But the plant wouldn’t listen like a good plant. It kept on tightening.
“Bad!” She stamped on its vines with all her body’s weight. Amazingly, it recoiled as if in pain, loosened enough for her to pull free and get the heck out of dodge. Her trusty legs carried her back to the meadow, which wasn’t far at all, only a couple dozen yards.
Phew. Close one!
Panting heavily, leaned against a tree and wiped her fingers on bark. It stung quite a bit, though not so much that she had to hold in cries. But why did everything in this world have to be out for her flesh and blood? It was supposed to be a game about town-building and crafting and cooking. Sure, it was also about war and survival, but this was kind of too much.
But she wasn’t going to show weakness. Especially not in front of grouchy old Row, who was running toward her with that Orc’s axe held in both hands.
“What is it?” he asked.
“There’s a living plant growing out of a rock over there.” Hopefully it didn’t eat the kitten!
Relief swept his face. “Oh, that—”
“Ya know?!” Irritation knotted inside her tummy.
“Yeah, I saw it this morning.”
“And ya didn’t warn me?”
“I didn’t think it was a big deal.”
She showed him her red fingers. “This isn’t a big deal?”
His eyes widened. “Ah… my bad.”
Her eyes rolled. She exhaled, “It’s fine. It’s just some weak acid.”
“Alright, I’ll go burn it.”
For some reason, she didn’t quite like that idea. She scrounged up a reason: “What if it’s useful?”
“What if it grows and turns into a giant plant boss?”
Her mind painted a nasty picture of a tentacle plant monster, and everyone knew what would happen if those tentacles got hold of her. Her core tensed at the thought. “Ya, you’re right.”
He grunted in agreement, walked off to the camp fire.
“I’ll work on the base. How about a kitchen and dining room next?”
“Good idea,” he said over his shoulder. “Just make it one big building for now.”
“Kay!” she said happily.
And that was that. Gabby LeMort—one. Plant monster—zero.
She picked up a rusty hatchet from a stump and got on with it while listening to her favorite jazz playlist. She didn’t mind a little hard labor, not in this world. This virtual body was ridiculously strong for its lack of muscle. Again, magic at work.
Stat points, specifically. Her genius build was coming along merrily.
By lunchtime, a smoke stack was rising from the trees, and a rough plan for the beginnings of their settlement was already drawn up in the grid overlay by none other than Gabrielle. She had a certain nack for landscaping, better than what Rowan could do for sure.
9
A whole day had passed quicker than Rowan could nock his next arrow.
He stood with his back straight, legs apart. A breath sipped, he pulled on the sinew-woven string with all the strength twenty-nine Agility points allowed. The line of sight was clear. A second was all it took to aim. He released.
His arrow was a quivering feathered rattlesnake as it cut through dustless air, and its bite was deadly. A clean head shot. Dead. No blood. The straw dummy tipped backward.
A remaining zero point two percent sliver of Rowan’s experience bar filled. Ding, level up! Glowing golden text appeared before him, a rush ecstasy alleviating the dull ache in his side for a second and no longer. Finally.
Congratulations! You are now level 10! You have 3 unallocated stat points.
Tip: You are now able to ascend to one of seven base classes. Visit your local master or activate a class tome to do so. You didn’t run off into the wilderness before doing so, correct?
Tip: Dummy training and friendly sparing will no longer yield experience. The required experience per level from now on will increment at an exponential rate, roughly tripling every ten levels.
Just as the ever-helpful forums had foretold.
Rowan nodded away the prompt and jogged to retrieve his arrow. The monotonous grind, at last, was over. Monotonous but smart. He wasn’t going to barge head-first into these dangerous wilds as a level one bowman even if some deranged king were holding a sword to his back. No, thank you, Mr Creedy.
The number of times Rowan had partaken in archery or sword-fighting in the real world came to less than a dozen fingers; that for sure would result in his quick death in any dungeon, in any fight. However, in this world, he was a natural, a prodigy. Okay, maybe not a prodigy, but there were likely hidden magics at work that enhanced his natural rate of learning. Or Luck, which wasn’t far-fetched.
