After about 20 minutes of Angela singing and walking along the riverbank, it occurred to her that maybe singing in an ostensibly monster-infested forest wasn’t the best of ideas, so she opted to shut the hell up and try not to get noticed.
That lasted all of 30 seconds.
“Okay, super hungry. Need something to eat.”
Angela peered into the trees. They had grown thicker as she progressed, and the riverbank was now full of mosses and low ferns. And mushrooms. She walked up to a patch and stared at them side-eyed.
“Will you kill me if I eat you?” she said to the mushroom. It didn’t say anything back. She evaluated it closely and came back with the determination that it was… mushroom-like.
Angela was torn. On the one hand, she liked mushrooms, and she was hungry. On the other hand, she liked being alive. Not poisoning yourself was a tried-and-true method of staying that way. Unfortunately, she had always bought her mushrooms from the farmer’s market, so her identification skills were nonexistent.
That said, this particular mushroom looked a lot like the white mushrooms you could find at any grocery store, so chances were already high that it was okay to eat.
Angela resolved to play it safe. “Alright, Mr. Mushroom. I’m going to eat a teensy, tiny piece of you. If nothing happens in ten minutes, I’m going to assume you’re not poisonous.” She plucked the mushroom from the ground and carried it to the river’s edge, where she washed it in the crisp mountain water. Being as careful as possible, she took a minuscule bite and then sat down on a rock to evaluate the effects.
When the vomiting finally stopped 30 minutes later, Angela glared at the mushroom with a sea of hate in her eyes. It laughed at her and shook its head.
“Oh man, you are so fucked up,” the mushroom said. “You were so worried about getting poisoned that you never stopped to think about getting high. You’re talking to a mushroom!”
“Because you’re the asshole who did this!” she snapped.
The mushroom held up his little mushroom hands. “Hey, I was just hanging out under a tree, lady. Ain’t my fault.”
Angela squeezed her eyes shut. “This is so messed up. Getting high on mushrooms shouldn’t make them talk to me.”
“And yet it did. Next time don’t mow down on Mushrooms of +3 Anthropomorphization.”
She opened her eyes. “Is that a thing?”
The mushroom shrugged. “How the hell should I know? I’m your hallucination.”
“Ugh. Leave me alone,” Angela said. “I just need to pull it together enough to cast a heal spell, and then it’s bye-bye mushroom guy.”
“Snrk,” the mushroom chuckled. “Good luck with that. You’re still on cooldown.”
“Please. I don’t know that, so how would my hallucination?”
The mushroom wagged a mushroom finger at her. “Tsk, tsk. Not admitting something to yourself isn’t the same as not knowing it.”
She glared at the mushroom but realized the little shit might be onto something.
Feeling the forest around her, Angela noted that while she could still feel the vitality, she couldn’t touch it the way she had when she’d cast her spell.
Calling up her stone tablets, Angela sifted through them and noticed that she now had one labelled “RUNES” and another labelled “SPELLS.” Apparently, the information had been split up at some point. She grabbed the one labelled “SPELLS” and focused on it. As soon as she did, she saw more information appear.
Breath of the Forest (Rank ∞)
This spell draws on the vitality of the forest to fully heal you or another creature.
* * *
Cost: A single sprig of mistletoe. (17:08 remaining)
As she watched, the timer at the bottom of the entry changed, ticking down a second at a time.
“Seriously?” Angela said. “There’s more than an hour cooldown on my only spell?”
“Yeah. Total balls,” the mushroom said, nodding its large white cap. Angela glared at it before picking up a different tablet, this one labelled “CONDITIONS.”
