… I was falling.
Chapter Nineteen: The Real Lives Of Icarus Orcs.
I hit the ground and groaned as beautiful, golden rays of sunlight stabbed my eyes like vengeful pitchfork wielding pixies
"Blood and Suffering Gods… this is no way to start a day. The proper way to start the day is with pancakes and a slurpee."
I got to my feet and stretched. "Yeah, I'd give my right pinky toe for a slurpee right now. Sorry Timmy."
Blearily, I dug into my bag and pulled out a travel ration. A bar of nuts held together with pressed fruit and other sticky stuff which ate while stumbling down the road.
Then I took a drink of water from one of those leather bags with a nozzle. I forget what they were called. A… waterskin? No, that can’t be right.
Gods, I was not a morning person.
Whatever it was, it was no substitute for a decent carbonated caffeinated frozen sugar drink.
"I would kill for a Spice Cola vending machine. Then I'd kill for a place to plug it in. Then I'd kill for a cash card to buy the drink. Okay, so massacring a bunch of people for caffeine might be just the tiniest bit excessive."
I yawned so wide my jaw ached. "The tiniest bit."
Then I remembered my dream, which jolted me awake faster than any energy drink.
I dropped down to the ground and started trying to require the scent.
I had periodically checked the road for it between jumping through the trees yesterday and gotten pretty lucky. I only had to backtrack a few times.
When I found it I started jogging, then running, then I was jumping through the trees again. Faster and with more skill than I had yesterday.
Several hours passed this way until Cherish connected with me for an update. I took the opportunity to rest and eat while we talked.
She said she found some information about the natives in the bardic library. Which was information I didn’t think I especially needed.
When I mentioned that to Cherish she explained that I needed to shut up and listen to her.
I sent her an image of me shrugging while riding on the back of a giant turtle.
There was no turtle of course. I just wanted to mess with her but she ignored the image and started sending me text from a book.
Half-elves are the most widespread of all the races and mainly live in the Southern Kingdom. They are tall, thin and graceful. They have hair ranging between white blonde and dark brown. Their skin ranges from the paleness of their Elven ancestry, to the tan or even the deep brown of their Human ancestors.
They reach adulthood at twenty and live to about two hundred years. They are more creative and curious than full blooded Elves and have an adventurous and industrious nature.
They prefer to make cities out of decorative stone, wood and magic infused plants. They value friendship and ties to the heart, more than the ties of blood.
+2 Agility, +2 Dexterity, +2 Spirit.
"It's pretty much the same things we already knew," she said.
"Yep," I agreed. "But what does the '+2' mean? I mean I know what it means, but what is the base it adds to?"
"I asked a few people and it's from a system ancient Humans used. The average adult Humans physical stats were all at 3 and their Magic and Vitality were at 1."
I nodded my understanding, forgetting she couldn't see me for a second then I sent her a, "Confirmed."
Elves are the least prolific of all the races and live a little over five hundred years. They too, reach physical maturity at age twenty, like their Half Human cousins. However, they are not considered to be at the age of responsibility until their first century.
They are taller, more graceful and more delicate than their Half Human cousins. Their hair ranges from white, through silver and into black with skin that is always pale and unable to tan in the sun. Their eyes are varying shades of bright colors.
They mainly live in the Great Wood Forest, bending, weaving and cultivating the enormous trees into cities high in the branches. They value personal growth over relationships and they tend to have acquaintances rather than friends. To them safety and comfort are more important than freedom and they will often retreat from other races rather than confront them.
+3 Agility, + 3 Dexterity, +3 Spirit, -1 Strength, -1 Physical Resistance.
"Huh, I've never seen stat penalties before." I said.
"Every full blooded Elf I've seen looks fragile compared to the other races." Cherish pointed out. "I guess it makes sense, they do have an advantage in the other three stats. I’ve also noticed that most have an aloofness. Not necessarily arrogance, though that is there, but a sense that they don't quite live in the same world as the rest of us."
I laughed out loud. "Like they're all ,PCs and everyone else is just an NPC."
"Well… not exactly but that's a surprisingly good comparison."
Dark Elves have the smallest population of all the races. Not simply because they, like their Elven cousins, can live more than five hundred years and as a result produce less offspring. But because of the inherent violence of their race. They reach physical maternity at age twenty.
The females are larger and stronger while the males have a greater capacity for magic. They live underground, carving and shaping cities of black stone and crystal into twisted shapes that confuse the senses of those unaccustomed to them.
They are known to delight in cruelty and betrayal, viewing any act of trust or kindness as a weakness.
+3 Dexterity, +3 Agility. Females have +2 Strength. Males have +2 Spirit.
"Okay, I think Three will be just fine," I said.
Her disbelief was so strong I could feel it, even over the distance and I hurried to explain. "No, seriously. Three by himself might be trouble but remember what the Dark Kin in Midian were like. The more the Natives try to pull them apart the more they'll stick together."
Cherish was silent for a long moment before sending me her reluctant agreement, though it was still mixed with worry.
