by J. J. Lorden
The voice had a roguish, slightly haughty lilt.
“Sooo, naked boy, what’s your name and what are you doing in my woods?”
They’d come up with a story that sounded more plausible than explaining that Kuora was really just a video game, and he was a beta-tester. However, he really didn’t want to open that can of worms; unfortunately, he had never been a good liar, particularly under pressure. So, Carson decided to go with a general version of their agreed-upon story.
“Umm... Alright. My name is Carson. I just arrived here, and I’m trying to find my friends. They should be somewhere close by.” The explanation sounded evasive and far too general after he said it aloud. Being pant-less didn’t help his confidence either.
“I see. Well, that sounds like a load of bunder dung, but if you say so. And your open-air trouser choice? You got a problem with pants?”
“What? No. No, the wolves did this, they shredded them.” He held up the shredded wad that was his pants, to emphasize the point. Then, feeling ridiculous, covered himself back up.
“Wolves, huh? Well, no doubt there are wolves about in the forest, but you seem unharmed and I see no weapons on you. How exactly did you survive with nothing but shredded pants?”
Oh shit. He hadn’t considered this. Carson went for a redirect, he held up the book in his right hand in response. “I’m a magic-user… but, ahhh… I don’t exactly have any offensive spells yet.”
“That right?” The tone of the voice sounded interested, “And, just what spells do you know? Anything that might aid a humble forest ranger?”
Well, at least he now had some kind of a label for the voice–he was a forest ranger. “I… ahh… no. I’m pretty new. I don’t actually have any spells… at all.”
“HA! So, you’re a special kind of idiot, then,” the voice barked. “A mage in the forest with no pants, no magic, and who’s suffering from imaginary wolf attacks.” He rolled on without pausing for Carson’s response, “You’re full of dung, naked boy. Now I’m definitely gonna need an answer to that first question.”
He paused, then asked, “Arrived from where, naked mage-boy?” His tone wasn’t playful this time.
Carson clenched up; it looked like he had to use their story. Austin had warned him the issue of their origin could be a problem–it looked like he’d been right.
To ensure a truly immersive experience, Austin had decided not to encumber Kuorans with what he called an Earth-speak filter. In other words, nothing prevented players from telling Kuorans about Earth. Or worse, from explaining that Kuora was nothing but a game.
This seemed like a colossal snag to Carson’s mind. But Austin believed any filter would interfere with the digital world’s ability to function as a place of healing and growth for players.
It was their hope that, in a world full of magic and mystery, Kuorans would be receptive to the idea of players arriving from a higher plane of existence.
The real main objective of their beta test was to prepare Kuorans for the arrival of other players. Austin’s plan was to use myth, legend, and prophecy to provide a believable explanation for the sudden appearance of new beings in Kuora.
So, the story rephrased the truth by substituting magical words for technical ones, it almost sounded believable–even to Carson. Standing there, half naked in the forest, Carson had a shocking thought. Holy Shit, I’m the alien from another dimension.
“Isrella’s tits boy.” The voice said. “Stop gawking and explain or I’m going to put an arrow in your eye.”
“I’m from another realm,” Carson blurted. “A small team of us traveled here using a powerful energy that we harnessed in our realm. We’ve come to learn more about Kuora.”
The prepared explanation sounded much better than his other lame mumblings, and his natural confidence was restored, at least in part. He decided to try and garner some help.
“Hey, listen, tree guy, I could really use some help. I need to meet up with my team, and I’m short on pants and have nothing to defend myself but this spellbook.” He scowled at the thin leather volume–“Fat lot of good it does me.”–then looked up hopefully.
With absolutely no warning, a tall elf with dark brown hair, angular features, and tan skin appeared in front of him.
“Woah!” Carson stumbled back and caught his heel on a root; he fell hard on his naked ass. “Unghh.” His bare butt pressed on the cold damp soil rudely reminding him of his vulnerable state.
He narrowed his eyes at the elf. “You dick.”
