?”

“There aren't many supplies that match my size,” The man replied, stirring the pan.

“I don’t mean for this question to be rude, but what are you? You look human like me, but you’re huge.”

“I’m a Vorj-kin; it is strange you do not know my race, you look like an elf, but you call yourself human. What is a human.”

“Uh. w-well,” John stammered out. “I uh.”

“You have no level, class, or skills that I can detect. What are you?”

John sighed resignedly. He figured the truth was better than a lie if this man could already discern so much about him. “I’m not from this world, and I don’t have any of that because I was cursed by a god.”

The colossal man rumbled and looked at him closer.

“Very well. Come. Eat, and after, you can tell me your story as we travel.”

“I was headed for Valorwood. Do you know where that is? Can you take me there?” John asked hopefully.

“Come. Eat.” The man repeated, dishing out meat and eggs from his pan. “We will talk of destinations and humans after the food.”

John obliged the man and sat down across from him. He was handed a steaming metal dish: He looked at the man and blew on his food while waiting for a fork. The man scooped out a spoonful of eggs from his pan and ate it, unconcerned with John’s plight. John looked back down to his food; he picked some up with his hand and chewed slowly. He grunted satisfactorily at the food, quickly shoveling more into his mouth. The eggs were light and fluffy, and the meat was gamey, but he didn’t care; his hunger had returned with a vengeance upon tasting real food. Soon his dish was empty, and the man was packing his things into a large rucksack. He held his hand out as he stood, slinging the bag across his back. John handed the bowl back to the man and picked up his axes, putting them into the waistline of his loincloth.

The pair set off through the woods with the large man in the lead. He looked back to John and said, “Alright, I am ready to hear your story. I will listen while we walk.”

John spun his tale, not leaving anything out, he didn’t know why, but he felt he could trust the large man. He hoped that his instincts wouldn’t betray him as he finished talking. There was a long moment of silence until the man asked, “What is your name, human?”

“It’s John; what’s your name, big man?”

“My name is Mon-kanger; my den called me Monk. I have no den now, so you may call me what you like. I know you speak of this curse as a terrible thing, John, but without access to the system, your curse may be your one salvation. Do not let it break you; use it’s power and learn to survive at any cost.”

“I like Monk,’ John said. “You speak in a rather enlightened way, so I think it suits you. So, about Valorwood. My friends think I’ve died. I’d like to let them know I’m okay, and if you have no family, Valorwood may be a good place to call home.”

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

Monk grunted, “I know of Valorwood; it is a day to the North, but the elves that live there are not partial to my kind.”

“Why not? You seem like a pretty decent guy.”

“Because the Vorj-kin started a war with them over land many years ago, and the elves, no matter which kind you speak of, are not a forgiving people. Good people, generally peaceful and helpful, but not forgiving.”

“Ah, well, you are one person, and you likely don’t carry all your race’s burdens. I will speak for you when we reach Valorwood. You have helped me after all, so I can't imagine there being a huge issue.”

The large man grunted, and John fell silent for a while. As the pair walked the forest ahead took on a slightly gray hue and the pine needles all seemed to be covered in some sort of film. A shiver crawled up his spine as he looked at the gray area. The fog in the air was still and hung unnaturally. A massive hand landed on his shoulder, and he looked back to see that Monk had stopped and wore a look of concern.

“What's wrong?” He asked, feeling nervous.

“Demon Silk Spiders,” Monk grumbled, nodding to the grey area.

“Are they dangerous? Can’t we just walk through the fog and avoid any webs?”

Monk furrowed his eyebrows. “There is no fog that is all webbing, and I would not recommend walking through there unless you would enjoy being turned into a pile of sludge.”

“No, thanks,” John said, waiting for a solution to be offered.

“These spiders should not be in the Everdale; they will be highly damaging to the ecology here.”

“Wow!” John said, “I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone use ecology in a sentence, but they are just spiders; how can they be damaging?”

“You are not from this world, and you have no access to the system. I will explain as if you know nothing. The first point is that monsters eat and consume mana. Secondly, there are two types of monsters; system-spawned and self-replicators. The first type does not have the ability to reproduce. Demon Silk Spiders are the latter, and they bare offspring very quickly. This would not be an issue if the young did not hatch and reach maturity within five days.”

“Exponential growth, they are like a plague,” John whispered.

Monk snapped his fingers and pointed to John. “You understand the danger; it seems we may need the help of the elves after all. Let us make our way to Valorwood.”

He turned to walk around the patch of web-infested forest, giving the area a wide berth. John followed diligently behind, trying to keep up with the large man’s strides. Their pace was brutal, and John soon had to ask for a break; Monk didn’t seem to mind; he took off his pack as he sat. Digging through, the huge man pulled out two small pieces of cloth that were tied at the top. He tossed one to John and undid the knot in the top of his own. John untied the small cloth and found an assortment of unfamiliar nuts inside. He picked one up; it was a pale brown with small rounded nubs all over it. There were several that looked like peanuts, but they were perfectly spherical. He looked up to Monk, who was already munching on his own snack.

“Thank you,” He said, sitting down and threw the large pale nut into his mouth. As he crunched down, he was surprised by the soft flavor; It was something like an almond without the chalky bitterness that almonds were known for. He contentedly ate and rested in silence. Monk had closed his eyes and was humming a low tune.

“What is that you’re humming? It’s nice.”

Monk started at the broken silence but relaxed and said. “It’s the song of my people. I hum, so I will never forget them.”

“You make it sound as if they are gone.”

“They are,” He said grimly. “My den, at least.”

“What happened to them? If it’s okay to ask.”

