by Jason Cheek
Taking the other bottle with me, I waded back to my stool for a new slice as I took another long pull of my beer. There was just something about pizza and beer that went together perfectly, I happily thought, enjoying the spicy jalapeno topping combined with the cheesy sauce of my Cheese Burger Pizza.
Ignoring the grease running down the corners of my mouth, I pressed the now empty beer glass against my forehead after finishing the last piece of pizza from the box. My body was surprisingly tight in places that I’d never felt sore in before as I was once again amazed at the incredible ability of the Egg to simulate a full-body workout while playing within The World. Glancing at my smartphone, I saw that it was nearly midnight. Not too late for me to get a decent amount of sleep, I tiredly thought, as I carefully eased my sore ass off the edge of the stool.
Gathering up the three remaining pizza boxes and the two empty bottles, I stuck the pizza into the nearly barren fridge and tossed the glasses away. Filling up my water glass, I began carefully making my way to the bedroom with my smartphone clutched in my fist. For some horrible reason, the muscle pain seemed to be getting worse with each step. Probably because I’d went from nearly riding not at all to riding for nearly eleven hours straight. I couldn’t even imagine what the pain would’ve felt like if I’d done that in the real-world.
By the time I made it to the side of my bed, I had tears in my eyes as I carefully eased down into a sitting position. It took me a moment to find the extra bottle of ibuprofen that I kept in my nightstand. Quickly downing the pills, I set my smartphone and water down, before falling back onto the bedspread still in a half sitting position. I mentally warned myself not to fall asleep that way or I’d be hurting in the morning. The one good thing about the muscle pain, I thought as my consciousness slowly faded away, was that it made me not think too much about sleeping alone.
Chapter Twenty-Six
(Zeven Al'Zaric and the Dwarven children reaching Aeroch Nor.)
“Wow,” Zeven said, his exhaustion momentarily forgotten as they cleared the top of the peak, “that’s pretty impressive.”
“It should be,” Mutoline tiredly said as she lifted her head from Zeven’s furry shoulder at the sight of her home, “Aeroch Nor has been the ancestral home of my people since before the Great Wars.”
Though a part of him wanted to tease the young female Dwarf, Zeven had to admit that she had a right to be proud of her people’s accomplishments. The Dwarven capital city was impressive looking. The defensive walls, towers, and gates were all built into the mountain itself with solid well-thought-out designs. As far up as his eyes could see, there were lighted windows that traveled up to the very top of the mountain. Almost as if the entire mass had been hollowed out by the industrious Dwarves.
Cracking his neck, Zeven tried to relieve the tension that had been building up inside of him from carrying the Dwarven girl in his arms for hours as he studied the valley below. It was around a hundred-yards down the easy slope to the three-mile-wide and five-mile-long valley that sat between the two peaks. So. a little over three-miles for them to reach the city’s massive entrance at the base of the mountain.
“I can walk from here,” Mutoline began to say as Zeven overrode her protests.
“It’s fine,” Zeven said, flashing her a toothy grin, “I can handle another three-miles.”
In truth, the last two hours of winding switchbacks had nearly done him in, especially while holding the Dwarven girl in his arms the entire way. Zeven knew that he could’ve let the children climb the steep trail on their own if he’d really wanted to, but the chance of them being snatched up by a Screecher was just too high. Besides that, it was obvious that they were emotionally and physically exhausted from their ordeal.
A triumphant shriek echoed across the mountains as Zeven saw a pack of four Screechers suddenly take flight off towards the far-right side of the valley with the corpses of what looked to be Tusked Stone Boars clutched in their talons. The Boars weren’t small and had to be in the level 35 to 38 range which spoke volumes for the capabilities of the dangerous monsters. While he’d never gotten a good look at the pack fliers, Lokuth had said that they were more wolf-like than a bat with thick scale-like armor on their undersides and heavy fur on their backs, head, and neck.
Zeven caught movement in one of the Boars as it suddenly started kicking. Obviously, it had a little bit of life left in it. He was curious to see how the Screecher was going to deal with the deadly situation, when it simply dropped the Tusked Stone Boar from a half-mile up. The swine-like squeal died out a few seconds later as the Screecher lazily flew down and recovered its kill before soaring back into the sky. A brutal reminder that the monsters of The World were highly intelligent and dangerous.
