Demonborn's Fjord

by Dante Sakurai

  “Alright, we’ll keep an eye out for one.” Gabrielle winked, smiling widely. “And what about your daddy? Is he still around?”

  Zaine shook his head, his feelings clamped back down. “I’ve said enough. I hope this counts as cooperation. I’ll hold you to your word. I want a rune-etched enchanted dragonsteel longsword. Legendary quality at minimum.” He waltzed off as though he were the dictator, leaving Rowan stunned by such audacity.

  “How about I get you a Swordsman tome instead?” Rowan managed to cough out.

  “I’ll take that too.”

  Gabrielle’s eyes rolled. She said when Zaine walked out of hearing range, “Then I guess I’ll divinely communicate with Tasha now.”

  “How’s she doing?”

  “Almost level fourteen, almost enough silver.”

  “Died to scorpions again?”

  “Nope, a bunch of guys from Light’s Justice came and cleared it all out. They were already level twenty.”

  “Then we better get moving.” He scooped her up, savoring her warmth for a moment before giving everyone a light tug.

  Rowan LeMort (Party Chat): We’re heading out in five minutes. No stops from now on.

  “Row, they can’t see party chat, silly.”

  He huffed embarrassed air. “I know that.”

  21

  The remaining seven miles trudged on with minimal chatter now that Rowan was a dark mire for animal insanity. Eyes were alert, on the watch for even a mad wasp.

  The crate stack with legs was now tiring, and the two wounded were in no shape for violence. Gabrielle continued drifting in and out of shallow sleep. Her Food Poisoning debuff clung onto Moderate severity; however, her arm had audibly clicked back together miles earlier.

  Faenin. Hopefully, he wasn’t developing an infection. His steps were weakening, blood soaking into his makeshift bandages and dripping down his arm. That was Rowan’s fault, he had to admit. Choosing a Demonic path so brashly hadn’t been smart, and Gabrielle…

  He nudged her awake with his bicep. “Hey.”

  “Hmmm? Are we there?”

  “Almost. Just got through the mountain pass. It’s mostly smooth ground from here on out.”

  She whined into his chest, “Then what?”

  “What Demon path are you going with?”

  “Probably Hellfire… but I want to keep my options open for now.” She coughed lightly.

  Options open—such a Gabrielle thing to do, and he couldn’t blame her for it. “Alright, but choose one real quick if we get into trouble.”

  “I’ll choose once I’m healed up. Not far from it.” Her health bar was at exactly seventy point three percent.

  “Do you think you can walk?”

  Her leg and arm wiggled. “Maybe. I felt a couple of clicks and clangs in my bones earlier.”

  “Yeah same.” Mana was simmering in her broken limbs and stomach. “I can sense the magic working.”

  “A guy on the forums calculated it to be like an average two-thousand percent base bonus depending on the injury.”

  “Wow.” His eyes bulged for a moment.

  “Ya do know broken bones like mine would take like months to heal? I’d probably not make it in a real forest like this.”

  “You wouldn’t know. I can make a makeshift wheelchair—with some effort.” He really couldn’t, only saying this to reassure her. “And that was some nice bandaging by Liluth. She even got the sling right.” A big positive mark on her record.

  “Told ya saving em was the right choice.”

  “Same. I’m amazed at how they’re mostly cooperating, especially the cousins; however,” he said in a quieter voice. “Luthias might have to be executed if he tries something.” He glanced at the said Elf and found him lagging fifty yards behind, out of breath while everyone was at full stamina, walking at a leisurely pace. That old wound was something else.

  “He’ll come around. You’re not that big of a baddie, ya know? You’re pretty gooey and sweet deep, deep, deep down.” She giggled.

  He held back a chortle. “I think you’re tasting something that’s not there.”

  “I think you’re eating your own delusions, great dictator.”

  “You’ll see how great of a dictator I’ll be. You’ll all see.”

  “As I said. Hehehehe.”

  “I’m serious.”

  “Kay.”

  Rowan felt her cheesy smile on his arm. He shook his head and simply kept walking through the sparse pine forest, the grass up to his thighs again. Most growth here was straight and vertical, a nice aesthetic. This side of the mountains was far less jumbled, fewer rocks and boulders too, which was not a good thing. They’d have to quarry for stone, dig deep like stereotypical Dwarves.

