“Oh Gods,” he muttered. For the first time since he was some street urchin in the streets of Everguard, he felt untold terror. They were trying to get him to run so they could hunt him like a frightened hare. He was never a praying man, though he had heard plenty from the lips of the countless people he had robbed or murdered. The gods never had much use for them, nor he for them, but now he was praying to every deity he knew of for deliverance.
“C’mon now,” a voice called from the branches of the highest tree. “You’re not making this any fun.”
He had never heard such a strange accent before, and he had heard plenty. The words were spoken in a long drawl. Not Farron nor Saige.
“Tell ya what,” the voice said in a sing-song tone. “What if I give ya a ten second head start? Scouts Honor, I won’t fire until I count to ten.”
Could he trust the strange speaker? Did he dare risk playing this crude game?
“I’m gonna start now. One…two…” the voice said in a merry way he had heard children used in play. “Three…”
Before the voice reached four, Sikes was already sprinting between boles and through the foliage. He couldn’t hear the counting over the crash of bushes and his own thundering heart. A part of him burned from the humiliation of being forced into playing this game, but he could hide until one of the archers showed themselves, and then he would make them pay. He knew how to hide, how to wait for the perfect moment to strike.
Sikes threw himself onto the ground and rolled into a thicket, pulling branches over him. His breath was stirring the grass until he forced himself to take long, slow breaths. Slowly, he drew a dagger from his belt. The sword would be too cumbersome and give away his hiding place. They would come looking for him, and they would not find him, but he would see them first.
Sikes didn’t have to wait long.
The voice carried in the wind, “Olly, Olly oxen free! Yoohoo! Anyone there? Hmmm, I wonder where he went…” the voice was mocking, like that of a child at play who knew where his friends were hidden. Sikes’ gaze switched from right to left, looking and looking, but not seeing the voice’s source. “Gee whiz, I think he got away. Aw shucks, I better give up and go home before it gets dark.”
Where are you? Sikes gripped the dagger’s hilt so tightly, his hand quivered from the effort. Stop playing games. Come out where I can slit your throat.
There was silence. The only sound was his shallow breathing and the gentle crackle of tree branches moving in the breeze. He swallowed carefully, blinking grit from his eyes.
All of a sudden there was a fire spread around him, the dry brambles of the thicket acting as tinder. Sikes yelped, rolling as fire clung to his sleeves. Scrambling from the thicket, he batted away the flames and saw what remained of a burning arrow. Instead of white, it was bright red with a black head and feathers and it was disintegrating as the flames ate it. It was a fire arrow: an arrow imbued with the essence of fire to burst into flames upon impact. Quite expensive on the black market and banned by most kingdoms.
An arrow sank into his shoulder, and Sikes barely had time to scream before a second arrow struck his other shoulder, nearly wrenching him around from the force of impact. Dropping to his knees, Sikes scrambled for the fallen dagger. His hand was mere inches from it before it was pinned to the ground, an arrow sprouting from it like a tree. His screams and curses rang through the forest, filling the silence with his pain. Collecting himself and mustering his grit, he grabbed the arrow and tried to pull it free, but it was many inches deep in the earth, and it hurt too much to struggle with.
“Hey, dumbass,” the voice said from above him. He raised a tear streaked face to the figure sitting on a thick branch high above. The man was clouded in shadow, but he could see white boots dangling before him. “You didn’t stop to think I wouldn’t have explored my hunting ground first? That I didn’t know about this oh so convenient hiding place, you think you found? Bitch, please.”
His teeth chattered as he realized he was going to die. Sikes always knew he would meet his end at the hands of another eventually, but not like this. Not being toyed with like a wounded bird. “Get it over with! Kill me, damn you!”
The man crossed his legs and bent down with an arm propped on a knee and a hand cupping a chin. “I could kill you. I mean, I really ought to since I went through all this trouble, but for some reason, I’m not really Jonesing for it anymore.”
Sikes hissed through his teeth, both through fear and agony. “What then?”
