by Adam Drake
Critical Damage gives an additional percentage bonus of damage above the (x2) double damage of a Critical Hit.
Okay, that was sweet. Although glad to have them, his numbers were so low as to be insignificant. He would ask Saif later how to boost them.
Rob thought on all these numbers and stats. There was a lot to take in, and he was only just starting on what would be a long struggle of progression. He couldn't get too wrapped up in the details. Staying alive had the higher priority.
He double checked his vitals, again.
100/100 Hit Points.
99/100 Stamina.
Good enough, he thought and stood up. The rain beyond the rocky overhang was still heavy, but he wouldn't let that stop him.
He trudged across the muddy clearing, passing all the wreckage. As he entered the treeline on the other side, he smiled. He knew where he was, and more importantly, where he had to go.
He already failed one quest for the day, he wasn't going to fail another. He pushed on through the trees with determination.
There were rats in need of killing.
CHAPTER FIVE
He traveled through the forest, pushing aside branches and climbing over logs. The thick vegetation caused him to stumble to his knees several times.
This was just like the forests back home, he thought, navigating through some brambles. Hiking was a favorite pastime before he became a janitor. He and his wife would set aside a whole day on their weekends and try out different trails outside the city. But he was aware that this setting was very different.
He stopped to catch his breath, taking in his surroundings. This was hard work, and he didn't want to sap his energy to quickly. That was a lesson learned the hard way.
A cluster of little blue flowers grew in clumps on the wet ground at his feet. A yellowish lichen carpeted a large boulder. Red spiky vines strangled the trunk of a tree.
Each one wouldn't look out of place on one of the trails back home. They seemed so real, so perfect. Only Rob knew they weren't. Not real. Not perfect.
They were designed by someone.
He imagined that someone – a nerd, or computer tech – staring at a large computer screen. On it, was the vectored outline of any one of these plants, clicking away with a mouse, teasing out details. A leaf here, a petal there.
He imagined a steaming cup of coffee sitting untouched at his elbow, so absorbed in his work. He sat in a cubicle, one of hundreds, in a vast room, fluorescents glowing brightly overhead.
Rob imagined other techs dropping by to see how he was making out. Would he meet the deadline? Would he be on budget? Which financial advisor was helping him with his retirement plan?
Maybe he had a wife, and family that he went home to. He was a husband and father, with a good job designing plants that could almost be mistaken for the real thing.
But Rob didn't mistake them for the real thing. Nor the moist air he was breathing, or the burnt armor he wore, or the rain that drenched him. Not one of them.
Just because he was tired and frustrated didn't mean he'd forgotten where he really was.
A simulation.
Thinking of this made him feel calm for some reason, like he knew the secret of this universe and, as a result, it could no longer mystify him.
He blinked against the rainwater coursing down his face and wiped at his stubbly chin. Even this body wasn't real, either. How could it? It was an exact replica which he could control. Did the man in the cubicle help design that, too? Maybe he worked on plants from Monday to Thursday, but every Friday was 'Render Robert Barron' day.
Rob swore to himself that if – no – when he got out of this, he'd find that man in the cubicle and beat the ever loving crap out of him. Then he'd move to the next cubicle and do the same, to all of them. Even if he had to beat a thousand computer techs, he'd do it. Only then might he feel a sense of satisfaction for what they did to him.
They took him away from his daughter.
Rob sighed. They probably were watching him. Had to be. This was a game after all. Maybe, at that very moment, a conclave of executives were sitting in a mammoth boardroom viewing his actions on a giant screen.
Rob undid the belt on his waist and dropped his pants. Then he squatted in the grass, and with the biggest grin on his face, took a long, wet, noisy dump.
There. Render that, assholes.
After, he pressed onward until the trees began to thin out and the ground became mush, sucking at his boots.
A thick fog cloyed between the underbrush, despite the heavy rain. It appeared from nowhere, enveloping him.
He peered around, trying to get his bearings. This looked like the swamp.
A bird trilled in the distance on his right. Frogs croaked from their hiding places. The air was still, and the fog seemed to wait.
Rob blinked at his surroundings. “Okay,” he said, “I'm lost.”
He unrolled his map and looked at it in surprise.
The little dot that indicated his position was still at the 'Ruins of Farmstead' location. It wasn't anywhere near the red 'Rat Lair' question mark.
Frowning, he shook the map. Nothing changed.
“What is this, broken?”
Grumbling, he rolled it up then opened it again. Same result.
Bugged? Was that the term? An error in the code? The wrong number in a string of data?
Or a vengeful computer tech?
Rob's paranoia kicked into high gear. Could this be punishment for the concert-stage worthy shit he took?
