by E K Baxter
A few birds sang in the trees but other than that, it was silent. Then something rustled in the undergrowth. Max froze, staring into the shadows. He saw two large orange eyes watching him. There was a low, rumbling hiss and a snake burst from the shadows. He got a glimpse of a brown body with lightning markings before it lunged at him, fangs bared, hood flaring around its head.
With a yelp Max threw himself to the side, evading the strike but the tail whipped around and caught him a blow across the forehead that sent a stinging pain through his head. In the top left of his vision a health bar appeared. It had dropped by 10%.
Max scrambled up just as the snake came at him again. It coiled its body ready to spring, its mouth gaping and revealing a set of razor-sharp fangs. Max gripped the woodsman’s knife, wishing he had Spirit Blade or one of Darla’s fireballs. With those he could have killed this thing without even breaking a sweat.
The snake lunged at him so fast he barely tracked its movements. He slashed wildly and felt the knife score a cut along the side of its face. It hissed in annoyance and shrank back, coiling around itself, tongue flicking. Max dropped into a crouch, not taking his eyes off the creature.
Although it was bleeding from the cut to its head, it didn’t seem particularly damaged. Max opened his inventory and equipped the woodsman’s ax instead. It was heavy and awkward in his grip but he held it up resolutely.
The snake reared, head swaying to and fro as it assessed him. Then it struck. The teeth came flying straight at Max’s throat. He acted on instinct, swinging the ax with all his strength. It connected with a crunch and the snake’s head went flying through the air to land on the ground with a thud. The snake’s coils collapsed into a twitching heap.
Max sat down heavily, his chest heaving.
Congratulations you have made your first kill!
x1 Level Up! Level: 2
You have earned one stat point to be distributed as you choose.
You may allocate your stat point at any time. Any unallocated stat points will be lost in the event of death.
Keep on leveling!
Well, that was something at least. He’d made his first kill without getting himself killed in the process. He put his stat point into Wisdom. Wiping a hand over his sweating brow, his stomach suddenly growled. He’d not eaten since breakfast and now it must be late afternoon. His eyes fell on the snake. He’d never eaten snake before but when in Rome do as the Romans do, right?
He gathered some firewood, cleared a bare patch of ground and dumped the firewood inside before taking out his flint and tinder and striking a flame. A few sparks flew but no flame took hold. He cursed under his breath. This was a lot damned easier when he had fireballs at his command! He tried again, pursing his lips in concentration and eventually a spark took, igniting the firewood until a small blaze was burning.
Max rigged up a makeshift spit using some sticks then skinned and chopped up the snake as best he could with the knife and skewered it over the fire to cook.
He was pleasantly surprised when a message popped up on his UI. Skill: you have learned fire-starting. 250 XP into Ingenuity.
He felt a small flush of satisfaction. His skills were improving, even if they were woodsman’s skills and not the mage skills he was used to.
When he thought the snake must be about ready he took it from the skewer and laid it on a large leaf. He’d never eaten snake before and whilst he had to admit that the charred and blackened flesh didn’t look particularly appetizing, it smelt delicious. Like chicken.
Using the knife he skewered a piece and began munching, pleased by the taste, even if it was a bit chewy. He washed it down with icy water from a nearby stream.
Once again Max was struck by how real everything seemed. The gnawing hunger pains in his stomach felt just as they did in RL. The texture of the snake-meat was tough and stringy—like eating squid back home. His thoughts flew to Eric and how the strange man had lured him here. Max guessed this must be some prototype game, a new, high-end immersion experience still in beta – and Eric, along with his in-game avatar—was a developer who wanted Max to try it out. That would explain why he’d been so secretive about how Max had got here. If he was a lab rat, trying out something that hadn’t been cleared for the general public yet, the developers would want to keep it as secret as possible.
Whatever the explanation, it was the most realistic damned game Max had ever played.