He couldn’t see a face, but he could see the rough outline of a toothy grin. “Oh, I’ll think of something. Until then, you get to live for a while longer. Do you need a health potion?”
Sweat was rolling into his eyes, which he blinked away. It was cold and clung to his skin like slime. “What?”
“Do. You. Want. A. Health. Potion?” The figure said slowly, as if speaking to a backward person. And there was an impatient edge in the voice with a streak of malice.
Sikes felt that his fate was still spinning in the air, and he could still die this day if he didn’t make the right choice. “Yes…please?”
A red vial spun through the air and landed within easy reach of his uninjured hand. With the tips of his fingers, he rolled it close enough to grab but didn’t dare drink it with the arrows still in his body. The skin would heal around the shaft and making it impossible to remove without causing more damage than the initial injury. He managed to remove the arrows from his shoulders first. The blood soaked his shirt and ran down his arms, but the arrow in his hand refused to be extracted. Breaking the shaft proved impossible; the mastercrafted material was as durable as metal.
He didn’t dare ask his attacker turned benefactor for help. What if pleading for more aid tipped the balance against him? Intuition, almost as keen as McRando’s notorious ability, told him that his fate had yet to be decided. He was being watched and his worth judged.
Taking two deep breaths, Sikes gritted his teeth, and with one hand around his wrist, he pushed his impaled hand up the shaft. Wood caused friction within the open flesh and darkness edged his vision, but he continued until it was pulled free of the feathers. The length of the shaft was covered in his blood, and seeing it made him nauseous. He allowed himself to vomit now so he could keep the health potion down. With shaking and bleeding hands, he managed to uncork the vial with his teeth and bring the red liquid to his lips. It was high quality, thick like syrup. Already the pain was ebbing away, and the hole in his hand filled in with pink flesh.
He enjoyed the pain relief so much, he didn’t realize the figure had left its perch on the branch until he saw white boots plodding towards him. He looked up and got his first clear view of his attacker.
“You’re a…”
“Problem?” The attacker asked, voice dripping with poison. “Do we have a problem? Please, tell me we do, because I like solving problems.” A long ivory bow with a sharp tip pricked the skin beneath his chin, tipping his head upward to look into a face as pale as snow and framed by hair as black as night.
He shook his head, the bow tip drawing blood as it scratched his skin from his movement. “No. There’s no problem.”
“Good. Get your ass up and go get those chests.” The bow tip was withdrawn, as in an afterthought, an inquiry was made, “What’s your name?”
“Sikes,” he said, still not feeling safe enough to stand. The dice still hadn’t landed yet.
“Yikes, Sikes, buy some kites,” There was a laugh at a joke he didn’t understand. “I think we’re going to get along just fine.”
And just like that, the dice landed in his favor. He wouldn’t die this day, but he had a new master now. And this one was far more dangerous and crafty than McRando had ever been.
Chapter 12
The Pyre
It was Naomi and not Sally who spoke up for the Cut Throat they had left tied up in the forest. The young girl became adamant they fulfil their promise and free him before returning to Spring Bell. Sally would r
ather that Naomi had forgotten about the man until morning at least, as she was tired, sore, hungry, and just wanted to lie down and sleep for a year or two. Another night in the forest would serve him right.
Then again, she didn’t really want to be responsible for some guy getting eaten alive by a wolf or bear, even if he was a Cut Throat. Especially since, as Naomi was quick to point out, they did promise they would release him if he told them how to get into the hideout.
So they took a detour westward with Naomi leading the way. In her excitement, she’d run ahead till they couldn’t see her, and when they caught up they would see her jogging in place, urging them to hurry. Despite her youthful energy, the others went at their own pace, all of them tired from lack of sleep and the hard fight. All of their bellies were growling and there was much talk of food, save from Tom, who had eaten more recently than any of them.
Upon coming across the dead man, Sally lost her appetite. Already, ants were taking their share, along with a fox that hurried off into the underbrush at their arrival. Naomi was standing so strikingly still it was a marvel for the usually active girl. Mina quickly put her hands on the Monk’s shoulders and told her to look away, but Naomi wouldn’t move from where she stood, staring with wide somber eyes at the white arrows sticking like a flagpole from the man’s back.
