by ilo man
Though by putting his two points into perception rather than health or stamina he hadn’t gained virility, but he did feel more aware, and his senses appeared to be acuter. The smell of cedar wood nearby stifled him. Lavender’s sweet breath curled around his nostrils. The forest oozed vibrancy. Vinnie felt good. Lavender looked good.
“You fancy?” he asked, wanting to test his new senses.
“You don’t quite get it, do you, Vinnie? We need to get out of here in case Doom n’ Dread come a-knockin', and if you’re going to rescue me, we need to figure out a way to keep me wet.”
And not in a good way, Mini Vinnie thought, sulking.
Hang on, Grown Up Vinnie thought. We might get the esteem ripped from us by the king. We might get killed by the dread guild. We’re on the run my little friend; fun times will have to wait.
Once he’d finished having a little chat with his dick, fear turned to urgency.
“So, let’s get going.”
“How are you going to keep me wet though?”
Vinnie scratched his head and then pulled his Grand Sack of Holding out of his pant pocket and unrolled it. He held it up to Lavender, gauging her size. “Do you think you’ll fit through its opening?”
Lavender began to smile, then clapped with glee. “It should work, it will work, oh Vinnie, I have one last wish to burden you with.” She fluttered her eyelids. “Could you take me back home? Could you take me to the Dancing Lakes? They’re just outside Slaughterhaven in the Grand Central Forest.
Lavender is offering you a quest: Take her home, back to the Dancing Lakes, and set her free. Quest reward 500 XP. Do you accept? Y/N.
He thought the reward a little stingy but accepted anyway, supposing that the quest reward must in some way match its difficulty. He took off his boots and pants, eased himself into the pool, and held the rim of his sack under the water. Lavender threw her arms around him, and gave him a long and passionate kiss. “Much more virility and that thing between your legs is going to be the best in the whole kingdom,” she whispered in his ear. “When we get to the Dancing Lakes, I’m a going to feast on its power.” She cupped his balls and then let her palm encompass his length. Her fingers lingered before she finally wriggled into his sack.
Vinnie swept the sack around, filling it with pool water, then yanked it out, holding it above his head. It became limp instantly. A little heavy, admittedly, but it felt empty. He eased himself out of the pool, put his pants and boots back on and wandered back to the cottage. He saw his jacket hanging on a hook by the door and popped it on. A quick search of the place also turned up his sword, belt and scabbard, and a handy little rucksack.
He loved his sacks of holding but hadn’t quite gotten used to his stuff just vanishing, plus his pants were tight enough as it was without all the front pocket intrusion. He dumped his sword in the Grand Sack Of Holding along with the belt and scabbard.
“Equip sword,” he ordered, and it appeared in his hand. “Un-equip sword,” and it vanished.
He stowed his crystal core with Little Red inside, a name that perfectly suited his demon, in his original sack and then stowed that in his grand sack. He didn’t know if Lavender would be able to see the other stuff in his sack and wanted to hide Little Red from her. Finally, he put his grand sack in his rucksack, and then looted the twin’s cottage and stole their food, a pipe, some tobacco leaf, a strike, a flint, two mugs, a water bottle, the roll of cigarillos and a plate. He threw all that in his rucksack, and slid his arms through its straps, shrugging it onto his back. With one last look around, he spotted his hat, popped it on his head and set out for the mountain trail.
It was just after midday. Vinnie couldn’t help but think he’d had quite a busy morning.
Chapter Twelve
It seemed like an age ago that Vinnie had left Hartsfelt and trod its trail in search of quests and the Wanton Witch, so much so, that he was pleased to be back on the windy road up to the pass. The cloud-dotted sky hardly threatened rain, and the wind wandered down the valley with no hint of a hurry.
He hiked upward, like some happy adventurer on his way to a favorite retreat.
As the road ahead vanished over the close horizon, he saw no sign of guards and began to think that he might crest the mountain ridge and quickly descend the other side without any issues.
When he did make the ridge’s crest, he gasped at the land below him.
