The Ogre’s Tale, Chapter 3

Max scowled at the [Status Menu] as he tried to puzzle this out. “Ok, this is some kind of… game logic, somehow. So, since I’m in a game, how do I win?” He started poking around in the [Status Menu], trying to figure out how to use it.

“Ok, so, I don’t know which of these attributes is more important than any other, so I’ll just.. Add a point to each, until I run out of points. That seems reasonable.. I hope I’m not screwing myself here.”

Max browsed the skills, confused. Most of this stuff didn’t mean any sense. Names he didn’t know, attached to terms that he lacked the context to understand.

“I wish this made more sense.”

[Activate Help Mode?, Y/N?]

[Activate Simplified Mode? Y/N?}

Max said yes to both. The skill names resolved to simple, single word names that seemed to make a certain amount of sense. Each time he focused on a skill,a small text box containing a paragraph of text that explained the basics of each skill would blossom.

“Ok, so I just… pick stuff I think is useful from this list?” He thought about it for a moment, and made a decision.

“I’m still fucked up from the fall, so let’s start with this one, [Regeneration]. That looks like it might help, and the help thing says it causes tissue to repair itself at an accelerated rate, and can even regrow missing body parts.”

[Select [Regeneration], Y/N?]

“Yes.”

[Skill choice made, How many points would you like to spend?]

“Ten.”

Max worked his way through the menu, spending the rest of his points. He bought [Stealth], and [Sight] as they seemed like good choices. He added [Survival] to the list, because the help menu suggested it would help him identify what was safe to eat. And last, he added [Track]. “Maybe it’ll help me find Morgan.”.

[Ding]

“Shit, what now?” He looked at the new notification.

[Recommended skills. [Presence],[Rage] offered at reduced cost.]

He thought about it. “Alright, I’ll take it.” And when the last point was spent he was done. The full status page unfurled, giving him a good look at it.

Status Page for Maxwell Mackenzie

Level 6

Primary class: [Locked]

Secondary Class: [Locked]

Health : 75/90

Stamina : 50/50

Mana : 26/26

Attributes

Strength : 13

Agility : 12

Constitution : 13

Vitality : 12

Intelligence : 12

Skills:

[Steath] 10

[Regeneration] 10

[Sight] 10

[Survival] 10

[Presence] 10

[Rage] 10

[Track] 10

Titles, Mantles, and Aspects

[Worldwalker (Title)] - You have travelled through the void between the many worlds! Every world is different, each with its own gifts and dangers. To help you survive strange new places, you gain a slight boost to health and an increased ability to learn new things! (+50 to Health, +50% increased gains to Skill Experience)

[Necrobane (Mantle)] - You have made a specialty of killing Necro cultists, giving you a boost in experience gain, and a boost to damage vs necro cultists.

Max spoke the final ‘yes’, and the silvery letters vanished. That was finally over. He shook his head. This was just… “Don’t get wrapped up in it, Max. Eyes on the prize…”

About this time the girl came back with the other two mules. “Wish I could understand her. She feels like she’s got some steel to her.”

It took a minute for him to realize that he was seeing everything like it was daylight, and his eyes were 30 years younger.

“Holy shit, that’s a hell of an improvement.”

Shyia had captured the other two baggage mules. It wasn’t hard. The strange World Walker (she assumed he was one, he matched the myths and legends) was making a great deal of noise, arguing loudly with himself. She hoped he wasn't one of the crazy ones. He was definitely a potential protector, at least until she got back to civilization, and he seemed nice enough. She made sure to straighten her hair a little, and arrange what was left of her dress as best she could.

The World Walker made a number of appreciative sounding noises about the two mules, and smiled a lot. She had no idea what he was saying, but the notes of approval were easy to pick out. She smiled back, and offered the reins to him.

He was pragmatic at least. Shyia watched him start stripping the dead, and piling thier things off to one side, making two piles of gear. One that was re-usable, and one that was all the things that were either too blood-covered, or damaged to be usable.

Shyia started going through the packs of the mules, and arranging a camp. By the time the World Walker was done stripping the corpses, there was a small fire going, and she was laying out what little cooking gear there was. It wasn’t much, but there was a cast iron spider, and a hammered copper pot that she could make soup in. All she needed now was a decent source of water. And shoes to fetch it in. And clothes, while she was at it. She started picking through the pile of ‘good’ gear, managing to find a pair of sandals she could make work, and a decent robe that wasn’t too big on her. She could do better, later. A belt and a well made dagger finished off her outfit. She collected all the water bags, and combined them to collect all the empties.