Male Dwarven bodies are almost as wide as they are tall. The females are less so but are still the most voluptuous of all the races. Their skin is pale unless it tans in the sun and their hair ranges from brown to black with an occasional red. They reach their maturity at twenty five and live a little over two hundred and fifty years.
They are clannish and actively worship Fate, the God/Goddess of Order, Law, Promises and Contracts.
They rarely use magic except when they dedicate themselves to a God or Goddess (Either Fate or Empathy) and normally look down on all other spell casters.
Their homes are almost always in the mountains, whether it is under, on top or carved into its side.
+5 Endurance, +3 Strength, -2 Agility.
"God/Goddess? So Fate is both or…"
"Fate can and does switch between male and female. But from what I've read it doesn't seem to have any influence on them. Fate is Fate regardless of gender."
I scratched my head and shrugged, “They're either a divine power or a super advance program. So whatever."
"And you never know. They could be A.I.'s and Gods at the same time." Cherish pointed out.
"Don't remind me. It'll just give me a headache."
"Yeah. And you should probably limit your interactions with Native Dwarves."
"Hey, I could, possibly, get along with someone who worships order. I’m not anti-order, um, oriented and I take my promises very seriously. But if they are rhabdophobic they’re really going to have issues with Aegis Dwarves."
“Rhabdophobic?” she asked.
“Fear of magic.”
“Oh. Yeah," she said in a resigned tone. "I forgot about that. You would think that since an entire world is made up of magic soul stuff, nobody would be afraid of magic.”
“Hey, our world has luposlipaphobia. Who are we to judge.”
“I don’t think that's a real phobia but whatever…”
Beast People look similar to Half-elves but with animal ears, eyes, teeth and tails. Their s
kin tone ranges between pale to dark brown. Body types range from tall and thin (though not to the degree of Elves) to short and stocky (but not to the degree of Dwarves). The age they reach maturity varies between fourteen and twenty. They live until about one hundred to one hundred and twenty years.
Once there were nomadic tribes of Humans that lived throughout the western lands. Each tribe member would bond to an animal to aid them in hunting, foraging and working, as well as for companionship. It is commonly believed that during the Undead Plague, these Humans used nature magic to merge their souls to these animals in order to survive.
Cat: +3 Agility, +3 Strength. Wolf: +3 Endurance, +3 Strength. Fox: +3 Spirit, +3 Speed. Squirrel: +3 Agility, +3 Dexterity.
"From the few pictures I've seen, the Beast People are basically humans with animals parts. Not like those from Rath, who are humanoid bipedal animals."
"Got it. Rath is full of fighting furries and the Natives are anime animal people." I summed up.
I felt her reluctant agreement as she said, "Yes, but from what I've read and heard, the Natives may look more human but they’re ruled more by their animal nature than Beast Kin. It's probably something to keep in mind when we meet them."
All Centaurs were once nomadic and tribal. Centaur tribes, clans and caravans traveled throughout the world until until the Undead Plague ravaged civilization. When Centaurs sought shelter within towns and cities they fought side by side with the citizens. In the aftermath many formed bonds with their fellow survivors and decided to stay.
They refused to fight in wars for any one nation but many tribes make contracts with cities, towns, villages and outposts as protectors and defenders.
They are an open and honest people who value hospitality and acceptance. Many are prone to be gregarious and cheerful, living about one hundred and fifty years while reaching adulthood at twenty.
+4-6 Speed (Variable Due to Subrace), +3-6 Endurance (Variable Due to Subrace).
"Halflings,” Cherish stated. “Centaurs, regardless of subrace, have the personalities of traditional Halflings. At least, when they're not on duty and acting like professional soldiers. Everyone I've met put real effort into making me feel welcome and happy. Flirting seems to confuse them, though."
Despite their ancestry most Half-orcs are a proud, disciplined and honorable people. Due to their unfortunate parentage they barley live more than a hundred years. This may be the reason they are driven towards achieving as much as possible within their own lifetime.
Every Half-orc is drafted into the military at a young age, first as support staff and then as auxiliary. When they become legal adults at eighteen, most become full soldiers for a minimum of three years.
They have conquered all of the eastern lands and it is only through the combined efforts of the north, south and western kingdoms that they are kept at bay.
+3 Strength, +3 Vitality, -1 Dexterity.
"From how people talk about them, Half-orcs are pretty much a cross between the Romans and the Vikings. Out to rule the world with their warrior honor shtick."
I nodded, before again, remembering she couldn't see it but frowned as I thought about what she said. "Umm, is it just me or does the author seem…"
"Totally racist?" Cherish finished.
"Yes…"
"Oh, wait for it…"
Orcs are large, overly muscled, grey green skinned, unintelligent primitives. Orcs contribute nothing to the world and are barely able to speak . They fight with a blood thirsty brutality and take joy only in slaughter. No one is sure how long they live due to the fact that their lives are so violent but it is assumed that they live less than a hundred years.
They have no lands of their own and infest kingdoms like vermin until they are either driven out or exterminated.
+5 Strength, +3 Vitality, -5 Dexterity.
"... wow."
"I know, right!"
"What. The. What?"
"Right?! Just wait until you hear what the author wrote about the 'Lesser Races'."
