Chapter Thirteen – Bitter Grass and Spit Flies
It wasn’t long before the excitement of beginning their journey passed. It was one thing for your in-game character to set out in the middle of the night on horseback, and another entirely for you yourself to be the one sitting on the horse’s constantly shifting back, fighting the chill and trying to manage an animal you’ve never ridden in your life.
Tara’s legs ached. Her back ached. Her shoulders were hurting and her bare hands were raw from holding the reigns for hours. Her horse was more spirited than she would have liked, a temperamental bay with a mind of his own.
Tara could respect independence, just not when they were following a narrow path up a steep incline. The stupid animal didn’t seem to realize that one misstep could cost him and his rider both their lives. Even if she did respawn, Tara didn’t enjoy the idea of having to retrace her steps.
Acalon, thought Tara grimly. That’s what I should name him. The thought improved her humor slightly as she squinted ahead of her.
“How much farther?” she asked. “It must be nearly dawn.”
Horon’s voice drifted back. “You didn’t expect to get to Wanderer’s Bane in one night, did you, Hero? I thought you’d been to Allerion before.”
Tara bit back her impatience. She couldn’t exactly say, “Yes, but in my game I could go from Regan to Empyria in about two hours. Fast travels cuts the time to about fifteen seconds.”
Her companions still didn’t really understand her relationship to Allerion, and for now, she was determined to keep it that way. It was better that they still believed she was a peculiar stranger with unusual visions, not a young woman who happened to know them all because their lives were part of a once-popular MMO in the “real world.”
What had happened to bring her here? Tara found herself mulling the question again, not for the first time. She remembered the shock of learning that Swords of Allerion’s server was scheduled to be taken offline. The events that had come before we clearer to her, now that initial shock of her arrival had passed—her huge disappointment and decision to play the game through from the beginning, one last time.
But this wasn’t a game. Tara looked down at one of her hands and saw the discoloration where the reigns had rubbed her skin raw. In many ways, this was all too real.
Only the in-game alerts or progress indicators that the people around her referred to as “portents” made an otherwise disturbingly lifelike encounter feel like a dream. Maybe she was dreaming. At any moment, Tara would wake up and find Juliana with her arms folded, standing over her. “Tara. Did you fall asleep playing that game of yours?”
“You know the way to Wanderer’s Bane?” asked Tara, speaking to Wenrik’s back. He was the closest rider with Horon in the lead, Elita behind him on her sturdy pony, and Wenrik and Tara following.
“Everyone around here knows Wanderer’s Bane,” said the Borzerk. He seemed more wolflike in the night, his reddish eyes catching the moon’s glow as he glanced over his shoulder. “It’s a fearful place, so they say. Cursed. From what you’ve said, the curse is true.”
“A necromancer lives in that cave. He’s pretty powerful. The souls he enslaves are forced to protect him, and he draws strength from his victims that increases his necromantic power. It’s pretty cool.”
“Cool,” repeated Elita, the word sounded stiff and awkward on the gnome’s tongue.
“Um, well, it’s interesting,” said Tara. “That kind of skill in necromancy is rare. There are all kinds of spells that necromancers have access to that other magic wielders don’t. Some of them are very effective.”
“And evil,” said Elita, her firmness allowing no argument. “There’s a reason why dark magic is forbidden. It has a corrupting influence on the mind and soul of the wielder. This necromancer you speak of may be powerful, but that power doesn’t come without cost. What kind of mind would want to murder the living to control the dead?”
Tara didn’t feel comfortable responding. When the gnome put it that way, there wasn’t really an argument for necromancy. But one of her highest-level characters had been an arcane fair elf named Isabella Moon Marrow whose stats were specialized towards necromancy. Admittedly, Isabella Moon Marrow had had to do some pretty dark things to improve her skills. Tara had just been curious to see what it was like playing a villain.
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The farther they went, the more rocky and uneven the terrain became. Since Wanderer’s Bane was in a mountainous region, Tara knew their journey would only be more difficult with time. But her eyes lit up when she saw a thin-stemmed, purple-flowered clump of weeds growing between the rocks.
“Look!” she said, reigning in her horse, who tossed his head impatiently. “Bitter grass!”
Her companions halted, looking at her curiously.
“Bitter grass?” asked Elita.
