by Tim Moon
Groaning yet again at the battle that raged in his digestive system and at his own stench, Jaron crawled on his hands and knees towards the stream. He had to get cleaned up and do his best to find civilization or he might end up in serious trouble. Before Jaron was halfway to the stream, his ass exploded again ejecting feces in a violent spray.
His face contorted in pain, and Jaron slumped to the ground and curled into a ball from cramps that made his eyes water. He swore off all blue fruit in the future. A couple minutes later, the cramps eased enough for him to crawl away from the mess, an inch at a time. He lay at the edge of the water, sweating and miserable.
Drowsiness pulled at Jaron’s eyelids and he didn’t have the energy to resist. As he closed his eyes, he hoped the last thing he saw was not a notification that read, “You have died of dysentery.”
Sometime later, Jaron woke up, unsure exactly when he had drifted off or how long it had been. His mind felt cloudy and throbbed wickedly. Squinting against the assault, Jaron still felt nauseated and weak, but the pain in his gut had abated somewhat. This was worse than anything he had experienced before.
Jaron looked down and saw that he shit himself again while he was passed out. The stench was unbearable and for once, Jaron was grateful that he was alone.
The cool stream eased his aching body. He let the current wash away most of the mess but had to scrub himself with leaves that had fallen within reach along the shore. Jaron waited several minutes for the filthy water to flow downstream before he slowly waded through the waist high water, to escape the shoreline his bowels destroyed.
How did he have so much ammo? Jaron wondered. He was basically starving and had only eaten a dozen or two of the berries. And why did it hurt so much? At that moment, he hated the realism of the game and cursed the developers.
The sun had moved past its apex. When he found a sunny spot with a large smooth rock, Jaron climbed up and stretched out on the warm stone to dry off. Soon the treetops would block the light from reaching him by the water.
He didn’t think he could walk much further and since the day had been totally fucked, Jaron decided to make a shelter and call it a day. He still had his spear and if he was lucky, could kill something to eat. Either way, he definitely wanted to make a fire.
Starting a fire from scratch was tedious, but Jaron was confident he could remember how. He found a good place several feet from the shore and cleared away dried leaves and debris until he hit dark, rich soil. He set a few stones in a circle to mark out his fire pit and began to search for fuel.
If there was one thing he had in abundance, it was sticks. Jaron took the bark fibers out of his waistband, grateful they hadn’t been tainted by his filth, and set those on the rocks around the pit to sun dry as much as possible.
Jaron placed dry bark and fibers he found on a dead log along with a handful of crushed dried leaves in the center of his fire pit. Small twigs were stacked around the small mound like a tepee to facilitate airflow, and he made sure to keep a few large pieces of wood nearby for when the flames got going.
With a scowl of disgust, Jaron had to stop what he was doing to answer the call of nature. He quickly hobbled into the forest, with one hand clutching his stomach and dug a hasty cat hole behind a fallen tree. Once he finished his business, with the help of more leaves, Jaron covered it and continued to collect firewood on the way back to camp. By the time he returned to the fire pit he had enough to last half the night.
The key to starting a friction fire with two sticks was very dry wood. Jaron searched until he found a long, sun-dried branch that he broke in half. The wood felt light, the fibers were silver-gray and had splits indicating it had been drying for quite some time. It snapped easily which was also a great sign.
Jaron held one of the two sticks against a large rock and used a fist-sized stone to smash one end. The crushing force split the stick, forming a Y-shape at one end and exposed the dry fibers inside. With the other stick, Jaron used the large boulder to rough out a narrowed point, much like he had with the spear. The result was a crude plow blade. Then he sat down near his pit to do the hard work.
Once he found a relatively comfortable position, Jaron made a loose ball with dry wood fibers and moss. With a deep breath and a determined look, he braced the split wood and started rubbing the plow blade back and forth in the groove of the second stick.
