“Hezbek!” he bellowed. “Where you?”
“Here, Glorious One,” the medicine woman called. Footsteps came running around the other side of the throne. As Hezbek skidded to a stop before the ogre, her eyes landed on Devon and briefly widened.
Devon shook her head, pleading.
“Uruquat smell medicine. Remind Uruquat. Need massage.” He stretched out his arm—thankfully the arm opposite Devon. “Medicine makes itches stop.”
Hezbek blanched. “Y-Yes, Your Gloriousness.” She stared at the monster’s skin, dried pus and all, before swallowing and heading—feet dragging—back to her hut.
Devon fought back nausea and vowed to work faster. While having Hezbek rub medicine into his skin might distract Uruquat, Devon couldn’t put the woman through that.
She slid the slowly writhing snake off her shoulder and pulled out the leather ties. By the time Hezbek emerged from her hut, a pot of salve in hand, an expression of dread on her face, Devon’s final preparations were complete, and she was creeping away from the throne. Once clear, she stood and waved Hezbek off.
Devon pursed her lips and began to whistle as she strolled forward again, passing the throne in Hezbek’s place. Uruquat glared at her as she approached the fire.
“You bring dead slideys?” he asked.
Devon pressed a finger to her lips and cocked her head as if thinking. “Hmm. Well, I seem to remember killing a few today. But then I got distracted by the new items I ordered.”
“Uruquat no understand. Kill slideys is your job. Where skins?”
“You see, I was so busy admiring my new shoes—” She raised one foot after the other and stared adoringly at the sandals.
“WHAT?” the ogre bellowed. “Uruquat no wear shoes. Uruquat servants no wear shoes!”
“Because you think you’re more important… am I remembering that correctly?” Devon raised a finger as if preparing another point. “Here’s the thing. Since, you’re a half-witted cross between a boulder and a brainless hippo, I’m really not sure what gives you the right.”
The ogre’s enraged shout shook the ground. Face nearly black with fury, he slapped his hand onto his club and stood.
Devon took a step back. And another, just to be safe.
She cast a pointed look at the club—and the snake she’d tied along its length. Bless its little reptilian heart, the viper chose that moment to hiss.
All expression left the ogre’s face. The blood drained from his cheeks as a scream built in the great bellows of his lungs.
He howled and threw the club so hard it sailed over the treetops and crashed down far, far away.
So far so good.
The fight might still pit an ogre against a level 2 player wielding a rusty knife, but at least she’d disarmed the brute. Out of morbid curiosity, she peered at him with her new Combat Assessment skill.
You lack the skill to estimate your chances. A hint: they don’t look good.
A health bar appeared, still full.
Well, she wasn’t expecting even odds. And if she lived, maybe she’d get a Bravery point or two out of this.
Or maybe she’d discover a new special attribute: Idiocy.
Devon spun and sprinted for the forest.
Chapter Eleven
BRUSH TORE AT Devon’s clothing as she shoved through the jungle. Though dusk still lit the encampment, beneath the canopy, full dark had fallen. Her darkvision showed phantom brush and ghostly trees as she pressed deeper into the forest.
Behind her, the ogre crashed into the greenery, tearing vines from high branches and toppling smaller trees.
Devon cringed. This might not turn out too well. Ducking and weaving, she shoved through the undergrowth until finally, she spotted the section of the forest she’d laboriously cleared earlier. With relief, she shoved harder against the tangled jungle. Just a few more steps…
Behind her, Uruquat roared.
Something burst from the brush and squawked as it smacked her in the face. A feather shoved into her mouth and she spat, batting the thing away. Idiot… parrot?
She felt the heat from Uruquat’s rasping breath as he burst from the jungle just a pace behind her.
Oh, shit!
He grunted as he hauled back to swipe at her. She leaped forward just in time, felt his hand skim the top of her head.