In the far distance, the ends of his new horizon, two vast mountains reared up, shrouded in cloud, dark and ominous cloud. Foothills spread out, rolling green downs, patchwork fields, and the blotted, darker green of wooded lands. At his feet though, at the base of the small mountains he’d just conquered, a vast, hunter-green forest spread both east and west and north to the verdant foothills. It was like a deep green skirt covering a woman’s groin, the fields and foothills her mid, the mountains on the horizon, the vast swell of her chest.
For the whole of his life, Vinnie had lived in the city. He’d never imagined anything like this, never experienced its like, and thought it magical, majestic and fantastical.
Breathing the deepest of breaths, he strode down the road, and straight into a checkpoint.
Perception Check: Greaves. Human. Militia. NPC.
Perception Check: Harris. Human. Militia. NPC.
No more information is available at your current perception level.
Vinnie hesitated, letting his heart steady, then took a step forward.
“Stop right where you are,” growled Harris, pushing himself up off the boulder he was perched on and sucking on the last of a greasy bone before tossing it away.
Greaves had his hand on the hilt of a rusty old sword, its belt holding in his portly stomach. He took two paces toward Vinnie. Even that small movement made him gasp for breath. “Well, what have we here. What’s yer name, lad?”
A notification flashed across Vinnie’s mind’s eye.
Pro Tip: While most NPCs (Non-Player Characters) have a few points allotted to perception, most of them hate the notifications and have long since switched them to mute and forgotten they have the ability. Some pretend to have done that to trip you up. It’s your call what to do.
“Vincent,” replied Vinnie.
Both Greaves and Harris tensed. “Vinnie?” said Harris. “Well,” and he drew his sword. “Isn’t that a coincidence? We’re looking for a Vinnie. In fact, the only reason we’re up this godforsaken ridge is because the bastard poisoned our beloved Princess Blanche.” His words dripped sarcasm.
“Bangtail,” Greaves grunted, and they both grinned, then spat.
“Bedswerver,” Harris confirmed.
“She seemed quite…” Vinnie made to say but realized agreement was the better direction to take. “Quite the slut,” he growled, joining in, hoping it might save him.
Harris double took. “What’s one o’ them?”
Vinnie grinned and leaned in. “A loose woman,” he whispered.
Greaves reared. “Nothin’ wrong with them.” Vinnie’s heart sank. Greaves smiled. “Gotcha!” Then his expression clouded over. “Anyways, how would you like it, straight in the guts or decapitation?”
“Eh?”
“Your name’s Vinnie, and we’re looking for a Vinnie. Seems too much of a coincidence to me. So, how do you want it?”
“But…” Vinnie sought out an escape route, but there was only a perilous slope on one side, and a sheer rocky bluff on the other—certainly no easy escape. “There must be more than one Vinnie,” he pleaded.
Greaves drew his sword.
“Hang on,” Vinnie un-shouldered his rucksack. “This Vinnie you seek, would it be fair to say he was a master criminal, an outlaw, and a bandit, yes?”
“One of the worst,” Greaves agreed. “They say he tunneled out of the cell all by his self. Then he held a poor citizen hostage in her own brother’s cottage, doing what not and all to her before stealing away into the night.”
“So, a master of disguise, a top-notch crook, who,” Vin
nie wagged his finger, “is no doubt long gone, and who certainly wouldn’t try to escape using one of the only two roads out of Hartsfelt.”
“Definitely not,” said Harris.
“Only an idiot would attempt that,” agreed Greaves.
“So, I can’t be the one you seek. But, if you’ll let me pass, I do have some coin that might…grease my way.” Vinnie winked.
Greaves scratched his head. “Isn’t that the exact kind of thing this Vinnie would say, you know, to try and bribe us?”
Vinnie shook his head. “No, he’d more likely run you through as utter a word. Bound to be a master swordsman.”
“Bound to be,” Harris muttered.
“So again, not me.” Vinnie bent, fumbling through his sack, calling for a couple of bronze. He felt cold steel under his chin, lifting his head.
“I’ve got a better idea,” Harris growled. “Why don’t I just take your sack?”
“Then we’ll run you through and tell tales of a fierce battle,” Greaves said, ominously.
Vinnie sighed, knowing there was no way out. He glanced up, called for his crystal core, and it appeared in one hand. He then thought: Equip sword.