He closed and opened the Scroll several more times, but nothing changed.
“Damnit,” he said. If this was what he had to put up with, then it could wait for a sunnier day. He turned around to go back.
He stopped. There had been a fallen log behind him he'd climbed over before checking the Scroll. Now it was gone. Not even an impression of it in the muddy ground. He looked about, confused.
A log was there, he told himself. Someone is messing with him.
Behind him came a low growl. He spun about, unsheathing his sword.
The silhouette of what looked to be a dog, was a dozen paces away, the fog swirling around it.
Rob squinted at it, trying to make out any details.
Creature: Bog Dog
Hit Points: 25, Mana: 20
Armor: 2, Speed: 12
Abilities: Unknown
A Bog Dog. He and Jace had found the corpse of one by the road several days before. It had been partially eaten by rats.
This one was very much alive, though, as it took several steps closer, giving Rob a better view.
It had the general appearance of a greyhound, tall and lanky. Instead of fur, a dark moss hung from its skin and dragged along the ground. Its paws were comically large compared to its frame as if the Bog Dog designer thought they were needed for better traction in the mud.
Its head looked very much like a greyhound, long and narrow, with moss covered ears. Big fangs protruded from its mouth. A thick, ropey saliva oozed from between its jaws.
Yet, its strangest feature was its eyes. They were a unified yellow, which glowed like low wattage flashlights.
The dog continued to approach him and Rob braced for a fight; legs shoulder width apart, sword held in both hands. He felt naked without his shield, ratcheting up his apprehension.
Looking at the goo coming from its mouth, Rob didn't want to get bit. God only knew what diseases that thing had.
The dog stopped just beyond his striking range and watched him with a yellowy stare.
Uncertain for a moment whether he should attack first, Rob felt something seize at his right ankle, and looked down.
A thick hedge of moss boiled up out of the mud and wrapped itself around his foot.
“Oh, Jesus!” Rob said, alarmed, as he tried to pull his leg away. The moss held him fast.
The dog took his moment of distraction to attack, leaping forward with a snarl.
Seeing the dog move, Rob recovered his senses enough t
o swing his sword at it. The tip of the blade caught the dog across the bridge of its snout, and the animal jumped back with a yelp.
Another bunch of moss caught his left leg, and Rob swore. He moved to cut at it with his sword, but the dog attacked again. This time it got within his guard and bit his right thigh, sinking its fangs deep.
Rob screamed in pain, and brought the pommel of his sword down on its head, but the thing didn't let go.
Panic seized him, and he fumbled to turn his sword downward to strike. The Bog Dog shook its head, wrenching at the meat of his thigh.
“Son of a bitch!” Rob shouted, as he managed to stab the sword into its mossy flank.
The dog yowled in pain and jumped away, letting go of his thigh.
Rob looked in shock at the bite in his leg. The wound practically seethed as the dog's saliva worked its way through the torn flesh.
The dog spun in circles, yelping and snarling with pain. The sword strike rendered one of its back legs useless. But the creature recovered and glared at Rob.
Rob swung at the moss holding his right leg, cutting through it until his blade scraped the ground. But the moss roiled and grew back an instant later.
Staying out of striking range, the Bog Dog slowly circled around to Rob's left, glaring all the while.
It was going behind him! With both his legs held fast, Rob couldn't turn around to face it. Desperately, he swung at the creature, but he couldn't reach it.
He had to get free of this damn moss crap. Even if it was just one leg, it would give him some maneuverability to defend himself.
Quickly, with both hands on the sword's pommel, he jabbed the blade through the moss holding his left ankle, again and again. The moss regenerated after each cut, but his persistence meant it couldn't do so fast enough. He felt his foot loosening.
The Bog Dog paused directly behind Rob, and he twisted his torso around so he could still keep it in view. All the while, he cut at the moss.
With a menacing growl the dog lunged at him, going for the back of his left leg, putrid mouth wide.
Rob cut downward one final time before shifting his sword up to meet the attack. The cut had been deep enough that his foot came free of the moss.
Right foot still firmly stuck, Rob turned bodily with his lowered sword and jabbed upward. The movement caught the Bog Dog in mid-air, piercing through its chest and out its back.
The dog slid off the length of the blade and fell to the ground, paws twitching.
Shouting with triumph, Rob swung his sword again and cut the thing's head clean off. The moss clinging to his foot suddenly stopped moving, turned brittle and crumbled away.
Rob tried to laugh, but the pain in his thigh was horrific. He fell to the ground, crawling backwards from the Bog Dog's corpse and mossy remains.