“The trolls call it numb wheat, because the sap dulls pain,” said Tara eagerly. “Ouch!”
She hadn’t noticed the silvery little gnats resting on the flowers and leaves of the plants. Wenrik, picked several blades of the bitter grass for her.
“Watch out for spit flies,” he said mildly. “They seem to like these plants of yours.”
“Spit flies!” Tara was eager again. “Of course! Their juice can be used to increase damage to your weapons.”
There wasn’t a face looking at her that wasn’t nonplussed.
“Their—juice?” repeated Horon, the Fenman looking slightly revolted.
Ingredient Name
Effects
Remedies / Poisons
Spit Flies
Poison damage
When applied to weaponry, increases damage by 0.5% for one strike.
“It isn’t much,” said Tara. “But mixed with blueberries, you can make a beginner level poison. Can you grab a few? I’ll add a little to my sword.”
“Are you insane?” said Horon.
Tara had to admit, it was kind of gross smearing gnats on her recently polished sword. Her own stomach felt sick, but she was only being practical.
“Now for the bitter grass,” she said. “It’s a natural anesthetic.”
Although the grass stems were thin, there was plenty of sap, and the relief to her chaffed palms was immediate.
Ingredient Name
Effects
Remedies / Poisons
Bitter Grass / Numb Wheat
Increases stamina by 2 points
Increases vulnerability to damage by 2%
In combination with other ingredients, bitter grass is most effective in creating poultices and potions that boost stamina and strength. However, the risk to health frequently remains.
“Anesthetic?” the little gnome was intrigued. “What is that? Is it a new healing technique invented by the elves? All these years I’ve ridden by these weeds and I never knew anything about it.”
“Um…” Tara hesitated. “I did learn a little something from the elves.”
“Or your visions,” suggested Wenrik, watching her narrowly.
Tara didn’t fall for his bait. “You should only use a little at a time,” she cautioned her companions. “Bitter grass improves stamina, but there is a slight cost to your health. It doesn’t heal after all. It only numbs. And that can make you less careful.”
“You have a most peculiar way of talking,” hummed Elita, winding some of the bitter grass into a neat little knot. “Improves stamina, cost to your health—what a funny way of saying the sap dulls pain but makes you careless as a result.”
Tara laughed nervously, avoiding the others’ eyes.
“Well, funny or not, I’m grateful to know about this,” decided the gnome. “I had no idea these ugly weeds could be useful. I don’t spend much time foraging in the wilds, as you may imagine. Most of my business is done in cities or with wandering peddlers.”
The bitter grass was bitter to taste, but it had a wonderful effect on her sore muscles. Tara was grateful she could hold her horse’s reigns now without wincing. She climbed onto her horse without too much difficulty.
“Be careful,” warned Horon as they continued forward, “the road is narrow here, and bandits are known to wait for travelers at this stretch. Keep your steel ready.”
Tara’s heart quickened at the Fenman’s warning. She wasn’t looking forward to another fight, not after the experience with Ikor the Skorge. But although her companions were listening and alert, none of them seemed particularly concerned.
NPCs are like that, thought Tara grumpily. They’ll give you a warning, but they still keep going. Something bad is bound to happen now.
The moons were high above them as they entered a gap framed by rising mountains. This terrain was in no way as jagged and fierce as the cliffs of Skorcrest where the dragons lived, but it was nonetheless daunting. The crags above them were sharply outlined in jet shadows and silver. The light from the moons threw an eerie glow over their path, and Tara was struck by the impression that they were passing from one dream into another.
The sound of a horn somewhere above them made her horse’s ears swivel back in alarm.
“What’s that?” said Tara immediately. A part of her already knew, but she hoped it wasn’t true—
“No questions,” said Wenrik. “We need to escape this place if we want to live. Hyah!”
The Borzerk’s horse sprang forward at his knees in the animal’s ribs. Horon shouted for the others to follow, catching Elita’s pony’s bridle while the little gnome clung for dear life.
Tara’s horse didn’t wait for her to guide it. He broke into a gallop before she was ready, champing at the bit as if he thought this was a contest, not a race for their lives.
Wenrik hadn’t stopped to explain, but Tara recognized the sound of that horn. Night was always the most dangerous time to travel in Allerion, not just because of bandits.
And if she remembered correctly, that horn meant only one thing…