Luck had guided his fingers to craft that masterwork unstrung bow. He hadn’t been able to replicate the achievement since. A sigh wafted from his throat as he retrieved his good arrow. That could’ve been an amazing longbow one day with some spit and elbow grease. The one he currently wielded was of…
Crude Birchwood Longbow
Item Type: Ranged Weapon (two handed)
Damage: 11
Quality: 523 (Admirable)
Admirable quality only.
Half the population of this fjord had more than admired its sleek form and these perfectly curved limbs, but the game evaluated otherwise. Clearly aesthetics weren’t the only factor counted. But aesthetics were important, nevertheless. No one wanted to look like a slob whilst charging into battle.
Rowan bit hit tongue, focused on the description, and commanded for further information. The game mulled over his request over three seconds.
Beauty Rating: 798
Nice. This longbow was going on his wall as his first crafted weapon. Perhaps a trophy room to go with the others.
Their cozy little settlement was growing nicely, having more than doubled in size. In addition to their hovel, they’d erected a four by four building around the firepit as a temporary universal workplace. The game had suggested it to be a workshop, which granted a not-useless buff. Rowan glanced downward.
Buffs
Workshop Fun (26 Quality): +1 Agility when out of combat
Bedroom Peace (19 Quality): +0 Flow when out of combat
Debuffs
Internal Injuries (rib, left lung): Minor, slowly healing
Hunger: -10% maximum Agility and Flow stat points
Workshop Fun’s quality had improved since he had last checked. Gabrielle must’ve made improvements.
He checked his character and equipment sheets, remembering to allocate those three points.
Rowan LeMort
Level: 10 (EXP: 0/24,000)
Class: None
Fate: Demonborn
Stats
Constitution: 5
Agility: 32 (30)
Mysticism: 5
Flow: 5 (5)
Resistance: 0
Luck: 0
Active Equipment Slots
Head: Empty
Torso: Linen Garb
Legs: Linen Pants
Feet: Empty
Hands: Empty
Belt: Empty
Necklace: Empty
Right-hand Ring: Empty
Left-hand Ring: Empty
Main-hand Weapon: Crude Birchwood Longbow
Off-hand Weapon: Unavailable
One active ring slot per hand. Rowan wanted two per hand, but the lore behind this design was as such: activating more than one ring on a hand would cause mana currents in the body to interfere with each other, disabling both—fair enough of an explanation.
Gabrielle called from inside the workshop, “Row! Lunch’s ready! I made apple syrup stew!”
Right on cue. He placed his arrow into a makeshift bark sling on his back. “I can certainly smell it,” he called back.
“Hurry! It’s getting cold!”
“Okay, okay!” He laughed for once. Her cooking alone was worth the marriage.
Workshop Fun refreshed ten seconds after he st
epped inside. These loose floorboards were peculiarly clean, and slits-for-windows let in ample daylight for Gabrielle to cook on her… What is that thing? He held in chuckles. She was cooking on a makeshift stove composed of clay oblongs. She had crafted another pot, and the mithril dagger was still serving her well… along with her new longbow. The string was good for starting fires.
On a table three planks wide rested a pair of bowls holding diced apples swimming in syrupy liquid. He took one, then nearly sat on a non-existent chair.
“Hehehehe. Did ya just—”
“Nah. I was stretching.”
“Kay, if ya say so.”
“I do.” He tried a sip. The thick liquid was quite sour but nice enough. He drank a mouthful, and warmth filled his stomach, seeped into his limbs as he drank two more. Ground pine needles added a minty aftertaste. He could get used to this, but no buffs were granted, unfortunately.
He guzzled the bowl, then asked, “How’s Tasha doing?” He couldn’t be bothered opening his friend list and typing out a message.
