by A Uscila
Sure, the first arrow fired had a bonus to its’ damage – due to it being a surprise hit. A critical hit, with bonus damage from being in stealth. That and it was a skill based attack. Aimed Arrow was its’ name - with increased accuracy and damage done. Alternative Reality did give a helping hand in firing from a bow - because it's not like every person here was a born archer. Regardless of the skills or the system provided help, ranged attacks were supposed to do stupendous damage to unarmored individuals. This whole situation caused icy droplets of sweat to run down Willow’s back. By now, an unwelcome premonition ran its course within her mind.
Two of her companions were already dead, while one more was being overrun by a swarm of chillingly ugly creatures. Any sane person would have ran by now. Yet. Revenge was a dish too tempting to refuse. So Willow bit her lip and decided to focus only on the magician. No matter what. Well, except when sword-swinging madmen decide to choose her as the next slicing board. Because that’s exactly what happened, when that itchy lunatic cut apart and finished off another Onnion soldier. Circumstances forced her to go back on her commitment really quick.
Willow aimed one last, spiteful arrow at her precious robed target. Before she could release it though, the bastard hid behind a pile of minions - who were still busy disemboweling the carcass of one of the soldiers. Thus she quickly re-aimed and released it at the approaching foe. Bullseye – the shot struck his leg, which should have stopped him in his tracks. Yet all it did was slow him down for a few moments. Only until he brushed his hand across the arrow – breaking its’ shaft while the point remained in his leg. It was a good hit, yet it just didn’t seem to have had an effect on that maniac.
What in Pedro’s name has she gotten herself into? Another arrow, notch, aim and…a fireball hit her cape. Again. Dejavu was smacking Willow right across the face – as she started running around, trying to take off the cape.
You have received 35 fire based magic damage.
God damn fire. A series of swear words were running through Willow’s head – yet before she could take it off – a cold sensation ran across her back. Seems like the mage’s companion finally caught up – slicing Willow’s back open like a pack of chips.
Critical Hit! You have received 1437 physical damage.
Received 45 Black magic based damage.
What a load of crap. That hit alone lowered her health by almost a half. Willow quickly activated one of her standard skills that enchanted her jumping power several fold for a two seconds. Without wasting a single one, she jumped – as far away from that macho freak as possible. While in the air – she readied another arrow and was ready to release – if not for the tree trunk she managed to slam into. Sure, a jump seemed like a great idea to disengage at the time. Willow was in a forest though – she was lucky to have gotten as far as she did from the attacker. Every second counts. Or it did. As another fireball managed to slam into her shoulder once she regained her footing and was ready to run away. Could things get any worse than this?
You have received 257 fire based magic damage.
You have received 65 fire based magic damage.
Yes they could. Pain was a not so popular feature of Alternative Reality, especially so when life inside virtual reality couldn’t have been more authentic – and one could live it as if there was no difference between realities. There were some exceptions, of course. And pain was one of them – since the feature’s authenticity was lowered significantly when comparing to actual reality. Still. Feeling the smoldering heat spread over your shoulder, the sharp burning sensation that made one restless - wasn’t something you’d like to experience any day. Nor the throbbing pain of having your back sliced open. Not even with reduced pain. Unless you’re some hardcore masochist. Truth be told – there were certain clubs for people like that within Alternative Reality.
Either way – Willow ended up being quite distracted by the pain, which gave her closest opponent plenty time to deliver the finishing blow. Ending Willow’s struggle, her suffering in one swift strike. Before it all went dark – a sarcastic thought of being thankful for at least not wasting time crossed Willow’s mind.
You have died.
She was definitely done with the military and their suicide missions.
Chapter 20
Willow opened her eyes, only to have them drawn to the surroundings – the elaborately decorated walls that formed a large, round chamber, its’ interior sparsely furnished. For what purpose was there, if the mosaic that filled the whole of the domed ceiling was all but enough – the gorgeous work of art done in great-detail. Its’ size and masterful craftsmanship enough to make it seem like the chamber was pleasantly filled, no room left for even a thought of bleakness. The mosaic itself depicted a dark-skinned youth in simple, ragged even, attire – hammering at what seemed like the universe itself. A shinning white hammer lifted-up high above-head with his right hand, as if readied to strike order into chaos. Pedro, the God of hard work, migration and food. Seems like Willow got spawned in one of his points of power – the Chapel of Pedro. Soon enough, a broom wielding priest approached Willow and gave her a quick once-over, as if to inspect her attire. She wore the same dark green cape – now somewhat blackened and eaten through. Its’ hood was lowered, only to reveal lovely raven black hair that hung freely and somewhat untidily, as if she got out of some scuffle. A quiver with arrows hung over her left shoulder – with a couple arrows still inside. She wore dark leather from head to toe – decorated with various straps and knick-knacks.
“Bless thy soul in the name of Pedro. May your hardships bring a plentiful harvest” – Without wasting too much time on pleasantries - the priest gave a loud greeting, while staring at the ceiling with his free arm slightly lifted. What a dolt.
