CHAPTER 09 — GNOMES
By the time the sun rose, Flint hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep. He lay there, leaned against the tree, heart hammering in his chest. It was strange, feeling the need to sleep. Of course, he was used to it in real life. But this need, this strong desire to close his eyes and drift off into dreamland was indistinguishable from what he’d known in real life. He wondered what kind of engineering needed to give him this multitude of complex signals and sensations.
Esmeralda stretched out, blinking and looking around. Her green eyes were bloodshot.
“Where are we?” she asked, yawning.
“Somewhere near our last camp.”
She looked at him sideways, one eye still closed. “My body aches and I’ve got a headache.”
“Play stupid games, win stupid prizes.”
He stood and walked over to Dexter, who was snoring loudly on his back. Flint kicked him gently in the ribs.
“Whas-is,” Dexter said, rolling over on his side. There was drool coming out the side of his mouth.
Flint reached into his sack and extracted the canteen. He unscrewed the lid and poured some water over Vardock's head. The big man went bolt upright, eyes big as a cow’s. His fat head swiveled left and right. “What the fuh—fuck?”
“Time to move.”
Dexter glared at him. “That was unnecessary.”
Flint had already started walking by the time the other two caught up to him.
“We going back for our stuff?” Esmeralda asked.
“Obviously.”
“What if that… thing is still there?”
“They sleep during daytime,” Flint said.
They walked on in silence for several minutes. When they finally came to the clearing, Flint felt his chest tightened a bit. He remembered seeing Quirin get ripped apart by that monster. He wasn’t looking forward to seeing the dead man littered about the camp.
When they finally did arrive at the old camp, their fire was still going at a minimum. Flint looked around both ways and carefully stepped into the clearing, his weapon raised. After several long tense moments, he started to relax.
Their tents were still out and open along with several of their items, including Flint’s cook pot. They spent the next 10 minutes combing through the camp and collecting their belongings. There was no sign of the little man Quirin, save for dried blood on the log he was sitting on. A lot of it.
“Think it carried Quirin to its nest?” Dexter asked.
Flint shrugged. “Who cares?”
“Think he's dead?”
The image of the monstrosity shaking the elf around like a chew toy flashed in Flint's brain. Not a nice image. “Nah, I think he's having tea and biscuits up the road.”
Dexter frowned. “Don't gotta be a puh- prick about it.”
“Obviously the stupid elf is dead, moron. The Hornslog chopped him half, last I saw. Probably shit the retard out already.”
“You don't have to insult him, Austin,” Esmeralda said. “He was trying to help us.”
Flint snorted. “Yeah, by drugging you two and leading a dinosaur to the campfire. Great help he was.” Almost as much as you, is what he wanted to add.
Dexter's face was screwed up, his tongue pressed between the gap in his teeth. “How we get outta this forest without a guh- guh- guide?”
Flint opened his world map. The cursor was still at the edge of the forest with a question mark over it. He followed the length of the river all the way to the city of Dugath. He kicked himself for not asking Quirin for a rough estimate of how far we gotten.
He turned around, looking up at the foliage around him as though that was going to tell him anything useful. Then he caught sight of the sun peeking up over the canopy. “There.”
They turned and looked in the direction he was pointing.
“The leaves?” Dexter said.
“No, idiot,” he said, forcing his finger in the same direction. “The sun.”
“What about it?” Esmeralda asked.
“On Earth, the sun always rose in the east and set in the west,” Flint said, reopening his world map. “Dugoth is due east of Reach City.”
“So we walk towards the sun?”
Flynn didn’t answer, he was again studying the pathway around him. He caught sight of their foot tracks from yesterday, and confirmed that what he had in mind was the right thing to do. He pointed to them. “That’s the way we came from yesterday, the exact opposite of east.”
“What if the sun doesn't rise in the east in this world?” Esmeralda asked.
“Then I guess we’ll be lost.” He started off at a brisk walk, the two hurrying to keep pace.
“Maybe we should go closer to the river and follow it,” Esmeralda said. “That will also run right into Dugath.”
“The elf said the river is concealed by the thornbrush, wherever that is. That, and Hornslogs sleep there during the day.”