His hunger sated, Max wiped his greasy hands on his pants and climbed to his feet. He stowed the knife, kicked out the remains of the fire, and continued his journey east, deeper into the woods. The sun was starting to sink and streamers of light pierced the thick canopy. The shadows beneath the trunks grew thicker, making the hairs on the back of Max’s neck stand up. He kept his eyes peeled as he walked, alert for danger.
Something up ahead caught his eye through the thick trunks, a large shadow amidst the trees. Edging carefully closer, he realized it was a woodsman’s hut constructed of thick timbers and with a veranda out the front. The front door stood open.
Max halted and looked around for the woodsman but there was nobody in sight.
“Hello?” he shouted. “Anyone there?”
There was no answer.
Cautiously he edged towards the door and poked his head inside. He found himself in a sparse room with a cast iron-stove in one corner and a rumpled bed in the other. A second door led out the back, also standing open. The bed sheets were crumpled as though somebody had slept in it recently but other than that there was no sign of life.
Then he heard scrabbling behind him and he spun just in time to see an enormous black rat leaping at him. It slammed into his chest and he went down with a yell. The rat sank its teeth into his forearm and Max screamed as blood gushed forth. His health bar took a hit.
Max equipped the knife and plunged it deep into the rat’s body. It let him go and backed off, glaring at him with red eyes. Then it threw itself at him, teeth bared, but Max was ready this time. He stabbed upwards with the knife, punching into its belly. It squealed and then flopped to the floor, dead.
Max’s reprieve lasted only seconds as more rats came scurrying from the shadows: two, three, four. They threw themselves at Max and he fought wildly, slicing with the knife, kicking out with his boot-shod feet, grabbing one by the throat as it leapt at him and throwing it against the wall. One of the rats launched itself at his face. Max threw up his arm to defend himself, the rat crashed into it, and they both went toppling onto the floor, Max landing on his back with a jolt that sent a shot a pain through his hip. He stabbed wildly at the rat and it finally released its grip and rolled off him, sightless eyes staring.
Max took a quick look at his health bar, didn’t like what he saw, and growled in frustration. He’d be damned if he was going to be killed by a load of mangy rats!
He scrambled to his feet and equipped his ax. Holding the weapon two-handed he faced the three remaining rats. They glanced at each other and Max was sure a silent communication was passing between them. Then they rushed him. More on instinct than anything else Max swung the ax, taking the head off the first rat, slicing the second in half, and then crunching the butt of the ax down on the head of the third one, crushing its skull.
Max leaned over, hands on his knees, gasping for breath. All the rats were dead and the only sound he could hear was that of his own labored breathing.
A notification suddenly popped up on his UI:
x1 Level Up! Level: 3
You have earned one stat point to be distributed as you choose.
You may allocate your stat point at any time. Any unallocated stat points will be lost in the event of death.
Keep on leveling!
Max thought about where to put his new stat point but couldn’t decide. Most of his points were already in strength so it would make most sense to put it there, or perhaps in stamina or agility to help with melee attacks. But something held him back. He was used to being a mage, to fighting with magic, and fo
r that he would need wisdom. He’d already allocated one stat point into this attribute without even thinking about it.
Old habits die hard, eh? he thought to himself.
In the end he didn’t assign the point, telling himself he would do it later, when he had more time to consider his options. He searched the cabin for loot and found a hunting bow hanging from a peg on the wall along with a quiver of arrows. He slung it over his shoulder.
Item: Hunting bow +4 range attack. You’ll never go hungry if you can catch your own food!
There was nothing else of value in the cabin. Crossing to the back door, he stuck his head out. On this side of the cabin there was a small vegetable garden with potatoes and carrots growing in neat rows. Much of it though, had been churned up, the plants trampled and the ground mashed into a muddy mess. Boot prints marked the ground. Lots of them.
And was Max imagining it or was that a trail of blood leading from the back door?