“You ready to move out Bright Claw,” Zeven asked, ignoring the shiver that ran down his spine as he lightly bumped against his Combat Pet’s shoulder.
“Bbwwaa ggrrr bba,” the Grizhawk tiredly complained as his barrel-shaped head swung around to poke Zeven in the ribs with its wet nose.
“Yeah, I’m tired too,” Zeven admitted, knowing that the Grizhawk was pushing himself to the edge of his endurance for the young Dwarven children he was carrying on his back, “but we’re almost there. Just one short run and we can rest up.”
“Bbbwwwa gggr,” Bright Claw replied in a high-pitched whine.
“Yes, we’ll eat too,” Zeven said, as a smile briefly flashed across his thick black lips, “even if I have to cook it myself.”
“Let’s go,” Zeven said, taking off at a run down the slope as Mutoline laid her head against his shoulder. He tried to run as smoothly as he could down the well-kept cobblestone road as his legs tried to cramp up. Luckily, it worked itself out by the time they’d reached the bottom of the valley as he stretched his legs out while they headed into the small forest that filled the valley.
Glancing around at the trees, it was obvious that the Dwarves had some sort of forestry program going on. A number of the trees were marked with various symbols that looked to be like lumberjack markings for which trees were scheduled to be cut down. There were a number of monsters and other smaller game that you’d expect to find in a mid-level starting area too.
As he moved through the forest, Zeven noticed a number of players off in the distance hunting and doing quests. From what he could see, they were all groups of Dwarves. Even so, none of the players bothered him as he ran past, albeit he did get a number of curious looks between the children and the Grizhawk following in his wake. The only negative was that one screenshot on the forum of Bright Claw would give away his current position to his enemies.
Zeven felt truly relieved that their run was uneventful as they drew near the towering mountain. The local monsters were busy fighting the groups of lower-level players and mostly stayed away from the trail. Not that the level 10 to 30 monsters would’ve aggroed on him at this point. Sadly, that was probably why the ambush completely caught him by surprise, Zeven belatedly thought, when a large barrage of iron-headed bolts suddenly came bursting out of the bushes around him.
“We’re under attack,” Zeven cried out in warning to Bright Claw as he spun around to put himself in-between the volley of bolts and the young Dwarf girl in his arms, “run for the city’s gates!”
Before he could react further, Zeven cried out in agony and shock as the barbed iron heads tore into his flesh. In a flash, he realized the problem as the Grizhawk’s loud bellow of pain rang out behind him. He’d completely screwed the pooch and forgotten to refresh their buffs before heading down into the valley!
“By the forge’s hammer,” Mutoline screamed, coming instantly awake as her face was crushed into the Badger kin’s coarse furry chest. Hearing the horrifying screams of Doufalynn and Lokuth, she angrily tried to break free of the powerful arms holding her tight, “What are you doing?”
The pain was incredible and for a second, Zeven’s mind reeled as he tried to take in the situation. From all around them, a number of heavily armed and ar
mored Dwarves, between level 40 to 45, were rushing out of the treeline to either side of the road. Half tossed aside their heavy two-handed crossbows to pull out thick iron-shields with wicked bearded axes as they charged at them, while the other half slammed the points of their heavy two-handed crossbows into the ground at the edge of the treeline and began cranking them back for a second shot.
“Dwarves,” Zeven hacked out, clearing his lungs of fluid as a mouthful of blood splattered across the back of the female Dwarf’s neck. An agonized glance at his HUD confirmed what he already knew, his hit points had dropped down to a quarter in the blink of an eye, “We’re under attack from Dwarves!”
“Dwarves are attacking us,” Mutoline exclaimed as she felt the Badger Kin’s powerful arms unwrap from around her.
“Gggrrraaahhh,” Zeven wordlessly roared in fury as he rose back to his clawed feet and whirled around to face the enemy head-on. The adrenaline pumping through his veins drove away the agony of his body as he reached over his shoulder for the shaft of his Spirit Lochaber of Chieftain Diongmhalta. As his clawed hand passed through empty air, he swore, remembering that the polearm’s broken pieces were tucked away in his Rucksack of Holding.
