by Tim Moon
Next, Jaron helped Cyprus pull the fangs. Tough fibrous tissue held them in place, so it took some hard sawing with his dagger. Eventually their persistence won out and they came away with the foot-long fangs. The glands were left to Cyprus because it was delicate work and he knew what to do.
“Here you go,” Jaron said, holding out his knife.
“No need.” Cyprus grinned and flicked out one of his claws. “I can harvest the glands with these.”
“Right.” Jaron watched with interest from a safe distance in case the gland burst.
As they worked on the next snake, Jaron decided to satisfy his hunger for knowledge.
“I don’t know too much about this world and how things work,” Jaron said. Cyprus gave him a curious look but nodded knowingly. “I’m trying to plan my attribute point allocation. How does the class system work here?”
“You do not know?”
“Like I said, I’m not from here. In my world you might go to a school to learn a craft or profession…” Jaron’s voice trailed off. Cyprus narrowed his eyes at hiim. “What?”
“Your world?”
“Yeah.”
“Mmm-hmm.” Cyprus ran a hand down his beard with a thoughtful, calculating look in his eyes. After a moment he motioned for Jaron to continue.
“Um, yeah. So, like I was saying the only real limits where time and money. I knew a guy that used to be a doctor, or healer, but then became a musician,” Jaron said. Cyprus raised an eyebrow and nodded in approval. “There was another friend who owned a construction company and later went on to become a high school teacher.”
“Mmmhmm. We are limited to two professions. Few, if any, change their professions due to the time and effort required to reach a productive and profitable level.” Cyprus picked a stray piece of web off his ear and flicked it away.
“What kind of professions are there?” Jaron asked.
“Any number of things from being a farmer to making candles or brewing complex potions. There are far too many to give you a comprehensive list,” Cyprus said. “Classes are separate from profession as I’m sure you know, although they can complement each other. Think of a class as a template, they are not always strict.”
Jaron nodded as Cyprus continued.
“There are certain things a warrior must know to be a warrior and some things that are incompatible or prohibited. For example, a pure warrior would not learn magical healing, although they might learn some of the mundane healing skills.” Cyprus tapped his chin. “Likewise, a cleric would not learn many rogue skills. These are not great examples because there are always exceptions. One thing my father told me was that ‘there are as many classes as there are beings in the world.’”
In a way, Jaron understood. Some games he had played were strictly structured but allowed you to merge classes with certain penalties, while other games used skills to determine your “build” and virtually ignored traditional class distinctions. From what Cyprus said, some of the differences existed here. At least it was familiar and that was something he could work with.
Jaron vowed to himself to become the best he could be in this world. He wanted magic and melee skills. However he could manage blending the two, he would. He would continue to stand against people like the Blood Hag and her collaborators. He would fight evil anywhere he confronted it and the name Jaron Lionhart would become known throughout the kingdom of Galyntor and around the world of Drezkarn.
Before he got ahead of himself though, Jaron still needed more information.
“How can I get more information about classes? And where do I train in the necessary skills?” he asked.
“Well, Jaron Lionhart, what kind of person are you?”
“Uhhh,” Jaron eloquently said. “A good person?”
“Is that a question?”
“No. I’m a good person.” Jaron cleared his throat. “I hope to learn magic, but I also want to learn how to fight with a sword. I’m somewhat familiar with bows though you probably couldn’t count on me to hunt for food.” He chuckled nervously.
“I see. That sounds like a lot to juggle.” Cyprus nodded. “You may learn more general information by visiting an archive or speaking with scholars. For training, depending on how much money you have, you could seek out an academy or a master for private lessons. Many peasants or street urchins seeking a new life join a guild or the military. Some enterprising individuals learn on their own through experience.”
“Lots of options,” Jaron said.
“There are and some of them are difficult to withdraw from if they are not to your liking.”
“Like the military?”
Cyprus nodded. “Or a guild. They bear many expenses such as training, materials, a mentor’s time, and the room and board they provide. All guild members must commit to a term of service. Some of which are quite extensive depending on the skills that are taught. Furthermore, guild members must often give a portion of their salary to the guild once they become employed in their profession.”
Jaron let out a low whistle. That sounded like too much commitment for him. It also made him curious how Cyprus learned magic. “How did you learn you magic?”
Cyprus paused to withdraw a web gland. “My father taught me much of what I know.” He placed the gland in a pile with the other harvested items. “I also studied with a great poet and singer and the rest I learned on my own.”
“You are a bard then,” Jaron said.
“I am.”
“So, your father was a bard too? Or a healer?”
“Bardic knowledge runs in my family. However, my father told the most mesmerizing stories. He was not much of a singer or dancer, and he never developed his own unique stories, but he could have. I am afraid he was a talented man crippled by a self-defeating attitude and lack of confidence.” Cyprus removed another fleshy mass from the snake, which he set off to the side. He continued with a wistful smile. “The felidari are a musical people so his skill as an orator proved to be a bit of a shock, especially since he couldn’t carry a tune to save his life.”
Jaron chuckled. “My father lived a soldier’s life as did I. My mom was a schoolteacher.”
