Blood soaked his shirt, but there was little to be done about that. He wouldn’t be stopping long enough to dry his clothes and didn’t relish the thought of wearing them wet. Hopefully, it wouldn’t be long until he had some real armor, something with weight and the reassuring stiffness that would ward off pointed teeth and sharp arrows.
Grimacing, Kalmond pulled the shirt over his head. He immediately regretted his previous musing. The dried blood-stiffened the quilted fabric, making it feel like wearing a wood plank. Driskroll’s bad joke was still playing out. Kalmond made a point to bring it up if and when he ever got back into the Nameless clan.
Before he left, Kalmond had to swallow back regret. Under any other circumstances, he’d have set up a camp and stayed here for a few hours, or even a few days. The picturesque surroundings called him to linger, and the creek would have been a perfect opportunity to develop his fishing skills, along with trapping and cooking. There would be time for that later, he promised himself, trying not to think about the many levels that loomed ahead.
Kalmond climbed back up the bank but froze when instinct or paranoia made him believe he was not alone. He waited, but heard nothing. Just as he lifted a foot, a low growl emanated from the trees. Two wolves stepped out from the trees, eyes glimmering and fixed hungrily on the dwarf.
He squared up against the largest one and drew his sword slowly as the smaller wolf circled to his left. He hoped there were not more as he made a quick feint towards the alpha, who dropped back on his paws and growled low, deep and long.
The second wolf made a quick run at Kalmond, but the Dwarf was nimble with a half-swing that slashed a shoulder. That was just what the alpha wolf was waiting for. It jumped with surprising speed and clamped its jaws over Kalmond’s forearm.
The second wolf tried to get in on the action, but Kalmond managed to give it a well-placed kick to the snout as he shook off the alpha. Now it was Kalmond’s turn. As the alpha rounded on him, the dwarf slashed with a powerful backswing, catching the wolf in the right shoulder. The Dwarf wasted no time finishing. He made a quick power lunge that split the beta in two from the forehead to the center of its back, gaining him 69 XP.
“Next!” Kalmond bellowed, turning back to the alpha, who also wasted no time with its attack.
Kalmond had no time to swing, so he kicked with his left foot, then planted both feet for another overhand strike. Either he was too slow, or the wolf was too fast, and the swing missed entirely, allowing the wolf to bite him on the shin.
With his health bar dropping quickly, Kalmond needed to finish. He charged, backing the wolf up to the treeline. Kalmond took his time lining up the right-hand swing that removed the wolf’s head. Looking down at the once-proud animal, with its glossy gray fur matted with blood tempered his satisfaction.
His mood improved when looting the body produced a gold ring in addition to a large wolf hide. The smaller wolf yielded a few circs, and a medium wolf hide. The kills gave him 155 XP combined, filling over a third of his XP bar. Another 811 points would bring him to level eight. Kalmond left the fallen wolves behind him to be consumed by the Realm.
He neared the quest area. Kalmond slowed, squinting through the shadows to find standing rocks slick with moss and rivulets of pale, yellow goo that could only be the spore of slime mold. This was the perfect breeding ground for them. Without flame weapons, he’d be hard pressed to fight them off. He decided on a sneak strategy, walking slowly and using his base rogue sneak spell as sparingly as possible.
Sneak spells don’t work if you step directly on your enemy, which is exactly what Kalmond did. The slime mold sucked itself up off the ground with a squelching sound and surrounded him like a fetid blanket made of spoiled lunch meat. The two seconds it took to slice himself free did massive corrosive damage to both sword and skin. Kalmond hated slime mold.
Running away from the first mold triggered three more, and by the time he reached relative safety, five slimes rose up like a wave and came at him. Not knowing what else to do, Kalmond charged. He brought the sword in a wide swing from left to right at waist level and passed through the wave. That killed one, but the remaining four closed the gap and turned quickly.
On the second swing, Kalmond noticed his sword smoked and sizzled as the slime mold goop ate the metal. The next few seconds were a blur of desperate swings. Mold bits rained down on him as he pulsed his power attacks between dodging attacks. By the time he was finished, nine slime molds lay hissing on the ground. Picking through the puddles of muck gave him fifty circs, a silver necklace, and a gold bracelet. He considered himself well-compensated for the loss of more than 1500 hit points. He lost count of the XP bubbles floating away, but he guessed he’d earned a good 150 points or so.