CONDITIONS
* * *
Hallucinations:
- Anthropomorphization: Stage 3 (-2 WIL)
- Auditory: Stage 1 (-1 WIL)
- Abrasiveness: Stage 1 (+1 CHA)
Hungry: Stage 1 (-1 CON)
“Oh, goody,” Angela muttered. The lack of a conditions timer sucked, but so did most of her experience on Arenia. “Alright. I’m getting out of here. I’m still hungry as shit, and Palmdale, or Pullman, or Palmyre, or whatever the hell that town is called isn’t getting any closer.” She used her shillelagh to pull herself up off the ground, groaning at both the upset in her tummy and the hunger that warred with it.
“What about me?” the mushroom said. “I’m good company.”
Angela looked at the partially-eaten mushroom, who was now giving her big doe eyes.
“I’ve got friiiiieeeeends,” he said, gesturing to the other mushrooms growing under the tree.
“Yay! Take us! Whee! We’re a good time! Hurray!” they shouted in chorus.
Angela rolled her eyes and looked skyward. “You have got to be kidding me.”
Chapter 10
The Fog
Mark awoke to a tugging on his leg. Not a yank, more like something pulling on his bandages. He knew on some level that he needed to stop it from happening, but he was deep in the postictal confusion following his seizure and couldn’t work out where he was, let alone what was happening. Was he outside? Why did it smell like dirt and rotting wood?
It was so hard to think. How long had he been out? It could have been minutes, or it could have been hours. Given the darkness outside, it was probably hours. Or not.
He passed out again.
This time it was pain that woke him. Something was biting his leg. He kicked whatever it was, and the thing scampered away. Maybe a rat of some kind? Wouldn’t that be ironic; kill a dire rat, then get eaten by a normal-sized one.
Mark had to get moving. No matter how hard it was to think, he had been lucky not to be killed while he was unconscious. Especially since the growing light outside suggested, he’d been there all night. However long that was. Like so many things, he had no idea how long a night was on Arenia.
The uncertain nature of time on Arenia didn’t change what Mark needed to do, so he began the laborious task of pushing himself backwards out of the hole in the log pile. It was an exhausting act, and by the time he was outside, he was just about spent. Were debuffs a thing on this world? Out of curiosity, he opened his Tome. Sure enough, there was now a tab labelled “Conditions.”
CONDITIONS
* * *
Postictal confusion: Stage 3 (-5 WIL, -5 INT)
Postictal exhaustion: Stage 3 (-8 STR, -8 CON, -5 DEX)
Postictal malaise: Stage 3 (no desire to eat, limited emotional range, -1 CON)
Mangled left calf: Stage 2 (-1 STR, -2 DEX, -1 WIL)
Holy crap, Mark thought. If those are the debuffs now, what were they right after my seizure? Looking at the numbers, Mark guessed that the max-grade debuff was so high that it had dropped his Constitution to zero. That would certainly explain his passing out.
With a bitter sigh, Mark surveyed the area where he’d fought the dire rat. The carcass was nowhere to be seen. Not even bones remained. Unfortunately, the same could be said for the majority of his gear.
A fit of depression washed over Mark as he thought of what it would take to survive on the shoddy remnants of his gear. Couldn’t he just lie down and go back to sleep?
No!
He knew he needed to keep moving; that his desire to give up was the post-seizure malaise talking, and he couldn’t afford to listen. He had to push through the fog and his aching body. Not to mention the searing pain in his leg.
Forcing himself forward, Mark gathered what he could. His backpack had been torn open, and the rations were eaten, and his bedroll was shredded beyond recognition. A bit of hunting turned up his camp knife, bu
t the torches were torn apart, and his flint and steel was now just “flint.” Hopefully, he could use his knife to get a fire going, but that would require luck, and Mark was pretty sure he’d exhausted his short supply.
The last bit of salvage Mark found was his canteen which, shockingly, had not been destroyed. It even had water in it. Mark popped it open and took a deep drink, savouring the sensation. Seizures were a killer on the body.
A seizure.
“Goddammit…” Mark whispered, dropping his face into his sleeve.
