Worn Breast Plate
Damage Resistance: Physical 8/30% Elemental (Fire) 2/0% Elemental (All Other) 0, 0%. Dexterity Penalty: -3. Stealth Penalty: -40% Speed Penalty: -10%. Durability 30/30. Requires Heavy Armor Skill.
Studded Leather Leggings
Damage Resistance: Physical 4/10% Elemental (All) 1/0%. Dexterity Penalty: -1. Stealth Penalty: 0. Speed Penalty: -5%. Durability: 22/22. Requires Medium Armor Skill.
Sturdy Leather Boots
Damage Resistance: Physical 3/10% Elemental (All) 2/0% Arcane 0/0%. Durability: 10/10.
Rusty Longsword
One-handed. Damage: 7-10 Physical
Durability: 25/25. Requires Sword Skill.
Plain Wooden Shield
Block Bonus: +25%.
Damage Resistance (Successful Block Only): Physical: 25/30%, Elemental (All) 10/20%, Arcane 0/0%.
Durability: 25/25. Requires Shield Skill.
Iron Rations (12): Will stave off hunger for eight hours.
Water Bottle (12): Will stave off thirst for eight hours.
It had been his first time playing the game, so he wasn’t sure what the stats meant or how good they were (he guessed not very). But the iron rations and water were easy enough to figure out. He definitely could use some drinking water. As soon as he thought about it, a bottle appeared in his hand and the inventory number after the entry ‘Water Bottle’ changed from 12 to 11. Magic, or tech so advanced it might as well be magic? He didn’t know. Having instant access to his inventory would be very useful either way.
The container wasn’t glass but some sort of glazed earthenware with a cork on one end. He popped the cork and greedily gulped down the contents. The water tasted flat – boiled, maybe? – but in his current state it might as well have been his favorite energy drink. As soon as he was done, a notification prompt appeared on the left corner of his field of vision. He opened it by ‘clicking’ on it with his mind:
You are no longer afflicted with Thirst. Your Endurance regeneration has returned to normal.
Well, that’s good to know, he thought.
He began to throw the empty bottle away but caught himself. Being wasteful was one thing back in the twenty-first century, but if he really was trapped in some fantasy world, a bottle wasn’t something you just threw away. Besides, he only had four days’ worth of food and water; he might need to refill the bottles at some point. Willing the empty bottle into the inventory was as easy as thinking about it. Now he had one Empty Bottle filling a slot in his inventory. Magic. A nonsensical word, but it fit the situation. Wherever he was, magic worked here.
It was time to do something about being naked. Problem was, he was covered in slime and blood. He wasn’t about to use his limited water supply to wash up, but he’d read somewhere that desert people used sand to scrub themselves, and there was plenty of that around. It was chafing and painful and he got nowhere near to being truly clean, but he got rid of some of the grossest stuff.
Getting dressed was magically easy as well: when he selected the Ordinary Clothing, a prompt appeared:
Equip? Y/N.
He selected ‘yes’ and next thing he knew he was wearing the garments. The same happened to the suit of armor. Everything fit him okay, although not very comfortably. The woolen shirt was coarse and itchy, but on the other hand it warmed him up. The leggings fit him snugly; they had tough, strips made of thicker leather covering vulnerable spots; they might turn a sword blade or cushion a blunt impact.
The metal breastplate was heavy, and made bending at the waist difficult, but he found he could move without overbalancing himself. He had seen a YouTube video that showed a trained knight could do somersaults in a full suit of articulated plate, so that didn’t surprise him. His character – Hawke – had the Heavy Armor Skill; he’d picked it up during character creation. From the looks of it, his body had the muscle memory necessary for the skills he had selected. That was great, because he’d never been to even a Ren Faire before; all his experience with medieval weapons had been through a game controller or a keyboard and mouse.
The sword and shield appeared in his hands when he summoned them, along with a belted scabbard for the weapon. He took a couple of practice swings with it, moving with a grace and sureness he’d never felt before. His body was nothing like his ‘real’ one, either: it was lean and wiry, without the beer belly no amount of sit-ups ever managed to eliminate. Plenty of muscle, but not the bulky kind of a weightlifter. More like someone who trained for speed as well as strength. Not bad. Kinda like what he had imagined Hawke would look like, as a matter of fact.