“Forty years ago, we were attacked by a Pit Fiend and a hundred lesser demons. They took my den in the night. I was considered young by my people, only one hundred and forty-seven, but still, I was the gaffer of my den. The men and women fought the demons ferociously, but one by one, they fell. As I fought the pit fiend, the lesser demons broke into the safehold and killed my father, who protected the cubs. I had been fighting for nearly twelve hours when the last demon fell, but my den was gone, every last man, woman, and child cold to the touch. I am sure there are other Vorj-kin out there but my people.”

He broke off and fell silent; the massive man looked haunted.

“I’m sorry if I’ve brought up painful memories. I am curious about something, though. You call your home a den and your children cubs. Are you a werewolf or something similar?”

Monk looked up and smiled sadly. “No, not quite. We are closer to werebears than wolves, but we do not transform; all of my race follows the path of Bovar Bjarki, the bear god. Unable to transform but adhering to the path means we are a pugilist people, fighting with our natural weapons.”

“Very interesting; thank you for telling me about yourself.”

“It is all well; I have made peace with my past and will continue forward carrying the hopes of my people. Are you ready to continue our journey?”

John nodded and stood. The pair continued on through the Everdale. The time passed in relative silence as the trees and surroundings blurred together. The sun began to sink on the day, and Monk slowed, looking around. He turned left into a clearing and set his bag on a log. Riffling through it, he pulled out a roll of canvas and metal rods that looked like it would have filled the whole bag. When the second roll came out of the bag, followed by fire, kindling a pot, vegetables, his spoon, and a water skin, John’s eyes widened. He walked up to Monk and looked into the bag, the opening was pitch black, and his eyes couldn’t penetrate past the surface.

“Monk! Is this a bag of holding?”

The Vorj-kin looked at him confusedly, “Your accumulation of knowledge surrounding magic is very strange. You know nothing of the system, yet you know what this bag is; how is that possible?”

“There were games in my world; they were all fantasy based, and one, in particular, featured bags of holding. The players were always on the lookout for these bags because they made managing their gear and supplies much easier.”

Monk nodded, “That is true; mine is a large bag of holding. It contains enough space inside to fit several chests of supplies.”

“That is by far the coolest thing I have encountered since coming to this world! Where can I get one?”

The large man roared with laughter slapping his thigh. John stood there, confusion written across his features.

“What is so funny?”

Monk's laughter slowly died down as he took deep breaths. “John, bags of holding are dropped from dungeon completions! On top of that, they are incredibly rare. I'm sorry for laughing. You just caught me by surprise.”

“Yea, Yea, let's set up camp for the night. It’s getting dark,” John said, feeling a bit down about how hard it would be to obtain his own bag.

Monk nodded and showed John how to set up a tent, and he set to making up the tent where he would sleep for the night. The camp went up without issue, and John wandered from the clearing to gather several fallen branches for firewood. He had just stooped to collect the last of the wood he needed when a flash of light caught his eye. It was gone as quickly as it had come. John set the wood down and looked to his right, where he had seen the flash. Nothing was there; he bent to collect his deposited timber, and the light caught his eye again. Ever so slowly, he raised his torso until the vibrant glow was evident. A soft yellow glow came from the knot of a tree at a strange angle. John walked to the tree and, put his hand into the knot. He felt around the inside of the wooden hole until his fingers brushed across a smooth glass-like surface. Gently working the object free of the wood, John pulled the object from the knot to inspect it. The ping-pong-sized clear ball was perfectly smooth; it contained a vibrant yellow gaseous essence within. Having no idea what the object could be, he walked back to the clearing to ask Monk.

“Hey Monk, I found something. Do you know what this is?” He asked, holding up the glowing ball. The Man looked over at him and then focused on the ball. Three things happened near simultaneously; Monk’s eyes narrowed at the ball, his expression changed from inquiry to shock, and he exploded forward from where he was sitting. The bear of a man blurred before John’s eyes appearing right in front of him; he snatched the ball and forced open John’s mouth by pinching his teeth through his cheeks. Monk flicked the orb into John’s mouth and slapped his lower jaw, closing John’s mouth and breaking the sphere. John’s eyes widened with fear as the gaseous essence rolled around his mouth; the glass-like shell turned to a liquid, and he made to spit the foul-tasting concoction from his mouth. Monk grabbed the top and bottom of his head and shook.

“Swallow!”

Unable to breathe any longer, he swallowed, praying this mixture wouldn’t kill him.

“I am sorry, John, but the efficacy of that forest heart was seconds from expiring. Please to do not take my forceful actions as violence,” Monk said, returning to the stump he had been sitting on.

John coughed, rubbing his tongue to the roof of his mouth. The horrid taste made his stomach churn.

“What the hell, man? What was that?”

“Many have speculated that the trees absorb mana which crystalizes into orbs, creating the forest heart; after many years, the heart is filled with the life essence of the tree. They are spoken about as myths and legends due to their rareness. I have only seen one other in my nearly two hundred years on this planet.”

“What will it do?” John asked, still a little miffed about his rough treatment.

“I do not know; it is supposedly different for each person. The man I knew that obtained a forest heart gained a legendary skill. As you do not have access to the system, I am unsure of what the outcome will be. You should not fret however, life essence is only harmful to the undead. You will gain something fortuitous. Come, let us eat and sleep; you will discover what you have gained upon waking.”

John nodded and retrieved the firewood. Monk set up the wood and snapped, producing a brief jet of flame, and the fire roared to life. Soon a pot of water that he had hung over the water was boiling, and John chopped up several unfamiliar green vegetables. Monk took the chopped vegetables, placed them on a grate, and set them over the steaming water. The two sat around the fire, making small talk as they waited for their food. John rubbed his sore feet and stretched his calves. His muscles were tight and aching from the full day of walking. When the vegetables were ready, he and Monk silently ate their meager meals. John yawned and nodded to Monk as he crawled into the tent and promptly fell asleep.