Disgusted, Kalmond plunged the corroded sword into the soft dirt. When he pulled it out, most of the acidic goop had been cleaned away, but the damage was done. He wouldn’t get much more kills out of this weapon. When he examined the sword closely, it was down to just fifteen of its 150 endurance points.
To harvest the lichen, Kalmond used the rusty dagger. He saw no sense wearing out the ceremonial blade. Kalmond scraped the luminescent plants off the rocks and added it to his inventory until his quest log showed he had enough to hand in. He stepped back, satisfied, if a little uneasy. Despite his level gain, the iron boar quest would be too hard without some kind of weapon, and with his sword worn out, he had nothing else to use. He reflexively brought up the stats again. The sword might last him another four kills if he was lucky.
As Kalmond turned away, something caught his eye. He looked back at the boulders he’d just harvested the lichen from. He stepped to the left. Then, he tipped his head.
“Is that…” He darted forwards and squeezed through a small gap in the wall and found himself on a deeply shaded path. The trail was overgrown and scattered with dry leaves. It hadn’t been used for a long time. With his senses heightened and his useless sword held high, Kalmond crept along the path.
A skittering to his left made his heart jump, as a squirrel darted up a tree chattering angrily. To the right, a bird cawed and took flight. Kalmond took a moment to steady his racing heart, then took a breath and rounded the bend ahead.
The trail ended at a small, rundown shack nestled against a gigantic boulder. A half-rotted door hung from one hinge, and several smashed windows resembled broken teeth in a beaten face. Rusted nails sprung from crooked, weathered boards, leaving gaps through which to peek at the dead darkness inside.
Kalmond shivered. He didn’t bother to manage his fear now, willing to embrace the all-too-sensible emotion if it would just help him walk away. He almost did. Whatever lurked inside that shack would not be friendly. But then again, this was how one found treasure.
Blowing out a few short breaths, Kalmond activated sneak and tiptoed forwards. Dark shadows jealously guarded the cabin interior. The rotting door prevented what little light there was from revealing the cabin’s secrets. Kalmond grit his teeth, deactivated sneak and with a roar, kicked the door down and rushed inside, damaged sword held high.
The cabin was empty. Motes of dust swirled in the feeble and settled back to coat a small table and chair in the center of the room. As his eyes adjusted, he realized the pile of detritus in one corner had once been a bed.
Wrinkling his nose, Kalmond sniffled, then let out an explosive sneeze. Wiping his face on a sleeve, he sliced away the ragged threads of a curtain that once covered a window. A bit more light crept in. Kalmond shifted uncomfortably, feeling a bit silly now that the cabin seemed devoid of anything more threatening than dust.
He poked at the rags on the ground with his sword. The metal met something with a solid thunk. Gingerly kicking back the rags, Kalmond squatted down to see what he’d found. When he understood what it was, he stood immediately and turned towards the door.
“Bah! I can’t believe I just wasted all that time just to find a damn journal quest!” He left the tattered leather book on the floor of the cabin
and stomped away.
“You sorry, flea-bitten excuse for dwarf!” Came a voice at Kalmond’s back.
Kalmond spun around, fresh fear chilling his bones. “Who’s there?” he snapped. He saw no one.
“You heard me. Only a mold-faced rat would refuse to help one if his own,” the voice declared from nowhere. “What? You scared of dark? Grow up, pansy. Now get your ass back into godforsaken shack, and go get my journal!”
Kalmond groaned. “Stupid ghost. They’re the worst,” he muttered. He turned around and strode away. Something grabbed his ankle, and he landed face-first in the sweet-smelling forest soil.
“I was right. You are pansy,” the voice said. “You plant your face like one.”
“Oh, fuck off!” Kalmond jumped back to his feet and yelled in the direction of the voice. “If you can’t even bother to come out and face me, then no, I’m not going to get your stinking journal! You know why? Because journal quests are bullshit!”
“If you want to see me, why do you not say so instead of yelling in my face.”