“Almost level ten. She died a couple of times.” Gabrielle was keeping in laughter. “They’re having lotsa trouble in the mines. She’s never played Archery either.”
“Should’ve just trained on a dummy.”
Her eyes rolled. “Row, that’s so boring. I can’t believe ya did that. You’re like a robot sometimes, ya know?”
“It was well worth it. Level ten now. What about you?”
“Twelve.”
He almost believed her for a second. He focused on her playful grayish-blue eyes, more gray than blue in this world.
Gabby LeMort: Human (Level 7)
Health: 100%
“Level seven? How’d you do that?”
“I got experience from chopping the trees, silly. They’re basically really tall dummies. I’ve been killing two dummies with one axe while you spent hours making longbows.”
“I should’ve known.” He refilled his bowl with her clay ladle. He drank it, then went for another refill.
“Row,” she said seriously.
“Hmm?”
“Where will we respawn if we die?”
He slowly drank while looking into her concerned eyes. It was obvious she was worried about going back to the Orcish jail. He wasn’t a fan of that place either, and he doubted Zachery was still alive and fibbing. He softly placed the bowl onto the table. “Why do you ask?”
“Cus Tasha says they need a Town Hall room for group portals.”
“Then we’ll build one?”
Her face deadpanned. “Ya didn’t read the town-building section of the forums, did ya?”
“I was busy training, you know? Things us manly men do during the day.”
“A basic Town Hall room needs at minimum a Simple Gold Idol dedicated to one of the gods.”
“How much gold?”
“A hundred units.”
He drank half a mouthful, swallowed a sour lump, before asking, “A hundred units is?”
Her tongue poked into her cheek. Her eyes stared off into the distance for two of Rowan’s thumping heartbeats. “Some guy calculated that to be around eight point three kilograms of pure gold.”
He nearly choked. “That’s like eighteen pounds of pure gold! We could buy a small house with that in the real world!”
“Wow! You’re good at math!”
“I am. What about the dedication? Does that need a special—”
“Just pick a god, and the god will do the rest. There’s a list on the main website.”
He massaged his brow with his free hand. “Does the hall need anything else?”
“A few pieces of furniture we can easily make, but that’s optional. Though it has to be at least six cubes wide, ten long, and three high.”
“Oh, boy. That’s a lot of wood.” He whistled and settled her well-crafted bowl on the table, careful to not break anything. His brain was a volcano of stupid ideas as he stretched his back, warm air cycling through his lungs. But one of those ideas was not too stupid. “Okay, let’s visit those Woodland Trolls. Maybe we can use theirs, if they have one. Tasha should hit level ten by then. We’re on friendly terms with them right?”
She grinned widely. “I thought ya’d say that! And we’re more like neutral.”
He whistled. “Ten miles through the woods. This is why you’re worried about dying?”
“Yup.”
“Okay. We should get going now while the day’s sun is young.” He picked up the mithril dagger off the table. “Unless you want to train for the rest of today?”
“Nah. What difference does three levels make?”
He was all business. “Quite a lot actually. I’m way more accurate than I was at level seven. I can see further, and I can hear better too. It’s not really something I can describe.”
Her jaw dropped two inches, and her eyes went crazy-wife mode. “Row.”
“What?”
“Did ya put all your points into Agility?”
“Yeah, I’m going to be a Swordsman.”
Her features abruptly squeezed, her eyes closed tight. She jumped to her feet and took a massive breath. Her arms spread wide. “It’s kay. Let’s go for an adventure!”
“Then off we go. Got your bark arrow sling?”
“Yuppers! It’s in our happy little hovel.” She skipped out the door, her longbow in hand. “I’m taking the axe and the iron bars too!”
He shrugged. “You do that. Don’t trade Moonfyre though.”
“Awww.”
“I’m serious. Those bars have sentimental value.”
“But—”
“Don’t you trade him away.”
“Him?”
“He’s been with us since the beginning. Once we’re famous their value goes up as well.”
“Kay.” She giggled her lovely mirth.