  Before he knew it, their settlement peeked around a clump of yew trees. The workshop room was still standing—at a slightly crooked angle to the hovel Bedroom. A pessimistic part of him had assumed this place would’ve been wood scraps by now, but apparently the gods weren’t so cruel. Their little corner of this magical world was intact. Home sweet home.

  Zaine approached. “This is it? Your settlement.”

  And the mood was ruined. Rowan said, “It’s just the beginning. Let’s meet in the Workshop. “

  Liluth said from afar, “I think it is homey, and this is a good location. There are marble and iron deposits close by, not very deep. Limestone is aplenty, almost everywhere.”

  “Marble,” Rowan blurted in surprise. “Like the marble that can be carved and polished?”

  “What other marble is there?” Her laughter was sex for the ears.

  “Dummy,” Gabrielle said.

  He settled her against the wall by the stove. A mental command given, he ignited a small flame of regular fire on a ball of tinder, not the hellish version. There were only two types of fire, he somehow knew as a fact.

  Rowan glanced at Zaine, “Can you fill the pot? There’s a stream a hundred yards that way.”

  “Fine, I will,” he said dejectedly and grabbed it, gently.

  Good lad. Rowan was immediately onto business. He asked Gabrielle, “Can you make bear meat stew for everyone?”

  “Yup. Just need a helper.”

  The cousins filed in one after the other, baskets of various roots, flowers, and berries with them. A crate of butchered grizzly followed, Luthias helping there. Viola said, “I’ll help. I know how to cook without magic.”

  The room was already warm. Rowan further relaxed, ignoring splinters on his burns. “Liluth. You’re a Woodworker. Can you make rooms for us?”

  She was helping Faenin sit. “I can, but the Building profession does much more, much more quickly.”

  “How long would it take to build a set of bedrooms for everyone?”

  She hummed a high note. “Can Skylar and Viola share?”

  “No.”

  “No.”

  Faenin said, voice weak, “Then that will be six rooms. The cheapest would be a rectangular hall split into six. Does that sound good, everyone?”

  Rowan wasn’t going to waste time on democracy. “That will do for now. We don’t have time for anything better.”

  “Awwww… I want my own mansion.” Gabrielle pouted.

  “As do I.” Zaine was back with the pot. He set it on the flaming stove. Splashes boiled away on hot clay.

  Luthias said, “I prefer a private adobe by the shore if it is not too much of an ask”

  Irritation gathering in his stomach, Rowan gave everyone a gentle tug to their slave threads. “How long, Liluth? For the bare minimum. Absolute bare minimum.”

  “I understand.” She squinted for a few seconds. “We can have four by four rooms inside a twelve by eight hall. Thin walls won’t reduce the space by much.”

  Rowan’s jaw shifted. “We should do extra thick walls for winter, a space for insulation in them. How long?”

  “Hmmm. Seventy lumber for the rooms, and thirty for a roof, roughly speaking. If I already have the logs, it will take me… six t
o eight hours. Eight, more likely.”

  Rowan glanced through the slit window. The sun was less than an inch over the treetops—midday. “There’s a stockpile outside. Will that be enough?”

  “No. That is barely three units of logs. One unit of logs makes five units of lumber at my current level.”

  Rowan looked at Zaine. “You’re on lumberjack duty. Will you be able to—”

  “Three units of logs per hour, assuming the stockpile is close.”

  The math was done in a second. The duo should be enough with some logs left over. “Get on it, both of you.”

  “I’m hungry.” Zaine frowned.

  “Then grab an apple and get on it.”

  Zaine ate a mouthful of warm air. “As you wish, Lord LeMort.” He stood and exited.

  Liluth checked Faenin’s temperature, then left without another remark. Her gait was most graceful.

  Gabrielle asked, “Skylar. We need eight units of food per day now. That bear meat will spoil soon. Do ya know how to smoke it?”

  Skylar shifted nervously on his buttocks. He said to her chest, “I saw it done once.”

  “Just once? How do ya usually preserve food?”