His sword appeared in his other hand, its tip on Harris’s belly. Vinnie shoved his arm forward, sliding it into the soldier’s guts. Letting go of its hilt, he saw Greaves bearing down on him, but the big man hesitated and looked at his companion in horror, as Harris stared down at the sword that had magically appeared in his gut. Harris fell to his knees, belching black blood. Vinnie saw an opportunity. He lunged with the crystal, plunging it into Greaves’ fat neck, a spurt of blood arcing out, covering the core. Greaves growled and lunged forward in a final, desperate attempt to get to Vinnie.
Staggering backward, Vinnie swept up his rucksack. With the crystal core still in his other hand, he lurched farther back. Greaves bore down on him. Then the ground vanished, and Vinnie toppled over the trail’s edge.
He tumbled, he screamed, he tumbled, he grunted, and he bounced and slid to a perilous stop on a bank of dry, gray scree. He lay there, trying not to move.
“Thanks for the blood, Vinnie,” Little Red whispered in his mind.
“Not now,” he barked, trying to ignore his crystal encased demon.
He slipped a bit. “Oh no,” he whimpered.
He slipped a bit more. “Oh for fuck’s sake,” he shouted, looking up at the heavens. “Cut me a sodding break.”
He slipped, he flew through the thin air, landed with a thud, bounced, flew through the air, tumbled, grunted, tumbled, screamed and thudded into the base of a tree.
“Ouch,” he muttered, wondering why he was still alive.
Danger! Your health is perilously low. Under normal circumstances that fall would be enough to kill you, given your health level. But, like real life, XdCeX Online runs a randomizer. You just got lucky. Next time, you may die from stubbing your toe.
Vinnie sat up and immediately regretted it, his mind swimming.
“Eat something,” Little Red told him.
Rummaging in his sack, he pulled out a raw potato and started munching, soon feeling better. “Lost my sword,” he moaned.
“Fed your demon, though.”
“True,” he muttered and held the little core up, noting Little Red had doubled in size and was now around the size of his thumbnail. “Will you ever get out of there?”
“When you plant the core and instruct me to start building.”
Vinnie pursed his lips and nodded. “Then we’d best get on, but before we can do that we’ve got to find the Wanton Witch, wake Princess Blanche, defeat the evil Cresta, and settle my tally with the King.”
“And avoid Doom n’ Dread,” Little Red pointed out.
“And that too.” Vinnie brushed himself off, put the crystal back in his sack and brought out his map.
He zoomed it in, searching for a way to Slaughterhaven. Deciding to stick to the side of the mountain slopes until he crossed the road again, Vinnie set off. Unlike the forest up by the pass, this one was a tangle of deciduous oaks and elms instead of conifers. It was bark-strewn rather than needles, and dank as opposed to fresh. He’d seen on his map that he was walking the edges of the Grand Central Forest, and so, in a way, Vinnie had gotten to where he was going. He forged on through, trying to put a brave face on, but feeling naked without his sword. Even though he couldn’t use the bloody thing, it had saved his life. He glanced up at the scree-covered slope, his gaze roaming over the steep bluffs, and he wondered what divine intervention had let him survive that fall.
Unlike the conifer forest, this one was alive with sound, with the grunting of boars, the rustle of breeze-blown leaves, the howl of wolves and the scurrying of squirrels. He scampered on, keeping to the forest’s edge, sidling past bluffs, hurdling the occasional stream.
Tiredness washed over him, being constantly on edge had drained his energy. Climbing one more little bluff, his fear of the dark forest complete, he suddenly stopped, straining his ears. Sure enough, he could hear whistling. While he wasn’t a master of skulking through a forest with a price on his head, even Vinnie could recognize a happy tune, a safe melody, a contented whistle, and so he jumped off the boulder and crept into the forest, gathering his courage and holding his breath.
He scampered from one huge trunk to the next, each crack of a twig stopping his heart, each crunch of leaves underfoot making him hold his breath. The whistling grew louder the farther he crept in.