“Who would kill a bound man like this?” Tom asked, horrified.
“Could it have been his own men?” Mina said, looking around as if the killer would step out from behind a tree.
“No, it wasn’t them,” Darcy said so strongly it drew all eyes. She noticed them staring at her, and she supplemented, “The Cut Throats don’t use arrows like these.”
Naomi burst into tears, covering her face with both hands and sobbing into them. Instantly, both Tom and Sally went to her, consoling her together.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Sally said, touching Naomi’s hair and looking into her tearful face. “It’s not our fault.”
“But we promised him…” Naomi whimpered. “I promised we would set him free…”
“And we kept that promise. We came back.”
Tom laid a hand on Naomi’s thin shoulders. “There’s no way you could have known someone would do this before you returned.”
Naomi seemed to calm down, but she still sniffled. “We should bury him.”
All of them cringed at the notion of spending hours digging a hole and burying a man when they were already exhausted and hungry. Thankfully, Tom offered a better solution, “Cremating him would be better. It’s a more common practice in Farron.”
Gathering firewood seemed less taxing job than digging a hole with their bare hands.
While Sally and Tom consoled Naomi, Darcy sidled next to Mina and said, “Mina, can you take Tom and find wood to burn? I need to talk with Naomi and Sally in private.”
“What do I know about firewood?” Mina said, rubbing the back of her head. Darcy gave her a good hard look until it clicked for her. “Oh yeah, my Survival skill. That gone up by the way. I put two points into it so it’s a plus five now.”
“Good, good,” Darcy said, pleased that Mina seemed to finally be getting her head into the game. “Where did you put the other points?”
“Into Sneak. It’s a plus two now.”
Darcy felt her grin fade. “Wait, what? Why?”
“Because I was so bad at it before,” Mina replied, looking uncertain having seen Darcy’s reaction. “Should I not have?”
“Uh, no, it’s okay. It’s just that I would have put them into a Barbarian Class skill, like Swim or Climb so you can boost them up by two. You sorta burned two points by increasing a skill you were already low in by one point.” Normally, Darcy wouldn’t reproach a player for their choices, but that was back in the real world when the game was just a game. Here there were lives on the line. Still, Mina could have done far worse. “Look, don’t worry about it. It never hurts to increase your Sneak skill and I’ll come up with a plan for how we need to develop our characters the next time we level up.”
Mina seemed reassured and nodded. “That’s not a bad idea. I still don’t know anything about this game and I got questions. The System asked me if I wanted to continue leveling into Barbarian. I said no and it offered to let me multiclass into Fighter or Rogue.”
Darcy’s eyebrows rose. “But you stayed a Barbarian?”
“Because neither seemed any better,” Mina said, sadly shaking her head. “No offense to Sally, but Rogue doesn’t seem any safer than Barbarian or Fighter.”
“What do you mean by a safe class?” Darcy asked, having a sinking suspicion about where this was going.
“I don’t want to be a front-line fighter any more. I want to be a Cleric like you.”
Yep, there it was. Darcy sighed into her hand before saying, “We’ll talk about that later. Right now, I really need to check something out about Naomi and I don’t want Tom around when I do.”
“Sure, how long do you need?”
“About twenty minutes should do. I hope,” Mina said, looking over at Naomi. The girl had calmed down and was rubbing her tear-streaked face on her sleeves. Tom was speaking gently to her while Sally patted her shoulder. It was odd to see Sally being so sociable, but they had gone through a lot. “Watch what you say around Tom. He thinks this is the real world, and there’s no reason to have him think otherwise.
Once Mina and Tom left and well on their way, Darcy called Naomi over. The girl had been gathering sticks and laying them out in a long oval for the funeral pyre. She wasn’t her usual jubilant self, more subdued, but there was still a bounce in her step as she came up to Darcy.