Kalmond yelped as a knotted, wrinkled face materialized inches from his nose. The figure didn’t quite solidify. Kalmond could see the shack through the dwarven features. “I did say so, asshole,” Kalmond said, then asked, clearing his throat, “What are you?”
“I am ghost of Boris Ilyich.” Boris beat a fist to his puffed out chest. “You?”
“Me?” Kalmond stared dumbly at the speaker.
“I caught clever one. Yes, you, numpty. What is your name?”
“Uhh… Kalmond.” He blinked, the insult finally sinking in. “Numpty? Who are you calling a numpty? Also, what is a numpty?”
“If you have to ask, then is definitely you. Now go get my damned journal. I haven’t got all day.” Boris folded his arms and glared at Kalmond, his form solidifying a little.
“You’re dead. You have all the time in the Realm. Why would I get your dumb book? I know what’s in it for me: a whole lot of running for little XP and a crappy reward at the end. The Realm never produced a decent journal quest, and everyone knows it. I don’t have time for that!”
“Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for someone to find it? You have to take it. I’m not letting you go until you do.”
Kalmond snorted. What could this loudmouthed apparition even… oh.Vines shot out from the soil under his feet, and others snaked down from the trees above. Within a matter of seconds, Kalmond was trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey. The dwarf sighed in defeat. This was no ordinary ghost. The dynamic quest engine really wanted him to take this quest for some reason.
“Fine. I’ll take your stupid journal,” Kalmond agreed if only to get the ghost off his case.
“Is that promise?” Boris squinted one eye and glared harder.
“Yes, but only if you prove it’s worthwhile,” Kalmond demanded. The vines fell away, and Kalmond landed on the ground with a thump. He seemed to be developing a very up close and personal relationship with the various ground surfaces of the Nine Circles. He stood, rubbing his bruised butt.
“Very well. I respect you make bargain when you are so clearly outmatched. Boris will prove his abilities to you. Beneath the floorboards of my home, there is a weapon. Bring it to me.”
Kalmond perked up, then darted back into the shack. He hacked away at the floorboards until one of his frenzied strikes produced a clang. He bent down and cleared away the wood chips to reveal a long, thick handle leading to a broad, rusty, double-bladed axe head. The axe haft was tipped with a nasty looking steel spike that Kalmond thought looked very useful. Picking up the two-handed weapon revealed it had next to no endurance left and only a +4 damage rating. That wasn’t much better than the damaged sword, and not even that much of an increase from the stick he crafted into a club. But the did have a title, which meant it had at least some potential “The Axe of Boris Ilyich.”
“Wow,” Kalmond said, turning to Boris as he hovered inside his decrepit shack. “Thanks for the rusty axe, dead dwarf.”
“This is much more than axe,” Boris said. “You are about to receive the arcane knowledge of one of the most esteemed enchanters of the Eastern quarter of the 3rd Circle.”
“That sounds less than impressive,” Kalmond muttered.
“Oh, there is more. You have also inherited the craftsman himself because I don’t trust you worth a damn and I won’t be leaving your side until my journal is in safe hands.”
Kalmond let out a tortured groan. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Boris Ilyich does not jest!” the ghost bellowed, blowing Kalmond’s beard.
“OK, Casper,” Kalmond said. “Take it easy.”
“I will show you further proof. Come!” Boris said, and swept away.
Kalmond followed Boris back outside and around to the rear of the shack’s only intact wall. The ghost pointed to a large mound of dead vines. “Clear away my workshop, and you will behold wonders!”
At the mention of “workshop” Kalmond snapped-to. He hacked away the vines with his weakened sword to reveal a stone table. When he cleared away the last of the vines, the table glowed with a pale, blue light and lit candles appeared at all four corners.
“Set the axe down on the bench,” Boris said.
No sooner than the axe hit the table did it transform. The mold and crud melted from the haft, to be replaced by fine leather wrapping, and the axe head sloughed off its rust. The axe blade glinted in the light while its face revealed ancient dwarven runes engraved into the metal. Kalmond didn’t need to be told to pick up the weapon. Now the blade had a damage rating of +9 and showed slots for three enchantments. The blade had potential indeed. It made him think the journal quest might be worthwhile after all.