Ogres are nearly blind. She remembered Hezbek’s words. In a fight this uneven, she needed to play to whatever strengths she had.
She dashed forward and into the small circle of brush she’d cleared before incapacitating the snake. In the center of the clearing, a human-shaped figure stood with her arms upraised.
Devon grinned. Her glorified scarecrow was actually pretty good. In the darkness, the foliage she’d bent into a vague shape and stuffed with leaves actually resembled a person.
Enough to fool an ogre.
Maybe.
She jumped to catch an overhanging branch.
Unfortunately, she missed. Devon clenched her jaw. Why did she keep forgetting she was such a newbie? Whatever attribute governed her ability to jump, she apparently lacked the requisite points.
Uruquat smashed into the clearing just as Devon sprang for the edge and grabbed a tree trunk. She shimmied up, earning a few deep scrapes on her thighs and forearms. Her health bar flashed and dropped a few points.
The ogre gave a grunt of confusion. He hunched and peered at the figure standing in the center of the clearing.
“You give up so easy?” he asked, voice edged with skepticism.
Crap. He might be dumb as a stump, but he recognized that prey didn’t usually stop moving. Devon scanned the surrounding foliage, searching for something she could throw. By sheer luck, her hand landed on something roundish and firm. A fruit of some sort?
She shrugged and plucked it from its twig.
She edged onto the overhanging branch, wound up, and through the missile at the figure’s hand.
Her aim sucked. But at least she hit the scarecrow. The fruit smacked the effigy on the shoulder. The figure rotated and sprang back, looking vaguely like it was waving at the ogre.
“Oh, you make fun now?” He growled and stomped forward.
Devon sighed in relief and scooted farther along the branch.
The ogre pulled back a massive fist and hit the scarecrow’s face with a tremendous swipe.
Devon closed her eyes, hoping. She’d used a couple of young trees, the wood so green she’d been able to bend them double without breaking them, as the figure’s skeleton. She waited, teeth clenched, for the sound of brush smacking flesh as the scarecrow sprang back upright and crashed into Uruquat.
He howled in frustration.
Now.
Devon got her weight under her, sucked in a breath, and jumped.
She landed on the ogre’s back, one leg hooked over his shoulder, and grabbed a hank of his greasy hair.
Damn, but he stunk.
The monster roared, pawing at the air in confusion.
One of his arms was tangled in the disintegrating remains of her scarecrow. That saved her life. As he struggled to free himself, she reached around with the rusty knife and started sawing at the monster’s neck. It felt like trying to cut through a leather cowboy boot with a steak knife. She pressed harder, gritting her teeth.
Finally, the knife penetrated his thick skin. Blood spurted, and Uruquat let out a confused grunt.
“You not sorry after all,” he said as he swayed and fell to his knees. “You big liar.”
Devon jumped free as the monster toppled, crushing her scarecrow. With a last, rattling breath, he stilled.
Devon fell back onto her butt, exhausted after the sprint and fight. Her shoulders sagged. A little nugget of guilt settled into her chest. The ogre had been stupid and cruel, but he hadn’t wanted to die.
She snorted, shaking her head. He was just an NPC, a digital construct created by another digital construct, the Veia AI.
She was just letting the deep immersion get to her.
Muscles aching, she climbed to a crouch and approached the corpse. She wasn’t looking forward to trying to skin the monster, so she hoped something else would activate the looting process. To her relief, when she started plucking at the ogre’s clothing, the body quickly decomposed into its parts.
She sorted through the remains, leaving behind the Reeking Wrist Guards and the Trousers Crawling with Fleas, but examined the other items more carefully.
You have received: Strange Bauble of Carved Bone - unidentified
You have received: A Folded Parchment
She opened the parchment and could tell there was some sort of writing on it, but it was too dark to make anything out. She tucked it into the jute bag with her bauble, then scooped a small pile of coins from the ground. One gold piece and seventeen coppers went into special slots in her inventory screen. Finally, she scrolled through the notifications that had flashed after combat.