“I’m going to go get water…ah, damn. That’s right, you can’t understand me.”

Shyia whistled at Max, who looked at her. She held up the empty water skins, and waggled them at him, and mimed looking. He seemed to understand, and nodded. He was doing the heavy work of digging a hole with an absurdly small shovel. Ah, he was getting rid of the bodies, good. That mean he was smart. No need to draw scavengers. She went in search of water.

The Tree was young, as its species counted age. It was rash, and impulsive by the standards of its kind. As such, it only took it hours to come to a decision, instead of weeks. It had been watching the actions of the animal,ever since it had appeared in a flash of magic. The Tree had first considered eating it after the animal's fall had damaged its branches.. It was glad that it had held off.

The animal was trying to feed the Tree. It had stacked the other dead animals in a pile, and was digging a hole, apparently with the intent of putting the bodies in the hole. Either this was a well trained animal, that some other Tree had raised properly, or this Tree was having a stroke of luck. It moved its roots out of the way of the animal’s tool, and helped the hole along. Once it was big enough to fit all the dead animals, the surviving animal was putting the bodies in the hole, and covering it up. The Tree sent exploratory roots into this bounty. Even better! They were full of the taint of the Prisoner. Such an excellent animal. Not only did it feed the Tree, but it even killed minions of the Prisoner in the process. This was an animal worth keeping. Now, to ensure it stayed. There was a female animal as well; perhaps they were a breeding pair. The tree would entice them to stay, and would tag the male with a symbiote to ensure its good health. Animals were such fragile things, and males were so hard to keep alive, what with all the fighting and idiocy. It began to build the energy and grow the special tendrils to implant a symbiote. When the animal slept, it would implant it. The Tree was pleased, and idly dreamed of a proper clutch of well trained animals. It loved pets.

Shyia’s quest for water didn’t take very long. There was a perfectly good small stream nearby. The water was clear, and teemed with small life, bugs and frogs, showing that it was safe to drink. Checking her dagger in its sheath, she took a knee and started filling water skins. It didn’t take long. She didn’t want to be out here in the dark, but a quick water trip was probably safe. Once she had them filled she made the short trip back to the campsite.

Max grunted, throwing another shovel full of earth out of the hole. At least the digging was easy. He would have thought he would have hit an assload of taproots, this close to a tree that big, but apparently he had the luck, because it was smooth digging. The dirt wasn’t even hard. If he didn’t know better, he would have sworn he was getting help somehow.

Shyia came back, and Max was still digging. She was impressed; he’d made a very large hole, in a very short period of time. She put down the water bags and worked on collecting firewood, close to the campsite. She had no interest in becoming a late night snack for passing wildlife. After enough wood to cook a meal was collected, she headed back to the Tree, and set up a small fire. Once she had it going, she put the cast iron spider over the small fire, and put the copper pot on the spider. Full of water, she started going through the supplies to find something worth cooking. Apparently, the Master’s servants still ate; there were plenty of things to make soup with.Salted pork caught her eye, as well as some lentils and a few other, smaller, odds and ends. Give it some time, and there would be something well worth eating. Shyia’s stomach twitched as she cut the pork. She’d not eaten well in a while. Slaves didn’t tend to be well fed. Once the soup was on, Shyia set to cutting up the cultist’s robes, cutting along the seams, aiming for making a large a section of fabric as possible. Soon they would have bedding.

This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

Eventually, Max came over the the fire. He looked dirty, and tired. Shyia wordlessly handed Max a bowl of soup. They both sat and ate, saying nothing, staring into the fire, exhausted. Shyia offered a ‘blanket’ to Max. He took it, and they both laid out by the fire, and still wordless, passed into slumber.