Why did he have a seizure so soon? And a grand mal at that? His anticonvulsants should have taken a week to clear his system. Couldn’t he have gotten at least a couple of days grace before they started? Instead, he had gotten one in less than an hour. Was it something about the trip to Arenia? Had it taken longer than he thought? Or was it something to do with Arenia itself—
Oh no.
Realization slammed into him.
The conversation before he arrived. The one with the voice when he signed the contract. That voice had said that Arenia had advanced magic, while Earth had advanced science. The implication was that Earth’s science wouldn’t work on Arenia. But what did that mean for the medicine already in his body? Had its effects simply vanished the moment he’d arrived? If that was the case… well, he was about to experience the worst withdrawal possible.
“Nuh-uh,” he admonished himself. “Don’t go down the rabbit hole.”
Mark lifted himself off the ground, wobbling from the combination of the seizure and the need to put almost all of his weight on his right leg. He had to get moving while he was still able. But to where? Down the ravine? Back up it? The smart bet was probably up since he knew there were exits that way, but that meant climbing over the log pile, and in his current state, he didn’t think he could pull it off. If he went down the ravine, he’d end up following the creek. That had to lead somewhere, right?
It only took one wincing step for Mark to see that he wouldn’t be going anywhere if he didn’t do something about his leg. Since he didn’t know any healing spells—assuming he could even learn spells—he instead looked around for a makeshift crutch.
After a bit of hunting, Mark found something, but it was closer to a branch than a stick. A couple of feet taller than he was tall, the length of wood was splintered and broken on one end and covered in twigs and small branches. Those he was able to strip off with the camp knife, but there was nothing he could do about the mangled end. It probably needed to be sawed off, but since he was all out of saws at the moment, it would have to do as-is. It was time to move.
At first, it wasn’t easy. Between the confusion and the mangled leg, Mark struggled to make any progress. The staff helped, but he could still barely put any weight down. Then, after about ten minutes of movement, he abruptly felt the fog in his head lift somewhat. He even felt like some of his strength had come back. A glance at his Tome showed the reason why: His exhaustion debuff had just dropped to Stage 2. He couldn’t help but wonder how long before it dropped to Stage 1—too bad there wasn’t a timer—but maybe the system governing Arenia considered that too “unrealistic.” If that was even possible in this place. Still, the mental fog was clearing faster than it did on Earth, so he wasn’t about to complain.
After another half hour of walking, Mark was notified that he’d picked up a new Skill.
NEW SURVIVAL SKILL LEARNED!
Hiking – Skill Level 11 (Tier-I)
I suggested we only give you half the levels since you’re only using one leg, but they said that’s against the rules. Looks like fun is against the rules too.
Tier-I Bonus: Increased foot durability when hiking.
* * *
*Since this Skill predates your arrival in Arenia, it has been set at a level commensurate with the practical ability you already possess.
* * *
650 XP Earned (cumulative)
It was a higher intro tier than he would have expected, but Boy Scouts did a lot of hiking, so maybe not so surprising. And while there wasn’t much of a bonus for Tier-I, no blisters was certainly better than blisters. Especially when you only had one good foot.
RENOWN LEVEL UP!
Level 6 Achieved
* * *
XP: 5,200
XP to next Renown: 2,200
Even though the messages were simple and being broadcast directly into Mark’s awareness, it was still hard for him to process them through the fog of post-seizure confusion that still bound his brain. He could handle the idea of an increase in Renown though, despite having no idea what those levels were for. And while Level 6 had come easily, the experience needed for the next level suggested the difficulty would ramp up significantly. Expecting those gains to continue at his current pace would be foolish.
Mark stopped. His head hurt from trying to think about this world’s levelling system, and even with the hike being predominantly downhill, a half-hour hike in his condition required a monumental effort.