“Told you the beasts wouldn’t be a problem,” an ugly voice shouted as Zeven’s silver-blue eyes locked onto the Lead Dwarf’s grinning face, “Slaughter them and capture the brats!”
In the blink of an eye, Zeven’s Identify showed the Dwarf to be Thrakulck Densehide, level 45 Group Leader, as a deep growl rumbled in his broad chest. Even to his untrained eye, these Dwarves looked very different than the ones that he’d fought alongside in the Mining Town of Kragrock. This group looked dirty and greasy in an unwashed sort of way that instantly made him think they were bandits. As the Dwarves in the rear began leveling their crossbows at them again, Zeven did the only thing he could think of in that split-second. Reaching his clawed hands down to the sides of his Girdle of Stone Giant Fortitude, he pulled the stone bars on either side of the belt buckle as the entire belt squeezed his waist, triggering the unique ability that temporarily granted the wearer the universal hardiness of a Stone Giant.
“I’m going to kill you first Thra-cuck,” Zeven bellowed, purposefully mispronouncing the Leader’s name as the power of the belt shot through his adrenaline-filled body. He didn’t know if “cuck” meant the same thing in The World that it did on Earth but it nonetheless brought a smile to his lips. With a sneer, he snatched up the two Hand Axes of True Aim from his belt and heaved the first at the Dwarf’s ugly face.
“Kill that blustering idiot fir-,” Thrakulck began to command his Dwarves when his head rocked back from the impact of the hand axe slamming into his forehead.
As their Leader staggered a step backward from the terrible blow, the second hand axe embedded itself deep into his iron breastplate as the crossbow troopers’ eyes widened in horror. As one, they brought up their crossbows and fired as the Badger Kin pulled out a Dwarven-made Brutal Bearded Axe of Slaying and charged. To their utter shock, the barrage of barbed iron-headed bolts seemed to harmlessly bounce off of the enraged Shaman’s furry hide as he bodily threw himself at their clan’s Warriors.
Reaching the first charging Dwarf, Zeven ignored any thought of defense as he swung the axe in an overpowered blow that rocked the male Dwarf back. The Warrior’s axe crashed into the side of his face, he dropped low and exploded forward into the Dwarf’s iron-shield, blasting him off his booted feet. As Zeven turned towards the next Dwarf, he felt an axe blade bounce off the side of his neck. Ignoring the heavy blow, his clawed hand shot out to lock around the female Dwarf’s throat as he dead-lifted the Warrior into the air. With a giant heave, he threw the armored female at the Dwarf behind her. As the pair went down in a tangle of arms and legs, the backswing of Zeven’s axe smashed into another Dwarf that was hacking at his back. As the Dwarf staggered back from the iron-spike that sank deep into the side of his skull, Zeven’s clawed foot lashed out in a front kick that sent the male flying back to the ground.
Blood darkened his silver-gray coat as Zeven whirled back to the melee line of Dwarven Warriors. Though his strength hadn’t increased in the least, the nearly impervious stone skin and the two thousand extra hit points made him feel nearly invulnerable as he physically threw himself at the Warriors in an orgasm of berserker fury that had to be seen to be believed. While it looked like the iron blades and barbed iron-headed bolts striking his arms, chest, and back weren’t hurting him, in truth, they were partly embedding themselves into the surface of his skin with every hit as blood began to freely flow from the numerous wounds that covered his thick furred body as he ravaged the Dwarves between him and their leader.
As a bloodied Thrakulck was helped back to his wobbly feet, the Dwarves were surprised as the hand axe suddenly disappeared from their Leader’s forehead. As blood suddenly began spraying out of the deep wound, Zeven felt the first Hand Axe of True Aim return back to his clawed hand. With a wordless bellow, he flung it back at the Leader once again just as the second Hand Axe of True Aim teleported back to him. As the first hand axe embedded itself into one of the Dwarf’s back that was trying to staunch the flow of blood, the second slammed home into the Leader’s bloody forehead, sending the whole group tumbling to the ground.