“Ha! So, you’re not a complete pansy-ass. Scare a bit easy though, don’t ya. Come on, naked boy, let’s go.” The Elven man extended a hand to help him back to his feet.
Carson just looked at the hand and glared. Then he considered the elf in full, trying to get some measure of him before accepting his offer of assistance.
One end of an ornate bow rose above his right shoulder while arrow fletchings were visible over the left. A long knife was strapped to his right thigh, and thin flat handles protruded horizontally from several sewn slots in his jerkin.
The extended hand wore an odd glove that covered his thumb and first two fingers, with a back covered in runic markings and an inside that left his palm and last two fingers exposed.
His clothing was dark green and mostly leather with some cloth stitched into, or perhaps over, the leather in a subtle but elegant decorative fashion. He looked every inch the archetypical Elven ranger, but deadlier.
Spellbook in one hand and wad of pants in the other, Carson momentarily considered. Then, he ditched the pants. Grasping the offered hand, he covered himself with his book as he regained his feet.
“Good choice,” the elf commented. “You say that’s a spellbook?”
“Yep, for all the good it does me. It’s empty.”
“Right, empty spellbook… and you say it’s definitely yours?” The ranger’s voice rose skeptically.
“Damn straight. It’s soulbound, so don’t get any ideas,” Carson bit back in retort.
The elf measured him for a moment, then affected a thoughtful pose, stroking his chin and looking up. “So, let’s make sure we’ve flushed out this story of yours.”
He continued straight away. “You’re new here, no idea where you are and half-naked because wolves tore up your pants but miraculously didn’t cut your body at all. You’re looking for your friends, who are also new here and should be close by, but you don’t know where. None of your party know where they are or where any of the others are.”
He paused and looked at Carson, who nodded slowly, his expression pained.
“Right then. You’re also some kind of mage, who has an incredibly rare and valuable soulbound spellbook. But you’re a unique kind of mage with no spells. This is a bit odd since all magic users, by definition, know spells. That, of course, being what defines them as magic users, no spells–means not a magic user.”
He paused in rubbing his chin, raised an eyebrow, and looked pointedly at Carson.
Carson’s concern had morphed to anger. He glowered at the sardonic asshole and nodded slowly.
“Right then. That trivial bit of data aside, it’s definitely your spellbook, we’re certain of that. You also randomly stumbled upon this warded Elven path, that nobody ever finds. Ever.” He emphasized with a sharp look. “Because that’s the purpose of the warding; to keep out all but the invited.
“A warding that exists to protect a sacred Elven sanctuary which, I might mention, is also only possible for the invited to find.” He cocked his head to the side, dark eyes regarding Carson coolly. “Did I get it all?”
“Other than the fact that this is a warded Elven path, which is news to me…” He paused thoughtfully, “Although that does help explain the invisible dome protection and special speedy water in the pond. Thanks for clearing that part up. But, yeah. The rest of it, you nailed.”
“Right. Come on, then. Bunder dung or not, you’re just too strange to kill.” The elf stepped aside and motioned for Carso
n to pass him and lead the way.
“Where are we going?”
“To see about that help you’re looking for. Let’s go, get to stepping naked boy.”
Carson passed the man by and continued down the path.
“I am mostly elf, you know. Seventy-six percent, in fact.” He decided to leave out that nearly half of that was Dark Elf. Dark Elves and Wood Elves didn’t typically have a warm relationship, and this one seemed to surely be a Wood Elf. “Maybe that’s why I found the sanctuary?”
“I can see your heritage in you, naked boy; it’s the only reason you’re still alive. I won’t even ask how you know you’re exactly seventy-six percent elf. Enough words–walk, naked boy. We’ll know the truth of it soon enough.”
That sounded ominous to Carson, but the elf was an improved option over the wolves. And, he was excited to see where they were going–not that he had much of an option–so, he walked.