Quest Failed: Repent Your Grievous Error.
Seeing as the quest-giver is now dead, you have no hope of finishing. Oh well.
Congratulations, you have reached level 3!
Congratulations, you have reached level 4!
Congratulations, you have reached level 5!
You have gained 4 attribute points.
Not bad. Three levels! And she would finally get to see her base attributes. She opened her character sheet.
Character: Devon (click to set a different character name)
Level: 5
Base Class: Unassigned
Specialization: Unassigned
Unique Class: Unassigned
Health: 130/136
Fatigue: 92%
Whoa! She’d gained a ton of hitpoints. Was that because she finally had her base attributes? Seemed likely. Every other game she’d played had calculated her health based on some combination of level and a particular attribute. She opened the attributes window.
Attributes:
Constitution: 13
Strength: 10
Agility: 15
Charisma: 21
Intelligence: 19
Focus: 12
Endurance: 11
Special Attributes:
Bravery: 4
Available points: 4
Devon didn’t know what to think. She’d gained 3 Bravery points. That was awesome. But… uh… her best attribute was Charisma?? Seriously? At least she could take control of her own character development now. Her base attributes had arrow buttons where she could assign points, whereas the special attribute didn’t. She stared at the screen for a minute, wondering where she should spend them. The problem was, she didn’t know what class she was going to play, or for that matter, when she’d get a chance to pick one. Best to wait on spending the points until she had an idea.
Next, she pulled up her skills window:
Skills:
Unarmed Combat: 3
One-handed Slashing: 6
One-handed Piercing: 1
Darkvision: 4
Tracking: 1
Stealth: 2
Combat Assessment: 1
Sprint: 1
Bartering: 5
Special Skills:
Improvisation: 1
Over the play session, she’d gained another few points in Darkvision and One-handed Slashing—she’d been focusing on slicing rather than piercing attacks—plus a point in Sprint, probably while running away from the ogre. Unfortunately, nothing in Improvisation.
“Probably because I had everything planned ahead of time,” she said aloud.
Finally, she noticed a new tab:
Extra Bonuses:
Speed: 1
So that’s where her speed buff from the sandals showed up. The organization of the stat windows made her think that Speed was something that could only be modified by her gear, or maybe by spells and abilities, too. Anyway, lots to think about.
She closed her character sheet and pulled up the combat log. The notifications showed that her Bravery score had given her an extra 20% chance to land on the ogre’s back and a 40% bonus to her ability to cut through the ogre’s skin with a glorified letter opener.
She smirked. At least her special attribute was working as advertised, helping her with encounters that were way above her pay grade.
She scrolled some more, checking the damage messages, and stopped at a surprising notification.
Unique Discipline unlocked: Illusion and Trickery.
Practitioners of this rare discipline are spoken of in whispers. The nature of their art is little understood and greatly feared.
Within the discipline, there are many secrets to be learned and talents to uncover. You are on your way to uncovering a Unique Class! Keep practicing.
Illusion and Trickery. It must’ve been from her scarecrow. So she might be able to select a Unique Class if she kept trying things like that? What was a Unique Class anyway? Did that mean it was reserved for her alone? Was there more than one class available within the discipline? The message was disappointingly vague. Nonetheless, not bad for a day’s work.
Her stomach was hollow, and her knees wobbled as she staggered back to the encampment. Her fatigue bar was nearly full. Cut it a bit too close, she thought. As she stumbled into the cleared area, the tribe members stared at her with a mix of expressions. They gathered near the throne in a huddle, some looking relieved and some terrified.
She felt like she should give some sort of speech about their newfound freedom, but all of a sudden, blackness closed in from the edges of her vision. Her fatigue bar was flashing.
Her eyes sought out Hezbek as she began to sway. The medicine woman dashed forward and lent Devon a shoulder. Together, they staggered to Hezbek’s hut where Devon collapsed and logged out.