“May this blade serve you well as it did me until my betrayal,” Boris said. His voice lost its bluster and took on a mournful gravity that gave Kalmond pause. Here was yet another NPC that was most likely not a set of complex algorithms, but a disembodied human brain trying to make sense of a new world.
“Thank you, Boris,” Kalmond said, overcome with a sudden empathy for the ghost. “I will honor this blade.”
“See that you do!” Boris said, rising and returning to his bombastic ways. “Or curses be upon you! We are wasting time!”
“Don’t I know it,” Kalmond said as he fastened the axe to his back. “What are you waiting for, let’s go then!”
The two backtracked west towards the boar quest area, and Kalmond shuddered to remember his fight with the scar birds as they passed the site of the battle.
“Looks like mighty battle occurred here,” Boris remarked. “And scar birds got better of some prey before tables were turned.”
“That was me,” Kalmond replied.
“This does not surprise me. What surprises me is you survived,”
“Just when I was starting to like you,” Kalmond muttered.
Soon, they passed through the field and entered unexplored territory leading to the boars. Kalmond spotted prints across the trail. They were disturbingly large—about half the size of his hand. Boris snickered from his vantage point over Kalmond’s shoulder.
“What’s so funny, dead dwarf?” Kalmond asked with a sneer.
“Perhaps you don’t survive quest, and my axe belongs to another dead dwarf.”
“Everyone keeps saying shit like that,” Kalmond said, unslinging the new axe, from his back. “We’ll see.”
“Yes,” Boris said, rising higher into the trees. “We will see.”
“What do you—”
The forest exploded with violent motion. What appeared to be a dark-brown, furry comet with tusks hit Kalmond squarely in the gut, doubling him over. The top of his head scraped the ground as he flipped, landing flat on his back, axe across his chest. His breath was gone and stars danced across his field of vision.
“Better get up, numbskull,” Boris said. “You not get this lucky again.”
Lucky? Kalmond thought. He’d lost nearly half his hit points fro
m one strike. He didn’t feel lucky. He rolled to the side just as the boar came by for another pass. Kalmond sprang to his feet as the boar turned for a third attack. It squared its broad shoulders and steam escaped its nostrils as it grunted and lowered its head.
Time to try out my new axe, Kalmond thought as he charged to meet the running boar. The axe glanced off the boar’s shoulder, taking a good chunk of meat with it. The animal squealed and snapped its head up, raking its tusks across Kalmond’s right thigh. The dwarf now had only a quarter of his left. He countered with the last of his endurance with a power swing that caught a lucky critical dead-center of the pig’s forehead. The XP bubble floating away read 407.
“Eat meat before its brother shows up, fool!” Boris urged as Kalmond took a knee to catch his breath. Kalmond decided eating was an excellent idea, but was disappointed when the pig meat tasted again, like chicken.
“You are one seriously annoying ghost,” Kalmond said, retrieving the hide but finding no other loot. “Why don’t you make yourself useful and give me a warning next time.”
“What? Use your senses! Are you wilting flower, or are you stone dwarf? In my day, we—-”
Boris continued lecturing even as the second boar burst out of the forest so fast that Kalmond could smell its breath before he jumped up just high enough to let the pig’s ridged back pass beneath his feet.
“—I once fought twenty—” Boris continued to lecture, and Kalmond only caught snatches as he fought for his life.
The second boar turned out to be faster, bigger and meaner than the last. A solid strike to the animal’s back nearly made the blade sink to the handle, but when Kalmond pulled back, the boar still had three-quarters of its health left. The beast was even angrier when it turned to counter.
“Shit!” Kalmond yelled and ran.
“Pansy!” Boris called as he followed behind. “The shrinking vine of the Realms! Run, pansy, run!”
Overcome with rage, Kalmond forgot about the boar, planted his feet and whirled. “Shut the fu—” he started to shout before remembering there was a wild beast with sharp tusks that wanted to kill him. Without thinking, he gave the axe a backhand swing, then followed through with a solid overhand chop. Suddenly, the beast was half dead and squealing.
Realm of the Nine Circles: The Grind: A LitRPG Novel Page 6