“Noble work, teaching. It can be a special thing to share one’s knowledge with others.”
“Yeah, she loved the work even though it drained her energy,” Jaron said.
“What would you like to do?” Cyprus asked.
Jaron thought about his answer. He had already mentioned his idea — magic and ranged attacks, with decent melee in a pinch.
Cyprus gestured at Jaron to help and they began to remove the fangs. “The assassins guild will pay nice coin for these.”
“What?” That took Jaron by surprise.
“I jest.” Cyprus grinned at him. “Well, sort of. They would pay well for these fangs. They’re already made to deliver venom which works well for poisons. The puncture wound from these causes a nice bleeding effect too.”
“Trust me, I know,” Jaron said with a frown.
“Right, sorry.” Cyprus continued trying to pry the fang loose from the jaw. “Anyway, I don’t sell to assassins so do not worry. And you did not answer my question.”
“My background and abilities lie in combat so I may as well capitalize on that fact. I won’t join an army or guild though. I know nothing about the kingdoms here and would hate to find myself in the service of a terrible leader,” Jaron said. “I value my freedom and don’t want to give that up.”
“A sell-sword then?”
“Not likely. That can prove to be a different form of the military problem,” Jaron said. “I’m more likely to explore with a small band of like-minded adventurers. Searching for lost treasures, hunting evil creatures, that sort of thing.” With a nod towards the kids he continued, “And I intend to help these guys. I can’t stand idly by while people take advantage of kids like that.”
Cyprus grunted and nodded in agreement. “It sounds like you are living the dream then.”
“I could use a
real meal,” Jaron said with a huff. “But yeah, I guess I am. Things haven’t been dull, that’s for sure.”
By the time they finished skinning all the cottonmouths and harvesting their fangs and glands, Jaron progressed another 40% through level 1 of skinning.
21
Early morning light saw the group pile back onto the boat and begin the final leg of their journey across Fang Marsh. Hours passed as they paddled, talked and listened to Cyprus sing, which proved to be more like rap music than folk songs.
Jaron let loose and joined Cyprus with some freestyling. “Rowing all day, fighting snakes all night. Got the crew together and we’re doing all right. Travel to town and I’m getting some food. Don’t wanna talk now, I’m not trying to be rude. ‘Cause I need some grub, all I had was blood and that ain’t good enough. Kick it back to Cyprus the rhyming bard, who raps so smooth while I flop so hard.”
“Land ho!” cried Kwang.
A small cheer went up and the sight of dry land that was not part of the swamp sent a wave of energy through the group.
Cyprus patted Jaron on the back. “We might make a bard out of you yet.”
Jaron chuckled as the two of them worked the poles like strippers earning tuition, propelling them towards the shore. Everyone felt weary, covered in grime and gore, with hunger pains in their bellies. Snake blood might have nutrients, but it did not satisfy hunger. Jaron figured it was the bard’s entertainment that kept them all from getting too hangry.
“Thank goodness,” Jaron said as he rowed. “I’m so sick of this swamp.”
“I’m hungry,” Kwang said.
Jaron shook his head. Kwang repeated those two words like a mantra.
“Shut up. We’re all hungry,” Darya said.
The enthusiasm waned after a few minutes since the land proved to be further than it looked. Jaron worked his ass off, but they could only go so fast in the big, flat boat. They aimed towards a small clearing on the shore with the least number of bushes. Warm sunlight shined down on them and their gruesome cargo.
The snake skins were long and unwieldy. Before they left the mud island, Cyprus had directed them to find branches which the children collected. When they had three poles, one for each skin, they rolled the scaled pelts onto each branch like they were making a roll of toilet paper. Stinky, scaled toilet paper.
Jaron wasn’t sure what kind of condition the skin would be in by the time they made it to Oakenport though and it was sure to affect the price. Still, any amount of coin was better than none. Jaron already planned to give up his share to the others since money was not an issue for him. His satchel contained his quest rewards and the small pouch from Myra’s trunk.
“We’re almost there,” Zora said, leaning forward from the bow.
“Sit down and be patient,” Cyprus said, in a fatherly tone. “We don’t want to have to fish you out of the water, again.”
With a pouty face, Zora complied. Good thing too because as she sat down a sharkodile snapped its jaws shut right where her head had been a moment before. Zora shrieked and the others cried out in surprise. The sudden movement of people pulling back from the edges of the boat made it wobble, giving Jaron a flashback of the previous attack. He dropped his center of gravity, bending his knees and holding the pole like a tight rope walker. Cyprus apparently had his planted in the mud for balance.
“Row!” Cyprus shouted.
They did until Cyprus lost his pole a few seconds later with an ear piercing yowl. He blew into his paws with a pained expression.
“Are you okay?” Jaron asked.
“Fine,” Cyprus said.
It was all Jaron could do to keep them moving forward and on course for the shoreline. He moved his pole to the center of the transom and used it like a rudder. The momentum of the boat took them the last 20 feet or so until the hull scraped against the ground below.
Jaron grinned. They were almost to safety. He turned to watch behind them and guard the others’ retreat.
“Go!” Jaron shouted.
Cyprus ushered the children off the ship with their cargo.