* * *
A mile into the trek, the forest grew humid. Even with perfect vision, they could see less than ten to twenty yards in each direction, including upward. They passed a section where branches were thicker, and the fragrance of pine was far stronger than he had imagined possible—to a near hallucinatory extent. Was this another vine monster? His head was swimming. He dropped his center of mass before he keeled over.
Though Gabrielle was unaffected.
He asked, “Isn’t the smell bothering you?”
“Not really. I put a few points into Const.”
“It helps?”
“Against gassy dangers and annoyances.” Her tone was sure.
“Damn. My all-in build might’ve been dumb of me.”
“Yep, one big dummy sometimes.”
“What did you put your points into?”
“Two thirds Luck, the rest split into Agil and Const. Myst and Flow too when I get some magic going.”
His forehead lumped up. “Wow.”
“I know. Genius build. We’ll be rich in no time.”
“Wow, as in your gamble is going to get us killed.” She was the equivalent of a level two character right now.
“Hmph. Guess I’m not sharing my loot anymore. I’ll be rich in no time with a big palace! Ya can have the doggie kennel.”
“And you have the collar.”
“Hehehehe.”
“I’m serious.”
“Of course ya are, and anyway, it’s not that dumb. My Luck spills over to you—like half. Everyone in the party get it, and Luck scales exponentially. F. Y. I.”
He blinked. “I may have read that somewhere.”
“No, ya didn’t—too busy training Archery.”
“Pfft.” He shrugged. “Guess you’ll have to keep stacking it then.
“Yup. So be my body guard!”
They pine scent thinned, and something in the forest moved at the sound of her rising voice. Rowan steeled himself and knocked an arrow.
The chatbox beeped.
Gabby LeMort (Party Chat): What is it?
“Nothing big. It’s like thirty yards away. I think you scared it. M
ight be another boar.”
His guess was right. He caught a glimpse of a hairy backside among tree roots. Another boar, smaller. It was grazing, docile compared to the other one. It looked exactly like the other one except without tusks. Female?
Arctic Boar (level 1)
Health: 100%
This one was no threat—no need to kill.
He was about to signal to get a move on when an arrow flew by his arm at the boar quicker than he could react. The boar squealed as the stone-tipped arrow pierced its neck and then some. It was dead in three writhing spasms, a trickle of blood leaking mixing with soil.
Rowan muttered, “Why did you do that?”
“Huh? So we have something to trade?”
“Oh. You carry it then.”
She shot him an annoyed look. “Hmph, fine.”
His posture straightened. “You know if we leave rotting corpses around they could react with ambient magic currents, right? Bad things could happen.”
“Where’d ya read that?”
“Forums. Yesterday. Help section. Those Light’s Justice guys left a massive pile of snake corpses in a ditch. It turned into a high-level Undead Hydra monster.”
“Oh my lord! Seriously? Where’s the thread?”
“Community. Guilds. Look at the screenshots. Their entire section of forest is out of bounds now.”
Her laughter rang in his ears as she retrieved her arrow and cradled the boar corpse as if it were something lovable. Well, it offered some warmth. This one was clean—no fleas or muddy fur. Its characteristic pig stench, however, was offending as usual. Rowan’s enhanced nose wasn’t helping here.
Through the pass between the mountains, the ground steepened by a few degrees, enough for Gabrielle to tire out. Her breaths grew heavy, her steps lagging behind. “Come on. Rest stop,” she whined. “And you should carry the boar.”
He stopped along a creek of knee-deep crystal-clear water. “I’m the body guard.”
Her tongue clicked. “Fine,” she sighed and knelt by the water.
“Are you sure it’s drinkable?”
“Can’t be worse than what we were drinking before.” She took a sip. “Tastes the same.”
His nose wrinkled in worry. “Right. Tell me if you get a debuff.”
“Kay.”
She gulped three mouthfuls, then wiped her lips on her arm. “Row.”
Demonborn's Fjord Page 7