The Tree was pleased. It would put the water pool over there, and the shelter over here, and the midden should go over there, where it was downwind most of the time. It was going to have animals. So exciting. As Max slept, the Tree snaked a tendril up to the campsite and, picking a likely looking flank, injected the symbiote seed. Now all the Tree needed to do was wait…

When Max woke up in the morning to a clear blue sky, there was the smell of leftover soup in the air, warm over the coals of the fire, as well as woodsmoke. He sniffed the air again, and smiled. He went to move, and realized that the girl was curled up against him using his arm as a pillow. Apparently she’d gotten cold some time in the night. All things considered, there were far worse ways to wake up. Biology being the cruel mistress she is, Max had to get up, and find a place to take a leak. Also, his left ass cheek itched ferociously, and he wanted to scratch it. He wriggled out from under her, carefully. The girl made sleepy protests but didn’t wake. Max swiped a change of underclothes from his bag, and went around to the other side of the tree with the shovel, a roll of TP, and a packet of baby wipes. Ten minutes later he returned, feeling much better.

Shyia woke up because it was cold again. The World Walker was up and moving, and coming back from having done something. She stretched, and got up to take care of her own business. On her return, they shared the leftover soup.

“Time for a little language one-oh-one I guess,” he said. He smiled at the girl, and tapped the center of his chest. “Max…” He pointed at her, and looked at her expectantly.

“Shyia.”

She was relieved. The World Walker was trying to learn the language, which she thought was a good sign. Several hours later, the dishes had been done, a basic camp had been set up, and Max had about a hundred words in the local language memorized. They both spent a lot of time making stick drawings in the dirt for the more complicated concepts. When Max felt he had reached his limit for active learning, he changed tasks.

He held a chunk of the ‘life-fruit’ in his hand, and looked at it, trying to evaluate it. He could feel [Survival] working. The fruit from the tree was confusing as [Survival] was giving him mixed results. He 'knew' it was safe to eat, but also potentially dangerous. “I guess it’s a dosage thing.” He had picked them up, and set the whole ones aside. He put the damaged ones front and center, and frowned. He needed to figure out a use for these, or pitch them.

Shyia was rooting through the supplies, sorting it into three piles. ‘Immediately useful’, ‘worth carrying to civilization to sell’ and ‘worthless’. She came to a sacrificial robe, and cursed, throwing the damn thing as far as she could.

Max lifted his head from his own tasks. Shyia didn’t talk much, and while he didn’t know those words, the tone suggested she was pissed about something.

“Wrong?” Max asked.

“What is wrong, or ‘what’s wrong’,” Shyia corrected Max.

Max tried again.“What’s wrong, Shyia?”

“Perfect, Max.” She gestured to the robe. “Bad thing. Sacrifice robe.”

“Sacrifice robe? I don’t understand.” Max didn’t understand what the fuss was. It was a pretty fancy-looking dress, like some sort of high dollar wedding dress. The expensive looking fabric glittered in the sunlight, a perfect white. It even repelled dirt somehow. Shyia and Max had hammered out the phrase “I don’t understand” early. It helped speed things along.

“Magic robe. For sacrificing people in.” Shyia explained, trying to keep to words Max knew.

That was a word Max had not learned yet. “Sacrifice means?”

“Kill. Kill for power.” Shyia hoped Max got the hint.

He frowned. “Magic dress for killing in?”

“No, magic dress for being killed in. Person in dress is killed. Person who kills, gets magic.”

Max’s eyes narrowed. They killed people in this thing, and somehow got power out of it. That was, in his terms, “some seriously fucked up shit.”. Sadly, Max’s grasp of this new language limited his responses.

“...Bad…” His tone filled in the gaps.

Shyia nodded. “Yes. Very.”

He picked up the robe, and found a place to put it. He wasn’t sure what to do with it, but it didn’t seem to be the kind of thing to leave lying around, even out here. Once it was secured, he turned his attention back to his previous task.

Max cut up one of the fist-sized fruits, and ate a thumb sized piece. It was delicious. Possibly the most amazing fruit he’d ever put in his mouth. He stifled his first impulse, which was to eat the whole thing. He set the fruit aside, and laid out his poncho, starting to lay out all his gear. He emptied out his plate carrier and pulled all the magazines from it, along with all his pistol magazines. After stacking all his rifle magazines, he broke down his rifle and started cleaning it.

While Shyia didn’t recognize the weapon in question, she recognized what Max was doing. He was clearly tending to his weapons and armor, a normal thing for a warrior to do after a battle. That the weapons and armor were very alien to her, didn’t mean the behavior didn’t make sense. What she didn’t understand is why Max ate a small sliver of the fruit, and didn’t eat any more. Didn’t his [skills] tell him if it was safe to eat or not?