Chapter Twelve
“YOUR RENEWAL MUST be extracted in blood,” Gaviroth said. Two voices emanated from the archdemon’s throat, a whisper hissing over a low growl as both spoke the words.
Ezraxis cowered before the mass of writhing shadow. The archdemon’s baleful eyes burned with cold fire, his gaze sinking painfully into Ezraxis’s scrawny form. She whined as the pain in her leg flared. Half her wing was gone now, torn off in her journey across Yez’ket, the city better known as Demonhome. The stump ached, but at least it no longer dragged, sparing her the agony of feeling her flesh tear with each step.
“Blood, great Vessel?” she managed to whisper.
The archdemon growled, face shifting and roiling. He formed a spear from its shadow-substance and stabbed the ground.
No, not the ground.
Gaviroth raised the spear to show a rat, mangy fur and yellowed teeth, impaled on the point. It squeaked and struggled, clawing helplessly at the air. Gaviroth held the dying creature before Ezraxis’s face.
“Take it. Bleed it. Begin your journey.”
Chapter Thirteen
DEVON CINCHED HER robe tighter, turned on the burner, and set a frying pan on the stove. She opened the fridge, shaking her head at the twinge of fear that she might find it empty. Old habits died hard. The shelves hadn’t been bare since she’d signed the contract with E Squared.
She pulled out a carton of eggs and cracked a pair into the skillet.
“Shit,” she muttered. Too late, she grabbed a bottle of olive oil and poured a healthy measure over the top of and around the eggs. She started scrambling them and prayed.
While the mass slowly sizzled, she checked her messages.
Nothing from Emerson. She trusted him, more or less, figured he just didn’t have answers about the pain response yet. He was a nice enough guy, not bad looking. Socially awkward, but she didn’t have a lot of room to criticize, seeing as she was a social recluse. Speaking of… she scanned backward through her messages. She really did need to get out some. Back when she’d had regular play sessions with guildmates, she could count that as social contact.
But seeing as the only interaction she had now was with a bunch of ogre-worshiping NPCs, things were a little more dire.
She found the last message from Tamara, looked at the send date a month past, and winced. After Devon had left Fort Kolob, they’d met up a couple of times. Tamara had even offered to teach her how to mountain bike—not that Devon had any intent of taking her friend up on that.
She pulled up the last message and hit reply, subvocalizing a response. “Hey, sorry I’ve been MIA. Was kind of dopey during surgery recovery and work’s been busy. Meet for tea or something tomorrow?”
Tamara was Mormon, which meant beers were out. But that was okay because Devon was a lightweight.
Feeling good about her efforts to connect with society, she scraped the egg-mass onto a plate. She doused the mess with hot sauce in hopes it would cover the texture and wolfed it down. As important as it was to sustain her physical body, she really wanted to get back into Relic and see the results of yesterday’s adventures. She was eager to examine the mysterious bone bauble and the parchment. More than that, today, she’d finally be able to start her journey to some sort of city.
Meal finished, she cracked a can of cold coffee, chugged it, and flopped onto the couch. With a mental twist of her awareness, she fell into Relic Online.
And was greeted with screaming.
She sprang up to the sight of Hezbek frantically leaning over a thrashing form on her cot. Devon shook off the disorientation from the unexpected situation and rushed to the medicine woman’s side.
An injured man clutched his leg, yelling through clenched teeth. Blood seeped from between his fingers.
“Get his mouth open,” Hezbek said. Devon hurried to the head of the cot and snatched a stick off a nearby shelf. Not eager to get her finger bitten off, she shoved it between his lips and pried his teeth open. With a nod, Hezbek pulled the stopper from a clay pot. The foul-smelling liquid poured down the man’s throat, and after a moment he began to quiet.
Temple of Sorrow: A LitRPG and GameLit Adventure (Stonehaven League Book 1) Page 8