Jaron kept up a steady pace for a minute, which felt like an hour. His arms and back ached and he was already breathing heavy. One hand began to cramp but he kept going. The wood in the trough began to darken from the friction. Small amounts of wood dust began to pile up at the end of the trough. He was getting close.
“Come on,” Jaron muttered to himself.
He picked up the pace, and his stamina began to noticeably drop. Jaron clenched his teeth and kept going. A trickle of sweat ran down his bare back just as a wisp of smoke curled up from the sticks. With a grin, Jaron kept going until there was a puff of smoke and he saw the dull orange glow of an ember.
Jaron cackled like a madman at the ember, grinning as he carefully tipped it into the bed of dry fibers and moss. Pride swelled his chest, letting him temporarily forget about the ache in his stomach. He let the ember smolder in the fibers for a second before gently breathing on it. The ember hungrily spread to the moss and burst into flames. He carefully lifted the ball of fire over to the pit and set it inside the twig tepee.
The crushed leaves and twigs began to smoke and a few seconds later, orange flames licked at the wood. Jaron’s confidence skyrocketed as he added more branches to his fire pit. Finally, something worked out in his favor! Jaron hollered with joy. He just might be able to survive in this strange new land.
Jaron stood with outstretched arms and bellowed to the sky, “Look what I have created. I have made fire.”
He chuckled. Tom Hanks was a national treasure.
Jaron’s grin widened when Drezkarn rewarded him with a notification.
Congratulations! You have created fire using a primitive method, proving that the very land is your toolbox. Doing so has advanced your Survival skill by 100%. You are now at Survival skill level 2 (10% to next level). Reward: 250 XP Continue honing your skills to reach your true potential.
Jaron did a fist pump at the sudden jump in skill level. The huge chunk of experience points surprised him. If he received that much for his other skills, it wouldn’t take long to level up. The prospect was exciting.
Huzzah! They say knowledge is power, yet it is the proper application of that knowledge that proves useful. You have gained a bonus of +1 Wisdom. Stay on your current path and great things are possible.
Another nice reward, Jaron thought. He celebrated by putting more wood on the fire. It was strangely comforting to feel the heat and watch the flames. If only he had food to cook…
Ignoring the gnawing sensation in his gut, and the churning further down in his bowels, Jaron pressed on because he had work to do. Mainly, collecting materials for a simple lean-to shelter, perfect for sleeping close enough to enjoy the fire’s warmth. As the sun began to set and the forest grew dark, Jaron finished collecting sticks and other material he needed.
He kept his spear close and remained mindful of his surroundings in case anything wandered close, he wanted to be ready to hunt. Yet as evening fell, not one animal approached his general area, leaving Jaron’s belly empty. He crawled into his shelter with his spear and sat down, resting on the dried leaves he piled under the sloped roof of his lean-to and put another log on the fire.
Feeling bored, Jaron poked at the fire with his spear. Then he remembered something he learned on a camping trip as a kid. If he blackened the tip of his spear, it would harden the wood. He lightly charring about eight inches of the spear tip. That little modification earned him an easy reward.
Congratulations! You have modified your weapon. Doing so gives you a 10% boost to Craft: Simple Weapons. Continue honing your skills to reach your true potential.
Jaron lay
down on the thin bed of leaves and watched the stars. To his surprise, there were two moons. One was white, like on Earth, and the other had a bluish tint. The view was incredible. He drifted off to the sound of a vibrant, living forest. The last conscious thought as Jaron fell asleep in the pile of leaves was, I hope there are no spiders in here.
Part way through the night, Jaron jolted awake. A distant howl and the answering calls were only one element. The other, and more immediate problem was the rain trying to stamp his fire out of existence. Lightning flashed and thunder boomed as Jaron shivered. The storm had exposed several few thin spots in the roof of his shelter where water dripped down onto his nearly naked body, chilling him to the bone.
“Seriously?” Jaron shouted at the uncaring storm. Gritting his teeth against the cold, he scrambled to rescue his fire before the flames guttered out and the coals went dark.