Peering out from around yet another trunk, Vinnie finally saw movement ahead, but it was just glimpses of pale blue and yellow. He dashed to the next trunk. Midway, his side exploded in pain, and he sailed through the air smashing into the ground a few yards away, momentarily dazed. He looked up to see a huge beast glaring down at him, big sticky-up ears, glowing golden eyes, two yellow fangs and a huge black snout—some kind of dire pig.
“I hate this fucking land,” he growled to himself, waiting for the beast to bite his face off and send him to his inevitable first death. A death, he decided, that he’d been cheating for a little while now. Instead, the pig swiped him with a great slobbery lick. Huge dollops of gob pooled in his eyes and dropped into his open mouth, that was still ready to scream its final scream. The grossness of it all pushed Vinnie’s fear away. He shoved at the pig’s head, and sat up, spitting, wiping his eyes and trying not to hurl. The pig merely grunted and wandered off. Vinnie screamed as a new shadow that loomed over him.
A huge great man stood in the pig’s stead, his tunic covering his wide chest and hairy, tree-trunks arms falling from blue sleeves, yellow crenellations edging them. A huge hand reached out. “Don’t mind my hog, just rootin’ fer truffles.”
Perception Check: Sorrell. Half-Giant. Peasant. NPC.
Vinnie took Sorrell’s hand, and the giant pulled him up. “Truffles?” he said, for saying’s sake.
Sorrell ambled over to a wooden wheelbarrow, bent and picked out a small black mushroom that resembled a lump of coal. “These,” said Sorrell. “Heaven sniffs them out, and I dig ‘em up then sell ‘em in Slaughterhaven.”
Vinnie perked, still wiping his face down. “When,” he squealed, “just when are you traveling back to Slaughterhaven?”
Sorrell glanced upward, narrowing his boiled-egg eyes, bringing his palm across his bushy eyebrows and scrutinizing the forest’s leafy canopy. After a while, he looked back at Vinnie. “Sometime soon.”
Vinnie sidled up to him. “Could I tag along, only I’ve lost my sword and, I’ll be honest, I’m kind of scared on my own.”
Sorrell scratched his head, looked into his barrow and shrugged. “’Course,” he said. “Got plenty enough for a night’s worth of ale and a hay bale to sleep on.”
“I’ve got some coin if you need more,” Vinnie told the half-giant.
Sorrell grabbed the handles of his barrow. “Come on then, let’s get going. You shouldn’t be in the forest. There’s a villain about.”
“A villain?” Vinnie ventured.
> Sorrell nodded his great big head, and he pushed his barrow onto the leaf-strewn trail. “A villain,” the giant confirmed. “The bastard’s already killed Grandma Lorkin, poisoned Princess Blanche, killed two old ladies and battled the city guards.”
“Bastard,” Vinnie confirmed, as they ambled down the path, bathed in the ambient, emerald light of the forest.
“Funny thing,” said Sorrell.
“What is?” asked Vinnie.
“He’s got the same name as you.”
Chapter Thirteen
Dust motes danced, pipe smoke swirled, Sorrell sat hunched over the inn’s beaten-copper counter, ale in hand and pipe parked firmly between his chubby lips. Vinnie sat beside him, now reasonably anonymous in the sizeable town of Slaughterhaven.
“So, where are you traveling to?” Sorrell asked, puffing away.
Vinnie glanced nervously around. Green-glass windows closed the yellow-plastered walls in. Stolen glances kept him on edge. Two dwarfs burst out laughing at some unheard joke. A drow glared at him. Sorrell blew a smoke ring.
“I fancy seeing the Dancing Lakes,” Vinnie eventually replied.
Sorrell scoffed. “Yer don’t want to be going nowhere when that bastard’s abroad. Heard one of them guards had been run through. I heard the assassin’s blade was still lodged in his guts when they found him.”
“Dark times,” said Vinnie, with a cough and a gulp of his ale.
“You don’t know the half of it,” Sorrell assured him. “Black clouds over the twin peaks. It’s time to keep your head down and hope for the best.”
“Black clouds? Is that some kind of prophecy?”
“Means that the Witherers are on the wind,” said the drow, his voice like a snake’s hiss, curling around Vinnie’s ears then striking home with a snap.