Equipping his knife, Max held it in one fist as he stepped carefully down the steps and followed the blood-trail. In only a few paces he rounded the corner of the cabin and found a grisly sight waiting for him.
A man had been nailed to a tree, his head hanging down, obviously dead. Max glanced around but there was no sign of whoever had done this. There was a note pinned to the dead man’s chest.
Max reached over and quickly snatched it down. The parchment was brittle, as though it had been exposed to the elements for a while and the ink on it was faded but still readable. This is what happens to traitors. By the order of Harold Mespar, Lord of Myrlind. There was some kind of coat of arms at the bottom of the parchment and a flowery signature.
Max looked at the dead man. He was dressed in woodsman’s clothes, obviously the owner of the cabin. There was no indication of how he’d died although his skin was as pale as marble and seemed dried out, as though the blood had been sucked from him.
Max glanced at the parchment again. This was obviously a clue. But to what? A quest? He read it again and the name of the town stuck out. Myrlind. It must be around here somewhere. Turning in a slow circle, he took in the woods, looking for any clue as to what to do next. Then he spotted a raised bank about a hundred meters away. Tucking the parchment into his belt, he hurried away from the dead man and his cabin and climbed up the steep bank.
At the top he found a wide, paved road. It was deserted in both directions but directly in front of him stood a way post that pointed east. It read, Myrlind five miles.
Ah, this was more like it. What awaited him in Myrlind? He shrugged. There was only one way to find out.
Tucking away his knife, Max headed east. He jogged along the road, enjoying the elevated position. From here he could see a blanket of trees and a range of low hills beyond them. A lake sparkled in the distance, catching the last of the evening sunlight. A strange sensation stirred in his belly. It took a moment for him to recognize it: excitement.
How long had it been since he’d been a newb, exploring a new land for the first time? How long since he’d tested his mettle against an unknown foe, battled to improve his skills and his level? It felt like an age and despite the vulnerability of being a newb, it brought an odd sense of freedom as well.
Here in the Rogue Lands he wasn’t Maxwell Jones, top-level gamer who people were lining up to take on. Here he was a nobody and no one expected anything from him. No fans watching his feed, discussing how he’d get out of this scrape or another. No bets on whether he’d succeed or not. It was strangely liberating.
He spotted a light ahead, shining through the trunks of the trees. It was firelight. Dark was beginning to fall and the shadows were lengthening. Voices drifted to him on the breeze. Max slowed, dropping into a crouch as he crabbed forward.
A group of men were camped at the side of the road. Max counted five of them. They sat around the fire and appeared to be getting drunk. They were roughly dressed in tattered and patched uniforms that bore the same crest as Max had found on the bottom of the parchment. All bore weapons. Max made out swords, knives and one of them had a crossbow sitting at his feet. It was a pretty good guess that these were the men who’d nailed the woodsman to the tree.
Something groaned and Max’s gaze flew to the far side of the clearing. A man sat slumped against a tree with heavy ropes wrapped around his chest preventing his escape. He was badly beaten with blood running down his face from a cut to the temple.
One of the men looked up as the prisoner groaned. He climbed to his feet and made his way over.
“Water, please,” the prisoner croaked, his voice a parched rasp.
The man sneered at him. “Shut your mouth, scum. You speak when you’re spoken to.”
He aimed a savage kick at the prisoner’s ribs. The prisoner grunted in pain and tried to curl around himself, the ropes preventing him from doing so. The soldier grunted, barked a cruel laugh, and then returned to his place by the fire.
Anger filled Max’s veins. He remembered Eric’s words about freeing the land from tyranny.
He concentrated on the men and their stats appeared in his field of vision.
Hired mercenaries. Level 4. They would sell their own granny for a bag of silver!
Max cursed under his breath. They were a higher level and there were five of them. Not good odds. If he was still a level 100 assassin mage taking out these would be as easy as breathing. He’d use a spell to distract them—set fire to a tree or something. Then, whilst they were busy with that, he’d launch another spell that would wipe them out without them even seeing him. Clean and quick—he wasn’t an assassin mage for nothing.