“Buzz off”- Willow simply replied, quickly walking past the stunned devotee. A slight frown in her forehood indication of a suddenly worsened mood.
Once that was done and over with, she left the medium sized chapel - only to exit into a small settlement. Rain poured down on its’ rundown wooden buildings - long in need of maintenance by the looks of it. In and out scurried various individuals - mostly hooded, to hide away from the harsh weather. They walked from one side of the habitat to the other via planks laid out on the roads – that sank into the muck beneath with each step. Most likely - the land was quite thirsty before the rain hit. It drank in the rainwater - transforming into a glue-like mass that rarely let go of anything that entered its' domain. Willow observed as an unfortunate fellow accidentally did just that – only to barely get out. He lingered for a while longer – trying to get the shoe out, yet gave up soon after. Walking away with curses almost visibly floating above head.
Willow definitely had no intention of going through that – thus she turned to look for an inn. During the search something else completely captured her attention though. On the other side of the street she noticed a familiar presence. Wet robes – stuck to a bony figure, sunken cheeks and a balding head. None other than the mage - with two companions following in toe. All three of them carried around heavy bags – which they carried along with hunched backs. Willow recognized the warrior who did not hesitate in cutting her apart before. Last in line was a beaten up and somehow crooked looking fellow - worn and torn attire covering his figure. Another unneeded addition to the general weirdness of the group.
Willow gazed at the group longingly, while slowly, almost unconsciously reaching for her waist – gripping an empty sheath. While the other hand reached up to her shoulder – where once her bow awaited. It did not seem to brighten up her mood at all.
*******
Wail on the other hand was having his own share of bad moments.
“What do you mean you won’t buy my stuff?!” – He shouted at the poor shopkeeper, flailing his hands about dramatically. His face contorted into a vicious mask of anger and disappointment. Funny how a man can look so sad and angry at the same time.
“I will not conduct business with scum like you�
�� – With arms crossed, head turned to the side in a truly stubborn, yet cliché manner – the shopkeeper would just not budge. A short, plump fellow. By the looks of it – in his mid-forties. Beady eyes, a crooked nose and a sparse beard. He wore a worn doublet with silken pants. Once – that might have been quite an extravagant outfit. For a shopkeeper. Those times were long gone now – as torn holes caught the eye here and there. That and instead of shoes he wore a pair of slippers.
Seems like the two were at it for a moment or two and Wail seemed to be at his limit. Even his reanimated companion seemed to resonate with the master’s mood and moved around restlessly. A little more and the undead might just drop that heavy bag of loot it was carrying. Not something to laugh about, surely. Two more were lying barely a few inches away – seems like the minion was in charge of guarding them.
“Hey! Who are you calling scum?” – Bob suddenly joined in, obviously offended by the prejudice statement.
A short, unfriendly glance from the shopkeeper – “Who do you think?” – He glared at Wail, slamming both hands onto the table – “Look. I run a respectable establishment here!” – A statement that demanded a renewed inspection from both Wail and Bob – while the soldier stood around unsteadily. Staring blankly into the floor, growling and mumbling to under a burned-off nose. Not someone you’d want to have a pleasant conversation with, while drinking tea. Looked like a good listener though.
Simply put – the shop was a dump. Small and overcrowded with various junk – cobwebs and dust were the only present decoration. This place has definitely seen better times. Rainwater dripped from the low ceiling every now and then – a few droplets finding their way towards Wails scalp. Which added to the issue at hand.
Now the two turned their gaze back at the shopkeeper – who so gallantly paused long enough for all of this to pass. He sighed – “As I was saying. I run a semi-respectable establishment here. You don’t see me supplying every gutter trash on the streets! It would scare off the customers!”
Again – the two looked around. Not a single person besides themselves seemed to be present.
“Stop doing that!” – The shopkeeper finally snapped – “Now get the hell out, before I call the guards! I don’t want your kind here!” – He waved his hand with disgust towards the lot – “And take that freak of yours with you, the very sight of him is making my stomach churn!” – He then added, while pointing at the reanimated minion.
Wail slammed his forehead – his signature gesture – and conjured a fireball with his right hand.
“Ok. Violence and fire it is” – He simply stated – the same way one would say “biscuits and hotcakes"
In compliance with the act, Bob drew his sword and the reanimated fellow growled a little louder and attempted to unsheathe its’ sword – which resulted in the bag of loot being dropped on the floor. Various gear, silverware and coins spilled from it - which should have caught the attention of the plump owner. Yet it didn’t.
Wail and Bob froze in place – while their reanimated companion attempted to do the same.
“Well? What are you waiting around for? Get!”- The plump shopkeeper added, after a few moments – completely ignorant of the fortune that was laid right in front of his nose.
Wail slowly lowered his arms and released a heavy sigh. “Threatening to burn something would be so much more effective if it was a freaking sunny day!” – He then said - more to himself, than to the shopkeeper. During which rainwater continued to drop from above – a few more drops bombarding Wail’s scalp.