“Naomi, hey, I need you to check your logs and tell me if you failed or passed a Constitution check.” Darcy looked at Naomi with such intensity that the girl was taken aback. Even Sally noticed Darcy’s firm gaze and knew it didn’t mean good news.
“Sure, one second.” After a few moments of finger wagging, she said, “I failed a Constitution save with a six.”
Sally noticed Darcy flinching at the news. “What’s wrong?”
“Did you fail the Constitution save during the werewolf attack?” Darcy asked grievously.
“I think so…”
“Damn, you have lycanthropy,” Darcy said, sighing.
Sally put a hand on Naomi’s shoulder and squeezed it. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah. It’s not an issue in the MMO version, but in the tabletop version, if you get bit by a were animal, you have to make a Constitution save. Pass it, then nothing happens other than being hurt from the bite, but if you fail it, you contracted the curse too.”
“Oh god, no,” Sally breathed in horror. “Wh-what can we do?”
“It’s not the end of the world,” Darcy said, holding up her hands. “We’ll have a cleric remove the curse.”
“But aren’t you a cleric?”
“I am, but I can’t learn Remove Curse until I hit fifth level,” Darcy said. “Don’t worry; there are high level clerics at the temples in Everguard. They may charge us, but they can help her.”
“So, um, at the full moon, I’ll turn into a werewolf?” Naomi asked quietly.
“No, we’re going to keep that from happening,” Sally said, reassuringly. “We’ll go to Everguard and get you cured, okay?”
“But will I really turn into a werewolf?” Naomi asked, a bit louder than before.
“Yes, but as Sally said, we’re not going to let that happened,” Darcy said firmly. “So don’t worry about it…”
“Can we wait until after I transform once and then cure me?”
Both Darcy and Sally looked at each other, nonplussed. Hopeful as a child begging for a treat, Naomi continued, “I mean, you’ll have to chain me up or put me in a cage, so I don’t go out killing anyone, but it would be awesome to be a werewolf.”
“We are not going to let that happened,” Darcy said, her voice transitioning from misplaced reassurance to outright chastisement. “We’re going to Everguard and get the curse re
moved, and don’t you dare mention that you have lycanthropy to anyone. Sally had it bad enough being a half-elf, they wanted to kick her out of an inn. With you, they’ll get the torches and pitchforks.”
***
Before long, Mina and Tom returned with firewood. They untied the dead man’s wrists and crossed his arms crossed over the chest. Even his hair was combed from his face by Naomi’s fingers. Sally couldn’t help seeing the irony: they had left behind dozens of dead men in the tunnels with no thought, yet here they were sending the one they hadn’t killed off with honors.
Naomi insisted that Darcy, being a cleric, say a few words before they burned him. And being unable to decline without making Tom curious, Darcy made the best attempt she could, given she was coming from a non-religious family.
“Dear Heavenly Lor-Shantra, Hallowed be Thy Name,” Darcy began with her head bowed. “Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, on Earth as it is in Heaven. Dear Shantra, please take this man into your Holy Embrace, for he died here, and we know not his name. Amen.”
All of them said amen together, followed shortly by Tom who glanced at Darcy and then at Sally, but said nothing and stood near Naomi with a hand on her shoulder as she began crying again. Even Mina seemed downcast by the funeral with her head bowed and eyes lowered. While the corpse burned, Sally sidled next to Darcy, who was holding one of the arrows and spinning it between her fingers. Ever since they found the body, she had been staring at the arrows in grim silence.
“What’s wrong?”
Darcy held the arrow up for Sally to have a closer look. “These are mastercraft arrows. The most powerful arrows you can get in this game.”
Taking the arrow from Darcy’s hand, Sally studied it. It felt light as air but solid like stone or metal. The tip was quite sharp, pricking Sally’s finger when she tested the point.
As Sally sucked on her fingertip, Darcy gravely said, “You can only buy those in high level areas, and they’re so expensive that it’s cheaper to get the materials and craft them yourself.”
Gamers Page 18