I made a face and told her it world have to wait. I needed to get moving again and my magic was getting low.
"Okay! Love and kisses! Watch out for Orcs!"
Before I could comment she pulled way and I settled back into the boring routine of walking, running, jogging, jumping while trying to train up my agility and dexterity.
The hours of boredom were broken by the occasional jaunt into the woods as I followed the scent trail. From what I gathered from smell, she kept going into the woods to grind experience.
It was during one of these little excursions that I found a stream of water. And by found I mean slipped into as I was killing another Snickersnack.
One thing led to another and I lost the trail.
Irritated, I turned around and hoped to pick up the trail from the road again.
Reasonable plan. Except for the part where I was jumping through the trees to get to the road when I realized I’d lost the road. Panic gripped me and I caught a branch, swinging around and around on it to bleed off some momentum before landing on it.
I looked to where I had last seen the road, jumped to the ground and headed in that direction, fearing the worst. My fears are confirmed when I found that the road was most definitely not where I wanted it to be.
“No no nononono!” I started running flat out.
“I can’t be lost! If I’m lost, all hope is lost! Then I’m gonna die! I’m gonna die in the middle of nowhere without so much as a coconut radio. And if I did have a coconut radio the only stations I would get would be country western and the country western twang would resonate in my grey matter and MELT MY BRAIN INTO - “
Then I found the road. "Oh, okay. Good. Note to self. Don't get lost in the forest on an alien planet. That would be bad.”
I found myself farther down the road than where I had gone in but still found her scent.
I decided that from now on I would stick to the road and if her trail left it, I would go down a ways to see if the trail continued. So far, she had always come back to the road.
Once I let my instincts take hold, it was surprisingly easy to fall into a rhythm of movement that incorporated the use of my magic. Even while tracking someone by scent.
Later, when I thought about it, I would assume it was another aspect of being Savage Kin. The hunting instincts.
Which would of been disturbing if I bothered to worry about it.
I also redoubled my efforts in training, refining the Bounce spell over and over until it was as perfect as it could be.
Then I refined it some more.
Everytime I tried casting it through my hands something felt off, misaligned, and I was pretty sure I needed an entirely new variation of the Bounce spell, a Push spell, for it to be energy efficient. I had intended to make Bounce a jump spell after all.
I did learn to cast it through the backs of my hands and feet, though it was weaker and less effective.
The fact that each spell was shaped for a specific function and was therefore less efficient when used for other tasks, should have been obvious from the beginning.
I just hadn't anticipated these limitations in spell development.
However, I used the Bounce spell so much, it got to the point where jumping and landing with it was as automatic as any physical reflex. It didn’t even feel like I was activating a spell at this point. It was just an action that used a resource other than physical strength.
I became so focused on hunting and practicing that I didn't even feel bored anymore.
Then I saw another Snickersnack. It turned to follow me with whatever it used to navigate when I passed over its head. I flipped and twisted in midair, hitting a tree trunk with my feet and using it to launch myself at it.
It tried to bite me as I passed but I was moving too fast and I used my momentum to tear into its side with my left claw. Ghost fire raked into down its side from neck to tail and with my right claw I ripped into its hind leg.
Already bleeding
and crippled, it was the easiest fight with a Snickersnack I ever had.
By the time I was on my fourth and last magic potion (which tasted like grape soda) I’d killed three other Snickersnacks. None of which died as fast as the last one, but still, they went down pretty quick.
I was walking down the road, recovering my magic and stamina from the last fight when I smelled them. A smell that was less like body odor and more like an animal musk. I wrinkled my nose, trying to make sense of the scents when I heard voices.
From around a bend in the road, deep rumbling voices like those of Giants grew louder.
Even before the three of them came into view and I recognized them by smell. Native Orcs.
Not Half-Orcs like Captain Orkus. These were full blooded Orcs with a smell that was… well, less human.
Then they rounded the corner and I got my first look at them.
One had pale, grayish green skin, another had skin as dark as an avocado, the third was a variation in between.
They looked like they had permanent scowls on their brutish faces. With deep set eyes holding all the warmth and color of a “lemon” flavored snow cone. Their noses weren’t the pig snouts I’ve seen in other games but they looked small in comparison with the rest of their features.
Inside their wide mouths were teeth bad enough to make the most dedicated dental hygienist say, “Oh heeell no. I am out! Retired. As of right now!” and had an underbite of tusk level proportions.
Imagine a pro-wrestler, beat him with a steroid stick until his testicles beg for mercy with tiny, squeaky little voices, then beat him just a little bit more.
Give him a steady diet of beer, pizza and chimichangas for a year. Dress him up as a Conan the Barbarian frat boy and you might, might, perhaps, possibly, get a sense of what I was looking at.
I mentally dubbed them, from left to right, Larry, Curly and Mo.
Because of course I did.
As the orcs came closer, I struggled not to judge a book by its cover. Then I realized how stupid that expression was.
I mean, that was the whole point of the front cover. To have an image that gives you an impression of what the book is about. So you can judge whether or not you want to read it.
Dubstep Succubus Page 36