“Max? Why the fruit?” She asked.

Max thought for a moment. “Small bite. If bad, not kill. Wait. See. If not bad, eat more.” He frowned. He purely hated talking in broken pidgin-speak. But she seemed to grasp his point, and nodded.

“So, if it’s safe, what do you want to do with the damaged fruit? We should do something before it goes bad.”

Max picked up the sacrifice robe, and fingered the fabric. It was clean. And no attempt to dirty it seemed to work. Dirt just fell off, like magic. Because it was. Magic, that is. It took a couple of minutes for Max to explain what he wanted to do. When she understood, she laughed.

Shyia went at it with a will. She wasn’t sure what the fruits were, but they had a magical weight to them that she could detect, and it was clear that Max somehow knew what they were. But using the sacrifice robe to filter fruit pulp from damaged Life Tree fruit was a trick that amused her in ways that allowed her some petty revenge so she set to it with a purpose.

The Tree was delighted. The animals were nesting. So exciting. Its first animals. And the male wasn’t showing any signs of distress from the symbiote implantation. It wasn’t digging at the injection site at all. Even better, they were exploring the food the Tree had left them. It wasn’t sure what the strange fibrous material the male had buried with its scat was, but it was apparently well trained, because it buried everything organic that the Tree could consume. It was pleased.

Max took a deep breath in through his nose, enjoying the sweetness of the air. Since he got here, everything had seemed a little brighter, a little more -real-. He had not felt this alive since...Since before Marianne had died. A little voice in the bottom of Max’s soul asked why the hell was he -enjoying- this so much? He shook it off. It was time to get back to work.

He cleaned the M4 clone, and then broke down the suppressor, making sure to clean out the baffles before reassembling everything and setting it to the side. Both the Glock and the Colt were broken down, inspected, and then laid out on the poncho, re-assembled. He took inventory. The glock had 121 rounds, and the colt had 43, and they used the same cartridge, so he had a total of 164 rounds of .45 ACP. The M4 clone had 5 full magazines and one magazine with 11 rounds left. 161 rounds of 5.56. He swapped the partial magazine for a full one, and set the rifle aside.

“Three hundred and twenty five rounds. That’s not a lot to work with. Looks like I’m going to be learning how to use a sword pretty soon.”

Shyia wasn’t sure what Max was saying, but she could tell the tone. He was concerned about something.“What’s wrong, Max?”

He held up a bullet. “My weapons use these. I can’t make more here. Very few left. I need to learn… those.” He pointed at the small selection of medieval weapons they’d looted from the dead cultists.

“You don’t know how?” If he didn’t know how to use the weapons available, that was worrisome, because she didn’t either.

“I know, just not _well_. Time to practice.”

Interlude

Roughly a day’s march from where Max was re-learning how to use a spear, there was a small lake. Next to the lake was a small, secret village. This village was not on any map, and spent a great deal of time and effort blocking any efforts to scry its location. Uninvited visitors were quietly disposed of. This was one of the places maintained by the Scarlet Order. The Scarlet Order served the Master. In return, they received knowledge, and power. The Master had set everything up, back when he still walked the land. Swear to him, and sacrifice a portion of your power to him. Get others to swear to you, and gain a fraction of their power. They in turn got others to swear to them, of which you received a tithe. And at the top, stood the Master of the Scarlet Order, receiving a tithe of all those beneath him. The mix of oaths up, down, and lateral was a complex web of intrigue, and lent to paranoia and back stabbing. Still, there were benefits.

This particular village had a specific task. It was in charge of delivering supplies to the Master’s prison, keeping him sated while they worked to complete the task of breaking the enchantments that kept the Master entombed under that blasted tree.

The leader of this village couldn’t wait for that day, or at least a transfer to somewhere civilized; this place was a barely tolerable backwater.He summoned an underling. Something had happened to the supply caravan. They should have been back a full two days ago. One day late was within normal bounds. Things happen, bad weather, mules go lame, people get injured. But two days late suggested something serious had gone wrong. “The caravan’s missing. Find out what happened.”