Problem was Jaron could barely see. Between the rain, wind and cloud cover blocking the moons and the diminished fire he was nearly blind. Jaron crawled out of his shelter and began to feel around the immediate area for branches and twigs. The first sizable branch he found would not budge. The next one was small but would serve his purpose.
He wanted to build another simple lean-to over the fire. Dropping the small log next to the glowing embers of his fire, he decided to sacrifice part of his own shelter and reuse the branches to protect the coals. He could build it back up but if he lost the coals, he may very well die of hypothermia and that would be almost as lame as dying of dysentery.
The sticks Jaron used to create part of the wall of his own shelter became rafters that rested on the small log and cantilevered over the fire pit. He shoved debris and topsoil onto the ends of the rafters to keep them pinned to the ground so he could lay branches for the roof on top. Branches leaned against the rafters created walls to block wind and rain blown in by gusts.
When he had decent coverage, Jaron added wood to the fire and stoked the coals by blowing air on them. With a little coaxing, the dampened wood smoked and then began to catch. The flames spread and he let out a sigh of relief. With the fire itself safe for the time being, Jaron turned his attention back to his shelter.
Jaron lost 2 health points while searching for sticks when he stubbed his toe on a rock. Few bloodless injuries hurt worse than stubbing a toe. The lost hit points slowly regenerated over the next few minutes even if the throbbing lasted several minutes longer than the damage.
In a way, it amused him to see real pain translated into measurable statistics. What interested him even more was how real it all felt, from his illness to the warmth of the fire and splash of the rain, to the texture of the soil and the throbbing ache of his stubbed toe. The developers of Drezkarn outdone themselves.
Jaron dozed off and on for the rest of the night. He alternated trying to sleep with doing calisthenics to stay warm, adding another 10% to his athletics skill. The fire puttered along but despite near constant tending, it never regained its earlier majesty. Miserable might have adequately described the evening.
Jaron tilted his head back and let rain fall in his mouth, a slow process for getting a drink but one that required almost no effort. He cupped his hands together as well and sipped the water every few minutes. His hands no doubt still had traces of dirt from building the lean-to over the fire pit, but he didn’t care.
He heard a unique ding and a notification appeared.
Congratulations! You have eaten berries and drank fresh rainwater, fulfilling the requirements of Rumbly In My Tumbly I. Well done. You have been awarded +50% Survival skill progress, 100 XP, and 5 copper coins. Take note: the copper coins will be automatically awarded when you have a place to store them.
You have unlocked the quest Rumbly In My Tumbly II. You may have eaten but you may not be sated. Find a meal worthy of the name and satisfy your hunger. Conditions: Consume a meal of good quality or better. Reward: Sated status effect for 8 hours (+5% XP, +10% Stamina), 200 XP, 10 copper coins.
Do you accept?
Yes or No
“You may not be sated,” Jaron muttered as he accepted the quest. “That’s a fucking understatement.”
6
Sunlight awoke Jaron for the second time in as many days. It poked through the spartan roof of his hastily rebuilt shelter, waking him from a fitful night of rest. His eyes slid open and a groan escaped his lips.
In addition to saving the fire and exercising to stay warm, he had been forced to deal with urgent bouts of diarrhea and vomiting, occasionally at the same time. His throat stung and his ass hurt. Even with the bonus of completing his first quest, the delicious flavor of those berries was not worth the torture they had put him through.
During the short periods of rest, Jaron’s dreams had been surprisingly vivid and unsettling. More of his past revealed itself, including memories of his parents, the Crithzari War, and his military service. The memories of fighting the Crithzari and their monsters had been the worst and the memories made his shoulders quake as a chill ran down his spine.
Pushing aside the branches and leaves that covered him, Jaron slowly stood and let out another groan. He was both hungrier and significantly weaker than he had been the day before. The stench that clung to him must have kept the animals away. After all, no predator wanted to eat a shitburger.