Plunking himself on a large, moss-covered rock, Mark took a moment to look at the sky and gauge the time. The sun was at its zenith—and there did appear to be only the one sun—so it was currently “noontime.” For what that was worth. Its path was also off to one side rather than being directly overhead, so Mark arbitrarily designated that as “south.” Which meant that he was stuck walking west until he could get out of this ravine. Unfortunately, the ravine walls kept getting steeper the longer he walked. If they didn’t taper off soon, he was going to be in real trouble.
Mark leaned heavily on his makeshift staff and stared at the ground for a moment.
He was just so, so tired.
“Come on, man,” he whispered.
Heaving himself to his feet, Mark once again stumbled down the ravine.
The journey didn’t get any better despite picking up another level in his Hiking Skill. He fell several times when he placed his bad leg incorrectly, or the butt of his staff slipped, but each time he managed to get up and continue. At least there was water in the creek to drink, but food was going to be a problem. In a way, the postictal malaise was somewhat of a blessing, masking as it did what should have been a gnawing hunger. Which wasn’t to say he’d trade that benefit for removal of the other negative effects. At least they had all dropped to Stage 2, but for all he knew, it might stay that way for another day. Good times.
At some point, Mark started to get a tickling on the back of his neck. Remembering the Sense Danger Skill he’d picked up earlier, he made a pretense of stopping to catch his breath. Yes, he’d constantly been on the lookout, and there wasn’t anything visible, but there was still the occasional rustle that seemed at odds with the surroundings. Unfortunately, there was no way to know for sure if he was in danger.
Sense Danger Skill Increased to Level 2 (Tier-0)
Of course there’s a way to know for sure! It’s called getting mauled to death.
* * *
50 XP Earned
Growls resonated from the ledges overlooking the ravine, sending chills through Mark. He peered up to see if he could identify the source of the sound, but a mist had gathered, causing the air to grow heavy and wet. As he peered up at the edge of the ravine, Mark was able to make out five sets of red eyes peering down at him. At first, he was worried it was more dire rats, but the glowing pupils were too wide apart for that. Too wide for wolves, even.
Granted, what the hell did he know about the eye width of an Arenian wolf?
Mark picked up his pace, hobbling faster down the ravine. For now, the creatures seemed content to stay up on the ledge, but for all he knew, they were trying to maintain his attention while their friends circled back behind him. If that happened, he was toast. He couldn’t fight off a geriatric Pomeranian in his condition, let alone a pack of Arenian red-eyed-not-wolf-wolf-things.
“Go!” Mark shouted. “Screw off, mutts!” He waved his staff at them. “See this? Super powerful magic staff. I’ll transmogrify your asses into shoe leather.”
The taunts did not have the desired effect. Instead of merely lurking above him, the creatures’ growls turned into a staccato of yelps and clicking. Two of their number split off and headed into the woods, deadly silent in contrast to their loud packmates. It reminded Mark of a nature documentary he’d seen about how transient killer whales hunted seals, where one or two would sneak off and go quiet in order to set up an ambush. Which was cool when you were on your couch, not so much when you were the seal.
“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon,” Mark muttered to himself as he forced his weakened body to move faster. There was no logical argument for why he needed to move quickly, but it was fair to say that his flight reflex was triggering pretty hard at that moment, and he was in no mood to argue.
As Mark moved, he noticed that the ravine walls had spread wider and lower as the creek he was following slowed down and spread out. That was bad news. If the ravine walls were lowering and the creek was spreading, that probably meant he was heading toward some sort of open area. In fact, the creatures tracking him had probably been following him for a while, knowing he would eventually emerge in an easier-to-access location. Given that some of them had split off, there was a strong chance he was heading into an ambush.
What Mark needed was an advantage that would help him hide, and he found it in a thick fog bank that wasn’t too far ahead. It looked pretty foreboding—more like a grey wall than proper fog—but it was that or giving up hope altogether. Buckling down, he leaned heavily on his staff and forced himself into a hobbling run across the rough forest terrain, barely choking back a cry of pain over the waves of agony coursing up his leg.
Arrival Page 11