In lore, elves were always secretive and fiercely territorial, keeping to themselves and away from the other major racial societies. So far, he had no reason to think the lore wouldn’t hold here. It seemed to fit the story of the warded path and grove, as well as the incredible size and grandeur of the trees.
A thought crossed his mind, and a chill swept through his nerves. Holy shit, I’m gonna see a real Elven city.
Then, the trail vanished, and he was in a clearing. His momentum carried Carson a couple steps before he froze and looked back in alarm.
The footpath had disappeared completely. There was nothing but dense hedgerow above which rose the forest. His Elven captor emerged as if stepping out of thin air and into existence. “Damn, that’s amazing.” The elf just nodded.
His contemplation was broken by a solid thunk, resounding from behind Carson. The tambour of it brought to mind the sound made when an axe was driven into a naked splitting stump.
He flinched and took a couple rapid steps away from the noise, jerking his arms up to cover his head. With trepidation, he looked back to the clearing.
It was a couple hundred yards long and narrow. A few strides in front of him was a series of wooden shapes in a line; some were human forms, while others were of bear or wolf outlines.
All of the silhouettes were stationary, but there were other moving targets too. Beachball sized circles mounted on flexible animated posts, swayed rhythmically as the poles curved and bent back and forth.
At several locations moving up the range there were similar groups of targets standing quietly. It was a practice range for archery.
Thunk, thunk, thunk. In quick succession, three arrows hammered into the human target closest to him.
Carson turned left and ran. He didn’t hesitate, ask his captor about it, or even wonder about the best course of action–he just ran.
The swift water speed-boost was astonishing. He ran faster than ever before in his life.
As he sped by a wolf silhouette, the sound of three arrows hammering home–Thunk, thunk, thunk– reverberated like a three-round rifle burst. It elicited a fresh wave of terror.
On some level, his knowledge about the elves’ legendary accuracy with a bow should have helped. And, if he thought logically, he might have figured that this was some kind of sick game. But his mind wasn’t thinking logically–it was in full-on, fight-or-flight response–and fight wasn’t an option.
He bent around the far corner, hardly slowing, and locked his eyes on the figures at the end of the range. They were so far away as to appear like tiny silhouettes with little detail discernable at all. In his mind, there was absolutely no way for those archers to be accurate enough to completely obviate the possibility of a bad shot.
As if to accentuate his point, a single arrow hit the ground a few feet away and burrowed through the grass right where his foot was about to land.
“Ahh!” He adjusted his stride not to land on it, stumbled slightly, then pressed forward. “What the Fuckkk!” he screamed–his voice cracked, and it came out shrill.
Carson barreled toward the safe end of the range. Now he could see the archers release their arrows–pointing directly at him. It was absolutely petrifying.
Each clear, and seemingly synchronized, release was followed by a triplicate of shafts that fwwisshhed through the grass near his feet.
Eventually, he passed the last set of targets, and the trio of marksmen turned back to the range. They resumed shooting at the various targets, as if the whole harrowing exercise had been perfectly ordinary. He cleared the end of the hedgerow border and skidded to a halt; right before a gathering of elves.
They were standing in a semicircle and appeared to be waiting for something. A firm hand gripped his shoulder. The ranger, who’d apparently been behind him the whole way, pushed him forward, guiding him closer to the group.
Each was dressed in woodland colored clothing that looked simple and functional, several wore a knife. None of them were dressed like the ranger, though.
His gaze fell on the figure in the center–she was another story entirely.
Instead of simple garb, the female elf was adorned like a belly dancer. Her cream satin top left shoulders bear to hang a diamond of cloth from a choker wrapped high on her neck. Just below the choker, down to below her breastbone, it was split, forming a broad almond-shape of exposed skin.
To either side, the fabric clung impossibly to her barely covered nipples, which pressed visibly through the material. Below her breasts, the top ended in a snug band, like the choker, framing a tone middle.
Below her bare midriff, a dress hung low on her hips. Its multiple layers were of a semi-transparent material that shimmered in the sunlight and Carson could clearly see her legs.