He trudged like the walking dead to the stream to wash himself yet again. The cold water hit him like 10-shots of espresso and a slap in the face. His aches faded in the frigid water.
No longer groggy, Jaron thought, man, what I wouldn’t give for some actual coffee. Closing his eyes to savor the memory, Jaron rinsed off and renewed his vow to never drink from the stream he had repeatedly defiled.
Once he finished washing, Jaron went into turtle-mode and lay on the rocks again to let the early morning sun to warm and dry his body. He used the downtime to marshal the mental and physical strength needed to push on. Instead, the warm sun lulled him back to sleep without even realizing it.
When Jaron finally woke up, the sun was visible overhead but not yet at its apex. With a reluctant sigh, he rolled to a seated position, no easy task given how sore he felt. Jaron looked at his feet by chance. He had been barefoot since the beginning, yet his feet weren’t sore or injured at all. Despite walking ten miles or more through wild forest, his feet were good to go.
Maybe it was an elf thing? With a shrug, Jaron clutched his spear, which functioned more as a walking stick than a weapon.
Time to saddle up, he thought with a sigh. You got this. Pain is temporary, and you’ve been through worse.
“You’ve got this,” became Jaron’s silent mantra as he tore down the shelter and scattered the branches. After he drenched the firepit with the contents of his bladder and covered it with soil, Jaron retrieved his two fire sticks and continued downstream.
I sure am packing a lot of wood, he thought, chuckling to himself as he tried to ignore his aches and pains. Without anyone to talk to, he had to entertain himself somehow to keep his spirits up.
While Jaron’s mindset improved as he left the temporary campsite, his body began to give out. The trek turned out to be far more tiring than it should be. His illness seemed to be taking its toll. As the minutes turned into hours, his pace slowed considerably. Jaron wasn’t one to give up though. He gritted his teeth and kept going, one step at a time, knowing that his best hope at survival was to find a village or town to get help.
The hours continued to ground by painfully slow. The lingering effects of the demon berries made Jaron light-headed and prompted several trips to the bushes to empty his bowels. He marveled that there was anything left in his body to expel.
The gently sloping ground gradually leveled out. The rocky shore along the stream, the tall, proud trees, and the firm soil slowly gave way to marshy ground, tufts of grass, stagnant water and spindly trees with spidery, exposed roots. The environment had changed so slowly that Jaron initially didn’t even notice it. Now it was apparent he was trudging into a bog and tha
t did not sit well with him. Everything about it gave him the creeps.
A small black bird landed nearby, tilted its head at Jaron and let out the most blood chilling squawk. The damn thing sounded just like a screaming woman from a horror movie. The piercing sound made him wince and sent a wave of goosebumps down his arms.
“Fuck off,” Jaron yelled as he picked up a handful of mud and chucked it at the bird. The mud sailed harmlessly past the bird, but it screamed again in protest and flew away as he muttered, “Hell spawn.”
Frustrated by the new obstacles, Jaron sat on a dry mound of grass and looked around. Terrain like this was the stuff of nightmares. He fully expected to see an alligator or crocodile. Or worse, he wouldn’t see them — he’d just die a horrible death. Those were just two of the three scariest things imaginable — alligators, crocodiles, and brain aneurysms. Goosebumps ran down his arms again at the thought and he couldn’t help looking around in paranoia.
Jaron could only guess how far the swamp extended. Wading through muck was not only dangerous and creepy, especially barefoot and practically naked, but his current illness could worsen with exposure to the bacteria and viruses in the stagnant water. Or at least that’s what he told himself. He sniffed dismissively; he wasn’t afraid. He was being smart. It was for his own well-being after all.
Seriously though, Jaron knew he would be at serious risk if he didn’t find safe water to drink, and soon. The rule of thumb for survival was three days without water and three weeks without food. He was already well into his second day. The small amount of water he’d been able to sip from his hands had been lost thanks to the dysentery.