Just as he was about to put the sword back in its scabbard, he heard weird, chittering noises coming from beyond the archway leading out of the corpse-strewn chamber. They were nothing like the sounds human beings would make.
And whatever they were, they were coming closer.
Two
Oh, crap.
He hadn’t even checked his character stats or quest log, but he didn’t want his field of vision obscured by information screens, not when he was about to have company. Instead, he tightened his grip on the sword, made sure he was holding his shield securely, and he moved as quietly as he could, putting a mound of corpses between him and the entrance. Best to see who or what was headed his way before they saw him. The noises were pretty close. A flickering light shone into the room, throwing splashes of color over the neon blue of his Dark Vision. He forced himself to stand still and take shallow breaths.
Soon enough, a handful of figures came through the archway and his heart skipped a beat. They were hideous, ten-limbed monsters made of a bizarre combo of spiders and humanoids. Their bottom bodies were bulbous and supported by eight spiny legs. A humanlike torso covered with spiky dark fur protruded from the spider body; it had two skinny arms ending in skeletal-looking hands. The grotesque heads on top were spiderlike, with two large segmented eyes and a pair of mandibles underneath. The spider-people held three-pronged spears in their hands; rolls of rope were slung on their shoulders. They spoke to each other in a chittering language he couldn’t understand as they walked in, moving with quick, inhuman strides.
He ‘clicked’ on the creatures, and floating words and numbers appeared over their heads.
Murk Arachnoid
Level 1 Worker
Health 18 Mana 11 Endurance 20
Below the text were three status bars next to the words Health, Mana and Endurance, colored red, blue and green, respectively. The boxes over the spider-men had a deep red outline, which suggested they were hostile. His body seemed to know that as well, because the moment he saw them he was consumed with revulsion and loathing. He didn’t want to talk to them. He only wanted to attack or run away.
Despite that, a part of him wanted to wait, to see if there was a non-violent solution to be found. If he attacked them, there would be consequences, win or lose. For all he knew, there might be hundreds more of those things waiting within earshot. Or he might be breaking the local laws and end up hunted down for slaughtering some innocent sanitation workers or whatever.
Hawke – that was his name, he decided; Ben Velasco had ceased to exist when magic turned him into his character – set those concerns aside. He knew in his heart that this was a case of kill or be killed, and that there would be no quarter offered and none accepted. Either that, or gaming had warped his morals, just the way anti-gamers claimed. No matter. He had to act.
Five on one. Jesus.
The spider-things – the Murk Arachnoids – headed straight for the nearest pile of corpses. Hawke stayed out of sight; he couldn’t see the critters anymore but heard the sound of metal hitting flesh, followed by dragging sounds. He realized that the Arachnoids were taking bodies from the pile. Hawke was pretty sure they weren’t taking the corpses off to give them a proper burial. These guys weren’t sanitation workers; they were kitchen assistants, come to the larder to fetch dinner. The thought made him angrier than he’d ever been before.
Go.
Hawke sprang from behind the mound, going to the left. Two Arachnoids were there; they had stuck their tridents in the torso of a body and were pulling it from the pile of bodies. A woman’s corpse. That just angered him more, and the anger helped him fight off his fear.
The closest Arachnoid spotted him and chittered a warning. It tried to remove the stuck trident, but the points were embedded too deeply in the corpse. It let go of the useless weapon and reached for a dagger hanging from its belt. Hawke got there first. His body’s muscle memory told him what to do. Stab with the point while keeping the shield between him and the second opponent. The longsword hit the creature’s lower body and punched through its hard, leathery skin with a wet thunk. He felt the impact through his wrist and forearm, and the brief resistance was followed by the feel of stabbing something softer and yielding. A red number ‘7’ floated past his eyes, too quickly to distract him, thankfully.
He twisted the sword as he pulled it free, widening the wound. The arachnoid gave out a piercing buzzing whine, sounding more like electronic feedback than anything alive. Dark, thick ichor spurted out of the wound as a second number – a 6 this time – flashed by. Hawke thrust at it again, aiming for its humanoid torso. The arachnoid managed to grab the sword with its all-too humanlike hands, but only managed to cut itself as the sharp two-edged blade slid through its fingers and pierced the juncture between its head and body. The buzzing sound stopped; Hawke barely had time to pull the sword out before the creature collapsed lifelessly to the ground. Even as a number 8 floated up, the creature’s status bars went down to zero.