He examined his wound. The bite was savage. Fang marks made deep gouges in his flesh. Blood was everywhere. But what made it worse was the brownish fluid that mixed with the blood. It was thick like syrup and appeared to be shifting around his wound.
A warning message appeared.
You have become diseased!
Swearing, Rob tried to wipe at the saliva with the edge of his shirt, but the pain when he touched it was excruciating.
He had to clean the wound, but how? He didn't have any healing potions. Out of sheer desperation he pulled out a Major Potion of Restore Mana and with gritted teeth, slowly poured it over the wound.
The blue fluid coated over the skin and seeped into the teeth marks. For a few brief moments, Rob thought he felt the wound's pain subside, but then the pain came roaring back, worse than before. He considered ripping a piece of his shirt off to bind around the wound, but there wasn't a square inch of his clothing that wasn't soaked through with mud or blood, or was burnt.
Okay, bad idea, he thought. Not just his lame attempt at cleaning the wound, but this entire endeavor. He was out here wandering around without any means to heal himself. Questing without healing potions was just plain suicidal, he realized that now.
He wanted a do-over. Let him go back to the morning when he woke up. He'd insist on bringing Jace with him so that someone with a Healing spell would be present. Heck, he'd even force Saif along if he had to. Anything would be better than getting stuck in this situation.
He noticed a couple of notifications. Hoping for something that might be helpful, he called them up.
You have killed a Bog Dog. You have gained 150 experience points toward your next level.
You are Diseased! You have suffered 1 Hit Point of damage from your festering wound.
Alarmed, Rob looked at his hit points.
84/100 Hit Points.
As he was looking, another notification appeared.
You are Diseased! You have suffered 1 Hit Point of damage from your festering wound.
His hit points dropped to 83.
Oh crap, he thought. How long was he going to be diseased for? If he couldn't cure it soon, he could die. But what should he do?
There was only one option now, he had to get out of here and back to Castle Hill. If he was lucky, maybe he would run into help along the way.
Grunting from the effort, Rob stood. The movement sent an electrical charge of pain shooting down his wounded leg. Blinking back tears, he tried to get his bearings.
The fog swirled around him, the ghostly outlines of trees appeared and vanished. Which direction had he come from?
As he was considering which foggy direction to go, his eyes fell on the corpse of the Bog Dog. He thought of the Giant Crab he'd killed back on the tutorial island. It had dropped an item.
He limped over to it. The severed head was nowhere in sight, having rolled off into the fog. With the end of his sword, he pushed at the headless corpse, grimacing.
There, nestled within the strange moss which covered it, was a small stone. Using the tip of the blade he managed to flick it out onto the ground.
Groaning, he slowly bent down to pick it up.
You have taken an item: Minor Stone of Cause Disease.
This stone grants its user the ability to infect an opponent with a life sapping disease.
Damage: 50 - 200 hit points over time.
How ironic, he morbidly thought. Could he have found anything else so completely and utterly useless to him, other than more of this disease?
The damage range alarmed him. Did that mean he was going to suffer between 50 to 200 hit points of damage? 1 damn hit point at a time? The lower range meant he might have a chance at survival. But the upper range was a death sentence, even before it got to the full 200.
Scowling at the stone, he almost tossed it away, but thought better and slipped it into a bag.
Then, with his hit points steadily dropping, and with no clue as to which way to go, he chose a direction at random and limped off into the fog.
CHAPTER SIX
He stumbled through the fog for what seemed like hours. The trees began to thin out, giving him some relief from having to fight to move forward. But forward to where?
The fog ebbed and flowed like water, hiding the terrain only to reveal an obstacle Rob needed to circumvent. The rain continued with its steady torrent.
Shouldn't the rain wash away the fog? Rob wondered. At least, that's how it worked in the real world. Or so he thought. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen fog back home. Certainly nothing like this stuff. This was like the fog you see in the movies, dense and encompassing.
If its real purpose was to confuse and disorient Rob, then it was doing a pretty damn good job of it. He'd walked long enough to know that, had he been pointed in the direction of the farmstead, he would have already arrived.
As he stepped over a set of brambles his right leg seized up with pain. Gritting his teeth, Rob moved over to lean against a tree, its bark knobby and pockmarked.
The bite wound had stopped bleeding, but took on a brown tinge. When he gently probed at its edges, brownish red fluid spurt out causing him to scream.
&nbs
p; As if in answer, a dog barked from somewhere deep within the fog.
Rob froze. Another Bog Dog? Not now! He didn't think he could survive another round with one of those things.
Placing his back to the tree, he quietly unsheathed his sword. He scanned the foggy terrain where he thought the bark came from.