“They are late in returning, my lord,” the underling commented. “Should I send a replacement supply train?”

The leader toyed with a pendant, thinking…While it was unlikely that the supply caravan had not made delivery, the Master could still reach his servants, even from his prison, and express his displeasure, if it had not…

“Hm. If something happened to them, and we -don’t- send a replacement caravan, the Master will be displeased. If they were delayed after making the delivery, the Master will get a double delivery. Which isn’t bad per se, and may curry favor, but might give Him -expectations-. Expectations we might have difficulty meeting.”

The village leader was in a bit of a bind. While the lifewood and fruit they traded for cash and slaves was insanely profitable, the Master’s supply needs were not cheap, and then there were the bribes needed to keep certain eyes turned away from what was really going on in certain parts of the world. In short, this missing supply team was a pain in his ass. He made a decision. He was the leader here, after all.

“You’ll handle it. Take a regular supply team, and a Hand. And an extra slave, to make up for the delay. At worst, He might get expectations we’ll have to manage.”

“Yes, My Lord.” The lesser cultist scuttled away, cursing in his mind. The last thing he wanted was to spend two and a half days marching through the middle of nowhere to deliver supplies. This was a job for a -supplicant-, not an Elder Brother like himself. Still, he could see opportunities to be exploited. He just had to pick the right Hand leader. And he had just the idiot in mind.

“So that’s really the extent of it, Malkar. We’ve got a late supply caravan. It’s probably nothing, but The Eldest Brother wants someone important to go have a look at it, and I can’t think of anyone more qualified.” The Elder Brother smiled inwardly. (Where do these idiots come up with these names, ‘Malkar’... What’s next, ‘lord Midnight’? ) Ah well, at least he was going to go out there and get bug eaten, and the Elder Brother wasn’t. Rank had its privileges, after all. The 3 day absence would give the Elder Brother some space and time to arrange for some leverage on ‘Malkar’. Nothing like a web of trust and blackmail to cement a good working relationship…

“The good news is you’re going to get some command experience, which will set you ahead of the other Hand leaders.”

“Thank you, my Lord.”

At least the musclebound idiot was properly deferential. Nothing worse than uppity help.

“Don’t mention it.” And with that the Elder Brother, confident the issue was handled, left.

Malkar had served in the cult since they had bought him as a child. They pulled him out of the slave pits, because he’d killed and eaten one of the other slave children, because he was hungry. Malkar was considered reliable, but would never be considered for advancement past his current position, and he knew it. He had not been born into one of the cult’s bloodlines, so he’d always be a second class citizen. Still, they allowed him to indulge pretty much any other desire he might have, so he considered it a fair trade. Now this Blooded twit was dangling the idea of advancement over his head, like he was some numpty fresh from the slave pits. Malkar could smell the bullshit coming off this mission. Still, this place ran on favors and debts owed, and this was an opportunity to create some leverage. He went to find the rest of his Hand.

He entered the barracks of his Hand. Hands lived in semi-communal barracks, each having their own space within, built off a common area. Leadership claimed it created tighter bonds in the Hands. Malkar figured it was because they were cheap, even with their elite troops, which the Hands certainly were. Not merely thugs or bullyboys, the Hands were trained, hard-core killers that the Scarlet Order rented out to the highest bidder. Malkar was an experienced Hand leader, but after that small error in Aedsweald, he was assigned to this pisshole. Still, it was better than it could have been. It implied that he might be able to claw his way back. If he had fucked up beyond redeeming, they would have just killed him.

“Gather round, Brothers. We have orders from on high. Someone’s been naughty, and it’s our job to spank the guilty.” Wilf put down the small throwing knife he was honing, Strom laid down the gigantic weight he was working, Nulla sat up from his pallet to look at Malkar, and Juf quit shadow-fencing to listen to their Hand leader. Malkar smiled. His people were good, and whoever had made the mistake of fucking with the Order’s caravan was about to regret their bad decision.

“Someone had the poor taste to attack a supply caravan for the Master, and the Elders are… displeased. So, it’s our job to find these people, and make them very, very sorry they stole from the Great One. And then make them dead. We have no idea who did it, or where, only that the supply caravan is missing. So it’s our job to go find this out.

“Pack for a week in the field, we’re going to be babysitting a supply convoy. So here’s what we’re gonna do….”