Clearing the line of Warriors, Zeven broke out into a sprint, racing for the group of Dwarves struggling to climb back to their feet just as spiked iron-headed bolts hammered into him again. Ignoring the barrage, he reached the downed group just as the Hand Axes of True Aim, once again, appeared in his free hand. Batting the Dwarves around the Leader away with elbows and knees, Zeven tucked the hand axes into his belt, before reaching down and hauling the blood-covered Thra-cuck up by the throat. Holding him high into the air for the Warriors of his clan to see, he drew the Brutal Bearded Axe of Slaying back to hack their weakly struggling Leader to death, when a shout brought him up short.
“Don’t kill him Zeven,” Mutoline said as she ran up to him through the circle of angry Warriors preparing to rush him again, “if you do, the guards won’t let you into Aeroch Nor.”
A second later, a nearly dead Bright Claw pushed his way past the Dwarves with Lokuth and Doufalynn doing their best to help him. As the Grizhawk collapsed at Zeven’s feet, the Dwarven children protectively surrounded them both with the weapons that he’d given them drawn and held at the ready. It was almost as if they were trying to use their bodies to block any incoming attacks against him, Zeven thought in confusion, as his focus was pulled back to Mutoline who gently laid a hand on his bloody bicep that held the Brutal Bearded Axe of Slaying.
“Let me take care of this Zeven,” Mutoline whispered, not waiting for a reply as she turned to face the circle of Dwarves. Standing up straight, her eyes searched the sea of faces until she found what she was looking for. In a brusque cold voice, she addressed the female Dwarf, “Sub-Leader Themragith Densehide, please explain to me why the Clan of Slagsmith has brutally attacked a member of the Clan of Hammertoe or has the Densehides and Embergrains turned to banditry during my absence from Aeroch Nor.”
Fucking escort quests, Zeven swore under his breath, as he glared at the belligerent Dwarf that was slowly choking to death in his clawed grip. The fucking Dwarf was a bastard that deserved to be ripped limb-from-limb but something warned him not to give into his blood lust. While Zeven appreciated the children’s support and was glad to see Bright Claw was safe, he feared that their mercy had just sentenced them to death. It wasn’t like he could explain that the special ability gifted to him from the Girdle of Stone Giant’s Fortitude time limit had nearly run its course. With a disgusted snarl, Zeven set the injured Thra-cuck down before he dropped him, silently making a promise that the ugly bastard would die first if his people attacked the children.
“How is a Beast Kin a part of the Clan of Hammertoe,” Sub-Leader Densehide sneered, “even Borear Hammertoe wouldn’t disgrace his own house by accepting such a feral savage.”
“Funny that,” Mutol
ine mockingly said, “it was Borear Hammertoe himself that gave Zeven Al'Zaric, the Chieftain of House of Bruic Diongmhalta, the status of honorary member.” A disturbed ripple went through the Dwarven Warriors facing off against them as the woman’s eyes widened in fear.
“You lie,” Sub-Leader Densehide accused as she ran what Zeven could only guess was an Identify on him.
“So not only have you attacked an innocent traveler,” Mutoline imperiously continued, “you’ve nearly killed a member of the Clan of Hammertoe.” Her dark-brown eyes flashed in anger. “I will be issuing a formal demand for censure and compensation from your Chieftain.”
Zeven tried to track the argument going on between their attackers and the children but there was no time. As the last seconds began ticking down on his once-a-day special ability, he realized that his hit points had to be high enough or he was dead. Blocking out the conversation going on around them, he began repeatedly casting Soothing Wind, trying to get his health up enough not to die.
Essence Shaman healing spells were very different than Priest of Light healing spells. With enough concentration, the spell could be directed to push out arrows and bolts that might be unreachable for a soloing class which was what Zeven did now. As the healing wind began knitting his body back together, the original barrage of spiked iron-headed bolts began being pushed out of his body to fall on the ground.
The effect was stunning to the Dwarven Warriors who hadn’t known that such a feat was possible. Not only had this Badger Kin shrugged off the Clan of Slagsmith Warriors’ blows like they’d been little more than children, he was now healing before their eyes in a way that signified the great personal skill of a high-level Shaman. As the uproar began to grow amongst her clan, Sub-Leader Densehide’s face turned into a sneer.