Bob seemed to already be tired of all this playing around and started pummeling the closest piece of furniture he could find – a broken down chair. Minion number one? Tried to scoop the loot back into the bag – which proved quite a challenge for twisted limbs. Quite the dedicated fellow, though. Admirable.
“Hey! What the heck do you think you’re doing?! Stop that! That was a perfectly fine chair. I could have earned a pretty penny with it!” – The shopkeeper shouted once again, spouting something only a true businessman would say.
While all of this was taking place – a new guest entered the establishment. A soaked human female – her dark green cape turned black from all the water. She seemed very familiar – glaring at the mage with her usual manner.
“Oh come on!” – Wail moaned in desperation, performing his usual signature movement once again. You’d think that his forehead would remain permanently red after all that slamming.
Before the female could say anything prepared before-hand – she noticed the comical position everyone was in. “What the fuck is going on here?” – More surprised than angry – yet still the glare was there. Less noticeable, but by now many would most likely be surprised if it wasn’t present.
“A customer! What pleasant news. What would you like sweet-thing? Don’t mind these bums and feel free to look around my wares” – Suddenly all brightened up, the plump man waved in an inviting manner, all his attention turned to the female.
Wail sighed once again and waved a hand at his companions.
“Screw this. Let’s get out of here” – Bob seemed to agree, though he kicked at the chair before leaving. Or what remained of it. Minion number one was finally able to scoop up all the loot and followed the two while dragging the bag.
With bags on their shoulders, the two left – walking past the stunned Willow in a sullen fashion.
“Don’t mind them my dear! Please, come in come in! Take a look…”
“Oh, shut up!” – Willow finally snapped, forcing the sad little shopkeeper to close his mouth before the slogan was done and over with.
She followed the three after that – leaving the shop a sadder place than it was before.
Once outside, Willow couldn’t help but be surprised how fast three individuals carrying a heavy load could be. Seems like they managed to cross the muck ridden street and were about to enter a tavern – The Stuffed Pig. Its’ name carved out in a wooden plate above the dimly lighted entrance. A perfect turn of events – for Willow clearly wanted something out of the group – thus she soon walked towards the same inn.
*******
Wail sat down behind the only free table at the very end of the establishment – with Bob and minion number one in toe. As quiet as dirt the place was – every single person present giving them the weird eye. Or they were just staring at their loot filled bags.
Completely ignorant of the atmosphere - Bob decided to show off and order something - the thick bastard that he was.
“Hey! How about some bloody service? Get us some alcohol!”- He shouted at the nearest waitress – a stout female with arms fit to twist off a neck. Grabbing the request as a much needed straw – the waitress nodded and quickly scurried off.
“I don’t drink” – Seems like it was Wail’s turn to make a tactical mistake - as he decided to inform his colleague. Too loudly by the looks of it – because numerous angry swears and grumbling insults filled the air soon after.
Like that wasn’t enough – the unrelenting female ranger marched into the establishment - without a drop of hesitation visible. All impulse this one was.
“For fuck’s sake!” – Wail moaned after noticing. This was getting old. Really old.
“I wasn’t done with you!’- She shouted - continuing her march towards their direction. Another addition to Bob's club for the ignorant. Passing various tables in haste - with unwelcoming stares from each one accompanying the march. Seems like the locals occupied most of them - stout, rugged individuals, with large axes and various every-day tools at arms-reach.
“Now is not the best time for that”- Wail then tried to brief her on current events - while sweeping his hand horizontally, towards the angry stares.
As a reaction – numerous dangerous looking individuals stood up from their tables.
“What’s in the bags, milk drinker?” – One of the tougher looking figures asked – a tall, overly-muscled, steroid stuffed fellow – a red checked shirt barely conta
ining his bulky figure, a large axe gripped by his paw like hand. If one didn’t know better - the fellow looked like a lumberjack. Unsurprising - considering what the settlement was constructed out of. Seems like the profession was a popular one - as quite a few tables saw similar looking individuals sitting around them.
“Your mom” – Bob snarled at the question without hesitation, completely oblivious to the lingering atmosphere of solidarity and the general threatening nature within the establishment.
“All three of them”- Wail added soon enough – standing up with a fireball already conjured in his right hand. If they were going to do it – then there was no need to hold back. Most likely too late to retreat either way. Could have used a better supporting insult though.
Taken aback, the lumberjack stood there shocked – with his mouth still open. That might have just hit the mark - he probably did have two step-mothers.
Finally, seems like the ranger realized what was taking place – though a little too late. She was already standing near Wail’s table. Willow gripped her empty scabbard nervously – her glare bolting from one readied weapon to the other. Some drew multiple knives, though the axe seemed to be the most preferable choice.
A notable axe-wielding figure was a half-naked human. A thick maim of brown hair covered both his scalp and face, muscles that were about to explode from their own glory. Tight leather pants covered his lower body. None of it mattered before his weapon though – a huge twin-edged axe, with fanged edges and a skull in the middle. Someone had certain insecurities to be sure. What kind of lumberjack used that kind of axe to chop down a tree to begin with?