But he was a newb now and outgunned. He shrugged. Nothing for it. He had to rescue that prisoner. Somehow.
He was outnumbered so rushing at them with his ax or knife wouldn’t do. They’d cut him down before he got near. That left the bow he’d found at the woodsman’s cabin. Dark was falling but he thought there might be just enough light cast by the fire to get off a few decent shots.
Equipping the bow, he nocked an arrow and drew the string back until the fletching brushed his cheek. Holding the bow took more strength than he’d realized and he struggled to hold it steady whilst he sighted, taking aim at the nearest mercenary.
He realized he was too far away and couldn’t get a clear shot. Cursing, he edged closer, trying to keep a clear line of sight to the mercs. Suddenly one of them looked up.
“Hey!” he shouted, grabbing his sword and surging to his feet.
The others, alerted by his shout, did the same. They spotted Max and came charging at him. Max sighted along the arrow-shaft and let fly. The arrow slammed into the first man’s shoulder with enough force to make him grunt and send him flying backwards. His comrades didn’t give him a second glance as they surged by.
Panic flashed through Max. They were only a dozen paces away now. He fumbled in the quiver and nocked another arrow but this wasted precious seconds. The mercs were almost on him when he fired the second arrow, but he’d not had enough time to aim and this one went wide, thudding into a tree trunk. With a yelp he drew his ax, jamming it up in time to catch the downswing of the first man’s sword as it headed for his face.
This allowed the others to come around behind him. Something connected with the back of Max’s legs and he crashed to his knees. His HP dropped. He rolled away just as a sword blade punched into the ground where he’d been kneeling. He kicked a load of leaf litter into the faces of his attackers and used the moment of confusion to scramble away, then turn and ram his knife into the belly of one of the mercenaries. The merc crashed to the ground, blood spreading into the leaf litter.
The others attacked. Max found himself desperately parrying sword blows with his knife. Many got through and a crisscross of cuts soon marked his arms and legs. His health bar continued to shrink.
Max growled in frustration. This was not going according to plan. He was running out of options. He didn’t have anything else with which to fight: no spells he could cast to get him
out of this, no way to slow his attackers down. With a cry of defiance he sprang forward, wielding the ax this time, and managed to cut the legs from under one opponent and drive the butt of his ax into the face of another.
But then one of them ducked under his guard and something punched into Max’s gut. He looked down to see the merc’s sword sticking out of his abdomen. Numbness spread out from the wound as though his veins were filling with ice.
Max’s health bar stuttered to zero and then he was falling, falling, down into darkness.
Chapter 3
Max opened his eyes to find himself staring up at the blue sky. Somewhere nearby birds were singing and the scent of grass and pine needles wafted on the breeze. In contrast to the serenity of his surroundings, every bit of Max ached as though he’d gone ten rounds with a heavy-weight and a deep, gnawing nausea twisted his stomach, making him feel as if his insides had been turned inside out.
Dying in this place was no fun at all.
He lay still, breathing deeply until the worst of the nausea passed then, without moving from his prone position, Max patted himself down, half-expecting his hands to come away bloody or to find a gaping wound from that sword thrust. Of course, there wasn’t one.
With a groan, he sat up. He was back in the stone circle where he’d began, his health bar returned to full strength. This was little consolation. He’d made a classic newb error and ended up getting himself killed. And worse, he’d lost the stat point he’d gained when he killed the rats as he hadn’t yet allocated it into an attribute when he died.
Idiot! Some player you are, he thought to himself.
Gingerly he climbed to his feet, his muscles screaming with the effort. He might have respawned and his health might have been restored but it seemed in this world there were consequences to getting killed—the aching in his body attesting to that. Whatever VR suit or VR pod he was in right now must be one hell of a piece of tech.