They carried on walking from morning to night with no problems. There was more small game of the variety they’d already seen and both Flint and Dexter took to killing it. Esmeralda as usual did not participate, which irked Flint more than a little bit, because she was sharing the XP.
By mid-day, he cleared level 12, and received his second Talent point. He placed it this time into Charisma. He’d been placing his skill points mostly into his Constitution bar – both Health and Stamina. But after browsing the Skill Tree again, he decided he would invest in his next active skill. The one he chose was his favorite yet:
Skill: Triple-Double
Execute three fast strikes with a two-handed weapon. If you successfully damage an enemy with all three strikes, the third will do double damage.
Stamina: 32
Practicing the skill, he realized it wasn’t the most ideal for a Warhammer, being more suited for quick slashed and thrusts with a greatsword. But it sure felt cool. Activating the skill made his blows lightening fast, a quick side-swipe, followed by a back swing, and overhead smash.
“That looks buh—badass,” Dexter said.
“Squawk. Keep stuttering douche-monkey,” Stanley said.
“That's not very nice,” Esmeralda said.
Dexter shrugged. “He’s mad I put him in the cage.”
That night, they made camp again but decided to forgo a fire. Flint elected to get a full night sleep, hesitant about letting Esmeralda of all people do half of the nights watch. But he was so damn tired at that point, that by the time the sun went down, he’d actually noticed his stamina bar shrink in size. An interesting effect of fatigue, one he would have to keep in mind in the future.
In the morning, they set off following the rising sun. They had no problems throughout the morning and into the early afternoon. The small game XP yield was dwindling by the time he hit level 14, and became insignificant at level 16. By late afternoon of the fourth day, it’d become so paltry that he didn’t even bother. His inventory was also about full with Deer meat and animal hides anyway.
By evening, they crossed into a new part of the forest. The land began to change from mossy, sparse woodlands to a mucky, windblown mire of greenery. The trees changed from thin far-spaced and leave-less to big-trunked monstrosities. The ground became much more hilly too.
“Doesn’t seem natural,” Dexter said.
“No,” Flint agreed. He licked his cracked lips and sipped from the canteen. Only a sparse few drops trickled out. He turned it over, seeing nothing come out. “I need to find a pond or something.”
“There,” Dexter said, pointing in the distance.
Flint squinted. “I don’t see anything.”
“That sound, coming from over there.”
Esmeralda bent her head sideways. “I hear it.”
“Hear what?”
“Like a waterfall.”
He followed Dexter and the bird to a grassy hill which turned into a steeper hill. The sound of rushing water grew louder as the tree cover became more sparse.
“Hold up,” Flint said. He pulled his hammer off his back.
“What?” Dexter said.
“I don’t know what’s on the other side of this hill,” he said. “But the geography has changed, and in games like this, that means entire new sets of critters.”
Dexter nodded and removed his m sword.
Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
“Are we further south? Is that why its greener?” Esmeralda said.
Flint had enough of her belly-aching. He ignored her and started moving forward.
“Well?” she said loudly.
“Well what?” he snapped.
“How do you know we’re going in the right direction?” she said. “If we’re going south, why is it freezing here?”
“We aren’t going south, we’re going east.”
Nearing the top of the hill, the sound of rushing water reached its peak and when they came over, it was clear why.
“This is nice,” Esmeralda said.
Flint looked around. They were on a narrow shelf of land overlooking the forest, the shoulder of the small waterfall in front of them. Some thirty feet up another steep incline was the summit of the hill, whatever was up there invisible from their vantage point.
Flint stepped over and filled his canteen. Then he stepped over to the opposite side. They were high over the forest, and he caught sight of the river running seventy feet below. A mile or so up the river, the red-orange thorn brush appeared on both sides, roughly corresponding to the transition zone where the mire turned into the sparsely wooded segment. The canopy of trees stretched out for miles to either end.
“Beautiful,” Dexter said.
Flint agreed. It was a sight to behold.
“Let’s stay here tonight,” Esmeralda said. “My feet hurt.”
Flint looked around. It was a small parcel of land with good elevation, the only way to access it was up the steep hill.