I just killed someone.
The thought was drowned out by his body’s instincts and he turned just in time to receive the charge of the second arachnoid, who had freed its trident and was determined to avenge its companion. Hawke caught the weapon’s three points with his shield. One of the metal heads dimpled the inner lining of the shield; the other two didn’t penetrate the wood. Hawke twisted and pivoted, levering the trident aside and delivering an overhead slash at an exposed arm. The sword’s edge cut through chitin and flesh; unlike a human arm, there was no bone underneath, just more gelatinous ichor. More buzzing screams – and a number 8 – followed. With only one good arm, the arachnoid wasn’t able to bring the trident into play before Hawke stabbed it through the chest.
Ichor spurted as a much bigger red number – 14 – exploded upwards. Critical strike! The arachnoid slumped to the ground, dropping its trident. Hawke had to shake the weapon’s three points loose from his shield. He didn’t feel terrified or disgusted; his only emotion was a sense of desperate urgency.
Two down, three to go.
One of the survivors had been close enough to see the deaths of its friends. If it had waited for its two buddies, things might have gone differently, but it came charging at Hawke on its own, trident held high, buzzing madly as it skittered on its eight legs. Hawke ran to meet him, shield up, sword ready to cut or thrust. The trident head flashed forward, aimed low towards Hawke’s exposed lower legs, but some instinct told him that was a feint, so when the spider creature shifted its grip on the weapon and swung it up towards his face, he was ready for it. His shield slapped the trident aside and he swung his sword, inflicting a shallow – only 2 points of damage – cut on its shoulder. The wound made the creature recoil in pain; it tried to retreat but Hawke followed it, stabbing again and again. By the fourth hit, it sank down to the ground as its Heath bar zeroed out.
The last two came at him together and the fight turned into a desperate scramble; Hawke ducked and dodged away from the pair of stabbing tridents as the Arachnoids forced him back. He got hit on his right side; the breastplate held off the points but something gave way under the impact – a rib, maybe – and the pain made him gasp. He retreated as he saw a red 4 flash off the corner of his eye. So that was what taking four points of damage felt like. He didn’t like it one bit.
The arachnoids moved forward, eager to get him. Hawke reversed course and came at the one on his right. He ducked under a thrust and cut one of its legs off, making it stumble, and kept moving, interposing the trashing body between him and the second creature. His next slash produced a spectacular splash of ichor; the wounded arachnoid went down. The part of his mind that was treating all of this as a game noted his swing had been another critical hit and inflicted 16 points of damage.
One left.
Hawke felt a spike of agony on his side every time he drew breath. He also noticed blood was running down his left leg from a wound he didn’t remember getting. He forced himself to ignore the pain as he turned towards his last foe. The spider-thing scrambled towards him; its weapon was held up for an overhead thrust. Hawke lunged and his sword point pierced the creature under its armpit. He ripped the weapon free; ichor spattered his face, blinding him, but his last blow followed the buzzing sounds the creature made and landed. The arachnoid went limp and silence returned to the chamber.
Hawke wiped his eyes, breathing heavily. He looked at the were-spiders’ mutilated bodies in disbelief.
I did this.
For slaying your foes, you have earned 75 Experience. XP to Next Level: 75/100.
Part of him was repulsed, but another part was exhilarated. He had been terrified and angry until the fighting began; after that he had been detached, considering only tactics. Not quite a killing machine, but someone totally focused on the fight at hand. He wasn’t sure what that said about him, but he was alive and those creatures were dead.
He wanted to live, if only to find whoever had done this to him and make them pay.
Three
Hawke rubbed off the rest of the sludge-like blood from his face, fighting the impulse to retch in disgust as he cleaned his sword before putting it back in its scabbard, a trained reflex as natural to his new body as breathing. His heart was racing and the pain of his wounds seemed to grow with every passing second. Something was flashing red on the left corner of his field of vision: when he focused on it, he saw his own status box, just like in so many games he’d played before:
Hawke Lightseeker. Half-Elf (Eternal)
Level 1 Paladin
Health 7/24 Mana 24 Endurance 10/27
WARNING: You are bleeding and will continue to lose 1 Health per 10 seconds until you heal yourself.