It left very little to the imagination.
On top of that, she exuded sensual energy that literally felt intoxicating. He was staring, he knew he was staring, but he couldn’t pull his eyes away.
Carson was in love, or at least he was in lust–she was hands down the most beautiful being he had ever seen.
“Nero, I presume this is the one you sent word of?” The woman said to the ranger.
“Yes, Princess Sedane, he is.”
“And you didn’t have any spare clothes to lend him?”
“I didn’t want to spoil the effect, my Lady. I assumed you would approve.”
That broke Carson’s trance, he was naked from the waist down. Worse, he’d been so enthralled that a sensation he knew quite well, and which typically got his complete attention, had gone wholly unnoticed.
Carson was a red-blooded male and his manhood was responding to the sexual torrent the Elven woman exuded. He was, as one might say... at attention.
Instantly he covered himself with the spell book and felt his whole face and chest burn with embarrassment.
The Elven seductress quirked a slight smile. “Ahh, so you do have some modesty. I am Sedane, princess of the Whitewood elves. Your escort there is Nero, a champion of the Whitewood. If you would, please explain what you are doing in our domain.”
Carson was flushed, embarrassed and his mind felt scattered. None of the elves seemed bothered in the slightest. He tried to tell his story to the princess. “I’m here. Yeah, umm, cause we need to be here. It’s a really ahhh, curvy… umm. Wait, no.”
“Oh, so be it. Nero, if you would please.” The Princess Sedane looked at Nero and lifted her chin toward the hedgerow.
The tall ranger spun him around, leading him around the wall of tall bushes that bounded the archery range. Nero produced a garment with a wave of his hand and handed it to Carson. “Put these on.”
It was a pair of pants exactly like Nero’s, Carson quickly stuffed his legs into them and hopped up and down to settle the leather comfortably. Immediately he felt less embarrassed.
A little plus blinked in the corner of his view, and he looked at the description of the pants:
Leggings of the Whitewood Champion: Part of the Whitewood Champion set
Quality—Mastercraft, 120/120
A
rmor: 25
+5 Strength
+5 Constitution
+5 Agility
+5 Stealth
(full set bonus: +100% to all single item bonuses.)
“Damn... nice pants. How many pieces in the set?”
“Seven. And I want those back.”
Carson was stunned. Seven with a 100% stat bonus for a full set? If the other pieces had similar bonuses to the pants, the full set that Nero wore would probably more than quadruple Carson’s base attributes.
Nero led him back to the waiting Sedane and her retinue. Clothed again, Carson was able to get the whole story out clearly. Princess Sedane asked him various questions as he told the tale, several were about his interaction with the Elven sanctuary.
He only tripped a bit in telling her about his origin being from another realm. Which he though was strange. It had been the only part of his tale to Nero that had gone well.
She continued to elicit powerful lustful feelings from him. It was really very distracting, and he was quite proud of himself for getting the whole tale out as clearly as he did.
Eventually, she finished asking questions, and he wrapped up the story at the point where Nero had found him on the path.
“May I see it?” She held out a hand.
Without a second thought, he handed her his spellbook; being soulbound it was at no risk of being stolen, and he just wanted to make her happy.
Princess Sedane ran fingers gently down the leather and caressed the bottom corner with her thumb. It was hypnotic, like she was stroking a cat… or even a lover. Carson felt jealous.
With the same slow, deliberate touch, she turned his spellbook over and then back. She lifted the cover and one corner of her mouth lifted in a crooked smile. “Melee Weapon is a fascinating name for a mage’s spellbook.”
Her clear blue eyes met his and Carson’s insides flipped a little. “Might I inquire what inspired it?”
Carson coughed; he didn’t realize other people would be able to see the title. “Oh yeah, that was kind of a joke. I was feeling a bit frustrated about not having any weapon to fight with, other than my book, so as a goof I officially deemed it Melee Weapon.