  “Um, on ice. The best way. Not sure how they keep the Storerooms cold. Didn’t pay attention in school.”

  Rowan chuckled, head shaking.

  Faenin gave a sluggish nod. “An advanced storeroom can be enchanted with ice.”

  “That’s too far from what we have right now. It’ll have to be smoked. Skylar. Can you do it?”

  Luthias said, “I can. I have smoked meat many times.”

  “Good. Get on it.”

  And off he went. Good Elf.

  Gabrielle almost sang, “Skylar… how long will it take to grow an orchard of apple trees?”

  “Um… With the Enhanced Growth skill… twenty trees will take close to a month to mature, but that will reserve all my mana.”

  “Do Archer skills cost much?”

  “Not really. Mostly Stamina.” His shoulders became rigid. “That means we’ll need to eat more than—”

  “No problem. We’ll plant some Mutant Wheat if necessary.” Rowan smiled icily.

  “Only if necessary,” Gabrielle said, “But right now, plant three rows of five further down the meadow. Viola, once you’re done here, can ya also do the same?”

  “Yup.”

  Rowan grunted in agreement. “Then get on it.”

  Skylar the ex-Human saluted dramatically. “Yes, sir.” He marched out.

  The water wasn’t boiling, but Gabrielle dropped in bits of diced root regardless. “So how many units of raw food do we have?”

  Viola shrugged. “Didn’t pay attention in school either. Spent most of my time training and preparing for the Archer ascension.”

  “You’re also an Archer?” Rowan asked. “Faenin said only Skylar was an Archer.”

  “Oh, we didn’t get a chance to talk.”

  Faenin agreed with a jerky nod. “The Trolls… weren’t as kind as you, not nearly as so.”

  “Hmmmm,” Gabrielle hummed pointedly as she sliced blocks of meat with the mithril dagger on a makeshift cutting board. “Strange.” She grinned, then hummed a merry tune.

  Rowan sniffed a hint of ginger. “What’s strange?”

  “Oh, nothing.”

  There wasn’t time to play guessing games. Rowan pointed his chin at Faenin. “How much raw food do we have?”

  “I would say less than a hundred units, maybe less than eighty. A Cook could very easily tell us.”

  Damn. Barely more than a week of food. Well, it was said that real world societies were less than a week away from starvation, and governments were known to hoard food for emergencies. This settlement also needed an underground food store.

  Rowan said, “Viola. Can one Farmer keep us alive?”

  “More than enough. I alone can grow like a dozen food per day on average once things get rolling.”

  “But we don’t have any crop seeds. Unless you—”

  “We snagged a few packets of mushroom seeds.”

  Lucky! “Good thinking. At this rate you’ll be a free Elf.”

  She smiled brilliantly. “Oh, you’re too kind, master.” Her tone was dripping with sticky sweetness.

  Gabrielle’s throat cleared expressively. “Viola. Ya can start making another stove and pot. Be a good girl, kay?”

  “Pffft. Okay.”

  “Rowan, tug her leash.”

  He did ask asked. “Yes, Lady LeMort.”

  Viola sauntered toward the doorway, limbs mechanical, leaving the room empty save for the two cooks and their great leader. Oh, Faenin was still here, now laying down behind Gabrielle. He didn’t look so good, his skin so pale that the olive tinge was gone.

  Rowan commanded, “Faenin. Show me your wound.”

  “Yes, Lord LeMort.” A slow arm unraveled blood-caked bandages, revealing three coagulated gouges above the armpit—and a longer, gruesome under his collarbone. Pus was leaking, and the flesh around the wounds was swollen.

  “Report your debuffs.”

  Faenin’s lips pressed into a line.

  “Come on, that’s an order.” Rowan yanked on his thread even though it wouldn’t do anything.

  No answer.

  “That’s an order!” His distorted Demonic voice echoed in the tight space.

  Minutes seemed to pass while Gabrielle and Viola cooked in silence. They took brief glances at the downed Elf every other second, worry clear in their beautiful faces.

  At last, Faenin said, “Moderate Infection. It was Minor earlier. Please don’t scare Liluth.”