Great. He was down to less than a fourth of his hit points – or Health, as this game that wasn’t a game called them – and he was also exhausted, not to mention bleeding to death. Since he felt like he was about to die, the numbers reflected reality much too closely for his taste.
He was in a world that worked like game. Somehow. The whys and hows had to wait. The important thing was to figure out how to heal himself. He needed information, and the flashing prompts around him could provide it. First, he ‘opened’ his character information.
Name: Hawke Lightseeker. Race: Half-Elf (Eternal). Class: Paladin. Level: 1
Experience/Next Level: 75/100
Attributes:
Strength 12, Dexterity 12, Constitution 16, Intelligence 11, Spirit 16, Perception 12, Willpower 11, Charisma 15
Characteristics:
Health 24 (Regain 2.6/minute)
Mana 21 (Regain 2.6/minute)
Endurance 21 (Regain 2.6 minute)
Identity: 19
Skills
Dodge 4, Lore 1, Shield 5, Spear 3, Survival 2, Sword 5
Languages
Common Fey, Vulgate, Lesser Celestial
Perks
Dark Vision, True Sight, Undying, Unlimited Potential
Spells/Abilities
Aura of Light, Shield of Light, Touch of Light
His Health ticked down to six. Hawke remembered two of his spells could heal. A couple of mental mouse-clicks let him see what his spells could do:
Aura of Light
Time to Cast: 5 seconds. Mana Cost: 4. Duration: 6 minutes. Range: 30-foot radius around caster. Effect: Heals everyone in the area of effect by 1 point of damage per caster Level every second. Secondar
y Effect: Provides illumination equivalent to a torch for the duration of the spell. Side Effects: Stealth chances reduced by 80%.
Shield of Light
Time to Cast: 5 seconds. Mana Cost: 6. Duration: 6 minutes. Range: Self. Effect: Creates a defensive aura that can reduce the damage of any attack by (Level x 2) points of damage (All types).
Touch of Light
Time to Cast: 2 seconds. Mana Cost: 2. Duration: 6 seconds. Range: Touch or Self. Effect: Heal 4 Health per Level plus 2 Health per Level every second for six seconds.
Heals please, he told himself. Thinking about the spell name – Touch of Light – triggered something inside his head, and he found himself calling on someone called Lumina, Goddess of Light. The words of the spell came to him. As he spoke them, a warm current of power ran from his heart to both his hands, which started glowing with an intense yellow light. The light then flowed back into his body and the pain of his wounds faded away.
Nice. According to his status bar, his Health went from 6 to 10 out of 24 and the Bleeding debuff disappeared. A second later, his Health rose to 12. Instead of casting Touch of Light again, Hawke activated Aura of Light next. Once again, the words of the spell came rushing out of his mouth as if he’d practiced them for years. Lots more words, for a longer casting time; doing it in the middle of a fight might not be a good idea. The golden light came back and stayed, surrounding him in a glowing aura. He looked at the cut on his leg; the wound had been replaced with a faint scar. By the time the Touch of Light spell elapsed, his Health pool was up to 21 out of 24; the Aura of Light got him up to full three seconds later. He was still tired, but felt much better now.
He checked his status bar: it now read Health 24, Mana 18/24 Endurance 5/27. As he watched, his Endurance went up to 7/21. It seemed that as long as he wasn’t fighting or exerting himself, his Endurance also regenerated.
Hawke remembered creating his character – creating himself, sort of – before the nightmare had begun. It had been simple enough. Pick a class – he’d chosen his old mainstay, Paladin – which gave him access to Light Magic and three beginner spells. Distribute twenty-five points among eight attributes, all defaulting at level 10 (Average). Then he had twenty points to spread among skills; he had simply followed the game’s recommendations. Finally, he was given three Perks and the choice for a fourth one. He had picked Dark Vision. More than good enough to get started. Well, to get started in a game, not in a life-or-death struggle where monsters could really gut you like a trout. He’d been too much of a noob to use his spells in the first fight. And when he was creating the character, he hadn’t even bothered to read what his Perks did for him. He did so now:
Twilight Templar (The Eternal Journey Book 1) Page 2