“Come on, Jaron,” Sabrina called.
Jaron turned to follow them when she shrieked and pointed. He didn’t even have time to turn before the boat did the equivalent of a wheelie and agonizing pain exploded from his leg. He fell onto the boat as it slammed down and he scrambled for something to hold onto. The impact of the boat slamming down made him bite his tongue. The tangy, metallic taste of blood filled his mouth again.
The agony of the bite on Jaron’s leg made his arms tremble. He glanced over his shoulder at a sharkodile latched onto his leg, glaring at him. His stomach clenched. His whole body felt weak, hollow, and even as he tried to reach for his knife, it slipped from his grip and skittered across the boat deck.
The sharkodile began to crawl backwards, pulling Jaron towards the water. His fingernails gouged the wood leaving a bloody trail. Cyprus started back to the boat to help but Jaron shook his head.
“Run, you fool,” Jaron said with as much force as he could.
They froze in place, mouths agape, as Jaron’s grip gave out and he slid below the water.
Brief images registered in Jaron’s mind; murky water, cloudy red streaks, bubbles, the muddy swamp bed, clawed feet, and pain all blurred together. Momentary bursts of sound assaulted him; a rush of water, his muted screams, a rumble and booming splashes with sparkling light overhead. It seemed to last for only a second or two before it all went quiet and then like a light switch being flipped, his vision went black.
You have died.
22
An angry, pained roar pierced the silence of the meadow, sending birds fleeing and causing small forest creatures to perk up, take note and run for cover. The sorrowful wail attracted the attention of sentient beings too, and unlike the birds and animals they sought to satisfy their curiosity.
In the meadow, Jaron sat up from the tree where he’d first awoken days before with a howl of anger and pain. What the fuck had just happened? One second he was on the boat and the next… He had died. Yes, Jaron remembered the final message. He had died. One of those fucking sharkodiles had killed him. Or had it been two? He remembered the tearing and the teeth. So many goddamned teeth!
His heart raced at the memory but when he looked down at his body, it was whole, unmarked and undamaged. It was like he had restarted at the beginning. He still wore the beggar’s loincloth, but he had nothing else.
“Sonofabitch,” Jaron grumbled, dropping his head into his hands. He had restarted and now he felt even hungrier than before he died.
Just the thought of the experience made him shiver. It shook him to his core and left him trembling in the peaceful meadow. Jaron pulled his knees to his chest and rocked back and forth. His mind raced with questions. What did he want from life? And his friends… What was he going to do? They were so far away and now he was alone, again. The crushing desire to curl up and weep swept over him and it was all he could do to resist it.
Jaron’s life flashed through his mind. One thing became abundantly clear, giving up wasn’t his way. No matter the obstacle, no matter the difficulty, he had always fought and more often than not, he prevailed. Jaron would not let death break him. If anything, it highlighted the need for him to get stronger, to train and develop his skills. He would earn power and wield it with the same sense of responsibility and honor he always had.
Jaron stood to begin his search for Cyprus and the children when he received a new notification.
You have proven Resilient. You did not fail your true nature in the face of a major setback. Quite the opposite, the challenge has only hardened your resolve. The trait Resilient gives you a +2 morale bonus and +1 resistance to fear and intimidation effects.
Huh, that’s interesting, he thought.
The bonuses helped sooth the sting of defeat, just a little, and validated Jaron’s beliefs and resolve. He stretched his arms and legs with a groan. Everything felt achy and weak. It was like t
he day after eating the blue berries of death all over again, he thought. At least he wasn’t shitting himself anymore.
Then he saw an unfamiliar icon in the corner of his vision. It was an image of a screaming face surrounded by a red glow.
When he focused on the icon, he received another notification.
Status Effect: Resurrection Sickness I. You have died and remained in the afterlife for 2 hours. For the next 4 hours you will suffer a 10% penalty to health, stamina, and a 50% penalty to earned experience.
“Goddamn,” Jaron said.
Two hours had been lost. It had only felt like seconds at the most. Jaron hoped the others had been able to safely escape Fang Marsh. If all the kids were safe, then his death had been worth it.
And those penalties! For the next four hours he would have to be on guard for trouble. The 10% penalty was enough to make a real difference in a fight.
Feeling cautious and a touch paranoid, Jaron surveyed the meadow. No one was around, just like last time and in a way he was glad for it. This was his safe zone, his respawn point.
I’ll have to change locations, Jaron thought as he relaxed. This is not a convenient place to respawn every time.
The stench and filth of the swamp had left him in death, but Jaron went to the pool and eased his tired body into the cool, clear water. Sitting in the shallows with his back against a rock, water ran over his shoulders and over his body, easing his stress.
Thirst overcame the caution he exercised before. He sipped from the water and enjoyed the cool sensation as the water ran down his throat.
The most frustrating thing about dying was having to essentially start over. Not to mention the travel. The spot he died was days away and he doubted Cyprus and the others would linger to wait for him. They almost certain believed him to be gone for good. He didn’t get the impression that non-player characters like them would respawn, so his return would come as quite a surprise. He made a mental note to be careful when he approached them.