“You guys see this?” Dexter said, he was climbed up the rocky passe of the waterfall, his hand cupped over his eye to shield from the sun.
“What is it?”
Before he could respond, Dexter’s eyes grew wide. “Oh shuh— shuh— shit!”
An arrow plunged into the center of his chest and he fell backward. Esmeralda screamed, dropping bundle of sticks in her hands. Dexter seemed to fall in slow-motion, his mouth agape but no scream coming out. A moment later, he smacked into the waterfall and was carried along with the current. Before Flint could move, he was carried off the shelf of waterfall to plunge into the river some hundred-feet below. A messaged flashed in his HUD:
NOTE — Vardock has left the Party.
Flint’s heart raced into overdrive. His first instinct was to run against the top shelf of the hill, lest any other arrows sail down. He pulled out his hammer, ready to move.
“Stop,” a voice yelled from behind him.
Flint froze. How did someone get up the hill behind them? And how did they manage to hit Dexter with an arrow when he was on the summit of the hill?
“Place your weapon on the ground,” the voice said. Monotone, brusk. Almost bored.
Flint looked at Esmeralda whose gaze was fixed on whoever was behind him. She slowly turned to look at him and nodded frantically.
He cursed and dropped the hammer, then reflexively put his hands up over his head. A minute later, a giant man close to seven feet stepped up beside him, a giant staff held lazily at his side. His face was broad and flat, a stubble of beard forming. He was dressed in a button-up military coat and wore boots of dark leather.
Flint’s targeter auto-scanned him.
Dr. Branimir Romchil
Level 200 Mage-Specialist
Romchil stepped into their camp and looked in each of the tents slowly. He seemed almost bored. Esmeralda stood in the same place, frozen in horror or fear.
When he was finished scanning over everything slowly, he said, “Clear.”
Flint caught movement on the summit. A dozen tiny figures appeared carrying golden crossbows. At first, he thought they were a band of toddlers because they were no more than three feet tall. But as they descended the rockface where Dexter had stood, their faces came into view. Harsh, ugly faces with big noses. A few had scrabbly beards.
The group of them waddled over the stones in the waterfall and made to surround them, their weapons raised and pointed at them. As they made their way across, Esmeralda slowly inched her way back toward Flint, coming to a stop right at his side.
“Outta my way.”
One of the gnomes roughly pushed his way through the crowd of them and past Romchil. Where most of the other gnomes wore green tunics and knee-high socks, this one had an open blue blazer and something that looked awful close to jeans and dark-brown penny loafers. In his arms was cradled an even more giant crossbow. His face was big and puffy, his nose a bulbous red. Flint’s targeter auto-scanned him, but refused to display a report, even after he prompted.
A long, awkward silence passed as the line of gnomes — some twenty of them in all plus the giant wizard Romchil stared at them.
“What are you kiddos doing in this neck of the woods?” the head gnome said, his voice harsh as a squeaky wheel and much louder than you’d expect from something his size. It was grating and filled with arrogance. Reminded Flint of the New York mobsters from old movies.
Flint glanced at Esmeralda who had his left arm in a vice grip.
“Whatsa matta?” the gnome said. “Lost ya tongue?”
“Who the hell are you?” Flint said.
The right side of the gnome’s lip twitched upward. “I’m Mox. Like the animal. With an M. And what’s your name, friendo?”
“Flint,” he said. “I mean, Walker.”
“Walker,” Mox chuckled, saying it more like Waukuh. “And so you did. Walked right onto my property.”
“Your property?”
“Yeah.”
“I uh… didn’t realize someone lived here.”
“Oh you wouldn’t have,” Mox said. “I don’t keep any signs up or nothin’. Still, you’re a tresspasser, and for that, I’m sadly gunna have to kill ya.”
Esmeralda whimpered next to him, starting to cry.
“Why?” Flint asked, then regretted it when Mox started laughing.
“Why?” he said. “Why not?”
“Maybe we can work something out. I have gold.”
“Oh yeah? How much?”
Flint checked his inventory, his heart sinking. “Seven gold pieces. But I got tons of animal pelts, too.”