  A bad feeling cut in Rowan’s gut as the temperature seemingly dropped ten degrees. He wasn’t sure why he was growing so attached to an NPC, but he knew infections could kill in this world. It would be unrealistic otherwise. Fortunately, he knew many disinfectants, the first being a little tool called the in-game browser.

  22

  “Are you sure honey helps?”

  Whiplash twisted Rowan’s back muscles. A cough tore up his throat. “Viola. Aren’t you supposed to be helping someone?”

  “Gab sent me. A Forester can help you harvest the honey. A Farmer can keep you safe from the bees.” She smiled matter-of-factly.

  He let his muscles relax, his fingers loosening around the mithril dagger’s bone handle. “Isn’t honey a type of food?”

  “Apparently it works.”

  “Alright then. I was just going to smoke the hive and cut a section out, and to answer your question: it depends on the honey.”

  “Which ones?”

  He shrugged. “Most are alright. I read on the forums Manuka honey is a particularly effective disinfectant, but it’s legendary rarity in this game.”

  “Never heard of that one, and I love my honey.”

  “Neither did I. It’s from a remote country near Australia. This world also—” He laughed. “You wouldn’t know a thing about Australia, unless it’s taught in your schools.” She was so life-like; it was easy to forget even with her Elven appearance.

  She tittered breaths. “I like the sound of Australia.”

  “Nah, it’s really hot, and there are a million ways to die outside the cities.”

  “Good to know,” she said slow nods, mechanical nods.

  Now was an opportune moment to pick her brains. “I’ve been wondering,” he began in a casual voice, “why are you and Skylar are being so cooperative? Is it because you have a slave kink? Sorry, I’m taken.”

  Her jaw momentarily dropped. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that second half. Skylar and I are cooperating because: one, you haven’t done anything bad to us… yet, and two, we more or less agreed with your first speech.”

  His forehead lumped up. “When we first met? When I was sleepy and irate?”

  “Yes. Why not build up a beautiful Elven village here? I’d like to have my own farm.”

  “It wouldn’t be an Elven village. I’m not a Sun Elf.”

&
nbsp; “You’re not really a Demon either. You seem alright.”

  He blinked twice. “Did you see what happened to the Trolls?”

  “That’s why I said alright. If you go berserk on us…” she trailed off.

  He evaluated her words, replaying her reasoning thrice over. “Alright. Fair enough. Anyway, there’s a sick slave that needs treatment.” He turned around, eyes focused on that hive hanging from a branch. Bees were coming and going, not many, but they’d quickly swarm if disturbed.

  Thankfully, he had a little helper.

  Viola stepped forward. Her head jerked toward the hive. “Want me to do it now?”

  “If you’re not busy. Also walk me through how your skills work.”

  She laid a sheepish look on him. “This skill, Forester’s Sight, reveals things I can harvest within fifteen yards of me.” A muttered mystic word left her mouth, and her form glowed dark-green for a moment. Her irises were lit up.

  “What does it look like?”

  “Little bits of light marking things of potential value. There’s like thirty things here.”

  “Does it tell you what they are?”

  A quick head shake flung chestnut hair.

  “Not even if you focus on them? No labels?”

  “Hmmm. The hive just says bee hive. The bark says pine bark.” She said another word in the mystic language. Waves of beige and white air emanated from her index finger toward the hive. Bees that were flying drifted toward leaves and branches, stilled. “This Farmer skill, Calming Breeze, does basically what the name says in an area in front of me.”

  “Does it work on me?”

  “No, just low-level unintelligent animals, insects, and plants.”

  Interesting. “Plants can be calmed? Could’ve it worked on the bears back there?”

  “No, they were enraged, and some plants are apparently snappy. I haven’t seen one yet.”

  He huffed. “You really didn’t pay attention in school.”

  She grasped her hip. “The Archer ascension was hard.”

  “What did you have to do?”

  Another choppy head shake tossed her hair about. “I don’t like thinking about it. This Forester skill, Forage, works on anything that lit up with Survey, including trees, but grown trees take a bit longer.” She raised her left hand, holding a large pot by its handle, and said two words in the mystic language. An orb of green light shot down her arm toward the hive. A miniature vortex-like graphical effect circled the combs for five seconds, then a larger orb boomeranged back. Viola caught it with the pot.