The gnomes burst out laughing in unison.
“Animal pelts,” Mox said, his own smile widening. “That’s real cute there, friendo.”
Flint’s mind raced for something. He looked left and right frantically. He could try to get away, activate Headhunter while targeting a bird somewhere. Might get him away.
Romchil tapped his staff on the ground and Flint’s skill bar suddenly blacked-out. A warning sign in the Status Effect window appeared.
Status Effect: SILENCED
Duration: 300s
(Dr. Branimir Romchil with Skill: Extended Lockout)
Flint’s eyes bugged out wide. That was the most OP shit he’d ever seen. All his skills totally disabled by one spell.
“Do not make me use the other one,” Romchil said calmly. “It is much more painful.”
Flint swallowed, the panic setting in again. “Look, Mister Mox. I am deeply sorry for the offense we’ve caused by trespassing on your lands. But you’ve already killed one of my friends. Can you find it in your heart to let us go?”
Mox’s brows twisted in thought. “Nah. I can’t.”
Flint’s heart sank. “But why?”
“Cause as I said, why not?”
“Leave us alone, you bastard!” Esmeralda said. “We didn’t do anything to you.”
Mox snapped his fingers and one of the gnomes stepped out of the line carrying a golden crossbow. He walked-up to his leader, who was taking his time rolling up his sleeves and deposited it in his hands.
“That’s where you’re wrong, sweetheart,” he said, pronouncing the last word sweet-haht. “Just by playing this game you’ve done immeasurable damage to me.”
“Game?” Flint said.
Mox waved his arm around as if revealing the surroundings for the first time. “Where you are now, schmuck. You’re in a game world, believe it or not. The GU. The Server.”
Flint blinked. Was this NPC actually aware it was part of a game? “You know you’re in a game universe?”
“Duh.”
“Then why are you killing us when you know it’s going to result our death?”
“You’re already dead, dummy.”
“What?”
“You heard me, pencil dick. You died the second you chose to log-in to the game,” Mox said. “They call it a casket for a reason, moron.”
Flint was caught halfway between shock and anger, and the stalemate was keeping him mute. He wasn’t at all happy about being insulted by a gang of bearded fetuses. Being robbed AND insulted was too much. Yet even as he clenched his fists in anger, he had to admit the thing’s points were dead-on. Still, the fact that this NPC was meta-aware gave him an idea.
“You can’t kill us,” Flint said. “We’re on an important mission for an Admin.”
Mox scowled as he pulled the lever mechanism to load a cross bolt.
“He told us to meet him in Siolan, that it was imperative we get there,” he continued.
“Good for you.” Mox raised the bow up to point at him.
“Wait.”
Flint opened his eyes. Romchil’s face was twisted into a frown.
Mox glanced over his shoulder at the wizard with a look of extreme annoyance. The big wizard ignored him.
“What was his name?” Romchil asked.
“What?” Flint said, heart hammering.
“The Admin. What was his name?”
“Dorn McCormick.”
Romchil turned his glare on the gnome. “Lower the crossbow.”
Mox’s face turned bright red with rage. “You believe this garbage?” Gah-bidge.
Romchil raised a brow high as he looked between Flint and Mox. Then, he shrugged. “Better safe than sorry. You know what happened last time you—”
“Ah, fuck it,” Mox slammed the crossbow down. One of his comrades stepped forward to collect it.
Flint heaved a sigh of relief. “Thank you.”
Romchil didn’t reply. Instead, he simply turned on his heel and walked up the rock face. The gnomes didn’t go anywhere. They, along with their leader, just glared at them angrily.
Flint felt Esmeralda tugging his arm.
“Let’s go,” she whispered.
“You ain’t going anywhere,” Mox said. “Till you pay-up.”
“Pay up?” Flint repeated.
“That’s right,” he said. “I’ll let you live this time. But you’re gunna pay the toll.”
Flint scowled at him and thought to tell him something rude. But a couple of the gnomes raised their crossbows.
“Just give me a little lip, and I’ll have them shoot you, no matter what the oaf said.”
“What do you want from us?”
“Let’s start with them inventory sacks.”
Flint and Esmeralda tossed their sacks on the ground in front of the gnome, and one of his henchman snapped it up.
“Give me your weapons too.”
“It’s all I have to defend myself,” he said in a voice much more whiny than he’d meant.
“And I am indeed sorry for that,” Mox said, clutching his breast, a look of faux sympathy on his face. It disappeared quick though. “Now check ‘em in.”
“How are we going to survive the walk?” Esmeralda said. “How are we going to get to Dugath without food or tents?”
“Dugath, eh?” Mox said. “You’re pretty far from there.”
“You know how to get there?” Flint asked.
“Put one foot in front of the other.”
“Thanks for the advice,” Flint said, tossing the hammer over in front of him.
“You want advice, get a lawya. I’m just the guy robbing you.”
“We finished here?”
“Be needing them clothes, too.”
Flint angrily unbuckled his breastplate and tossed it on the ground.
“Excellent,” Mox said.
They turned to leave.
“Ah, ah, ah.”
They turned back around.
“We don’t have anything else,” Esmeralda yelled.
“Really? Cause I see a perfectly good tunic on your carcass.”
A cold feeling passed through him.
“No,” he said.
Mox just smiled. “Yes. And I want all of it, too. Skiffies included.”
“She’s not giving you all her clothes.”
Mox snapped his fingers and the whole line of gnomes raised crossbows, the sounds of latches being pulled back.
“You were saying?”
Flint exchanged glances with Esmeralda who looked horrified. He glanced back at the row of crossbows and thought. Maybe he could execute his escape now and get away. The silence was worn off now. But something told him that would just get him killed faster.
He reached for the top of his shirt and unbuttoned it. Then undid his belt buckle and dropped his pants. Esmeralda did the same thing.
When they were stark naked, Flint gathered their clothes and tossed them over in front of Mox. Esmeralda covered her sizable breasts with one arm and her crotch with the open palm of her hand. Flint just let it all hang out.
“Pleasure doing business!” Mox said. “Happy journey.”
They walked back down the hill, barefoot and bare-assed. Esmeralda walked alongside him, her eyes downcast. They walked off in the general direction of the river, not saying anything. It wasn’t long until both of them were shivering.
“We can’t go this way,” Flint said. “Too close to the river.”
She looked up at him with tears glinting. Her arms were crossed against her chest, teeth chattering.
“Those Hornslog things might be around,” he said.
“Whatever.”
She said nothing, but when he widened out their path away from the river, she followed.
He felt a pain and a guilt then. Like he was the one that screwed this up for them. They got half a mile up the path when she suddenly stopped. Her face a milk-white, shallow breath smoking. His own skin was ice-cold.
He grabbed her by the arm and tried leading her but she wouldn’t move. Just stood planted still.
He looked around. There was a hollowed-out log nearby, a patch of leaves jammed under it. Looked dry enough.
“There,” he said, voice choked with cold. She glanced where he pointed. After a second, she let him lead her over.
They ducked into the hollow, grabbing each other in a tight embrace. They lay there on the leaves, naked bodies pressed in tight as lovers, drawing whatever warmth they could from each other. He never thought his first time laying with a naked girl would be while he was freezing to death, but there it was. There wasn’t anything sexual about it, though. They were freezing to death, and there wasn’t a damn thing to do about it.
He wondered stupidly if their bodies would be found. Would they stumble upon them at some unforeseen future time and see them locked together in a frozen embrace? Would they think them lovers caught in a frozen storm, as opposed to two people who could barely stand each other?
The sight of his HP bar blinking low reminded him that he wasn’t in the real world where corpses laid around to be discovered. In the game world, they simply disappeared.
Esmeralda’s breathing became shallow, and he was vaguely aware of it. Her lips were dark blue. His was too, for all he knew.
Delirium set in a short while later. First he saw himself in her face, not as he was now, but as he used to be. A crippled boy who knew nothing but video games. He squeezed tight to that boy, squeezing him hard. Glad he wasn’t him anymore.
“It’ll be okay,” he gasped. “It’ll be okay.”
But it wasn’t okay. It was just cold.