I’ve encountered powerful magic wielders in Unigaea, everything from mages to warlocks, necromancers to war priests. Even at level 10, Deathdale would have given many of them a run for their lira. I get the feeling there is more to her ability, and I imagine at a higher level she would be able to spontaneously combust someone.
The image of her instantly setting everyone and everything before her on fire comes to me.
That’s power.
Wolf barks and lowers his head back into the space between his paws.
“Good,” I tell him as I watch a small cutter approach.
The cutter is having a hard time going the opposite direction against the wind, but the captain of the ship, a square-jawed man with a long ponytail, is doing his best to rally his small crew. They busy themselves around the craft, paying little attention to us as we pass.
We shouldn’t be far from Mohar now.
I pick up the pace of my paddling, even as I wince with each stroke. Damn Czech and his final shot at me, which was, in truth, kind of Deathdale’s fault for trying to save my ass.
I smirk.
No one really to blame there, and it is just a flesh wound. Still, the pain has spread from just my shoulder to my entire arm, like someone hit me with a baseball bat.
I glance down at the wound. I’m an idiot for leaving my arms exposed, but I hate the confines of wearing sleeves while battling. Even the lightest chainmail can be a bitch.
“And this is the price you pay,” I remind myself.
A few minutes later, we pass a dinghy with an NPC father and son inside. They’ve got several lines in and as soon as they see me, the father lifts a crossbow and tracks my movement.
I wave my hand at him nice and slow, cringing at the pain, and return to my paddling.
The life and times of a Player Killer, volume one, I think as we pass.
The city of Mohar is visible up ahead, all the dwellings cut into the escarpment abutting upon the waterline. Mohar is famous for its cliffside dwellings and the unique way the entire city is built into the natural caves and crevices provided by the rock face. An expansive dock has been set up below the city’s entrance, and as it has every time I’ve visited, it bustles with fishermen and merchants from all across Unigaea.
I find an empty space at the far end of the dock and take it.
Once I’ve got the rope tied off, Wolf takes a running leap onto the dock, nearly knocking me off the raft.
“Dammit, Wolf!”
He walks along the edge of the dock panting nervously, waiting for me to get off the raft. Once I do, I drop in front of him and pat his head. “You can’t come up there,” I tell him, nodding toward the cliffside and the ladders and stairs cut into it.
He whines a bit and sits on his haunches.
“I need you to stay here, got it? I’m in a hurry. I’ll just get my arm patched up, see if I can’t trade in some armor and pick up a few potions, then we’ll set off.”
He starts panting, licks his lips, and keeps panting.
“Good, we understand each other then. Don’t do anything stupid, got it? And don’t bite anyone.”
I head into the crowd and tune out the Player Killer comments. Some of the people part ways, others step up to me, but I just keep on walking along, hell-bent on getting to the hospital and not getting into a fight.
There are ladders leading to the upper levels of the city, but with my arm, I’d better take the stairs recently installed for the elderly. I’ve been to the hospital here before, a couple weeks back, and luckily it’s only on the second tier of the famous cliffside city.
“Need some help?” an old man stooped over a cane asks.
“You’re a bit old to be a pickpocket,” I tell him.
“What, me?” He tosses his hands behind his back and shoots me a crooked, toothy grin. “I wasn’t going to steal from you; I was going to help you. Won’t you come with me?”
I stop and lift my good hand up to the hilt of my Splintered Sword.
The old thief moves on before I can do anything else. He tried to rob me last time I came, and tried the time before that as well. I’m quite certain there’s a quest or three he’d take me on if I followed him further, but it likely isn’t worth my time.
Unigaea’s AI, known as the NVA Seed, or Neuronal Visualization Algorithmic Seed, has created an open world in which anything can happen at any time. The fact that I could die tripping and hitting my chin on something is only one of those “anything can happen” examples.
That said, there are some designated quests that players can take to follow certain patterns in the development of their character. Had I chosen a rogue as my class or subclass, I may have followed the man and there’s no telling where he would have taken me.
I continue along a path cut into the side of the cliff until I enter a grand cave with open airways. The city of Mohar has as much outward-facing real estate as it does caves, nooks, and crannies once you get inside.
Large circles the size of dining room tables cut into the rock wall allow for light to extend to the inner reaches of the city. Mirrors strategically placed in corners beam the light deeper into the city, something that is a sight to behold when the sun sets or rises to the west.
At night, Mohar switches to candles made of spermaceti, which has a very distinct odor I find unsettling yet others like. The place stinks of it now, even after a nice morning breeze.
I stop at the hospital and an NPC nurse greets me. She’s elven, short, and there’s something very grandmotherly about her. She greets me with a sidelong glance that tells me I should find the nearest bed, which I do.
I sit, stare across the way at a kid with a broken arm and grin. The kid looks away and doesn’t make eye contact again.
I swear.
The nurse comes and once she’s used a pair of clean scissors to cut the bandage, she begins examining my wound.
“You were struck by an arrow?” she asks, her brow furrowed.
“I was.”
“And you ripped it out?”
“I did.”
“The arrow was barbed.”
“I’m painfully aware.”
“I’ll bet you are.”
Another nurse appears behind her, this one younger and odd looking with her crooked nose. She produces a small notebook and begins jotting down what the more experienced nurse says. They speak in hushed tones and I tune them out. I can’t stop focusing on the red sky outside.
“Hey,” I say, interrupting their discussion, “do either of you know what is happening with the sky?”
The older nurse lifts her mouth to speak and then bites her lip. “No, I really don’t,” she finally says. “There are, however, rumors that the Rune Lands are preparing for war.”
The younger nurse blurts out. “Some scouts have reported that they saw a group of Tagvornins traveling through the mountain pass between the Eastern and Western Splits.”
“Really? Traveling on wolves?”
“That’s the only way they travel.”
Not true, I start to say, but think otherwise. I’ve been to almost every corner of Unigaea. There are things people can only learn from experience, including how difficult it is to battle the Tagvornin warriors who ride jet-black Shire horses. Still, most people – especially an NPC from the southwest corner of the continent – wouldn’t know about this.
“What’s your name?” the younger nurse asks. She glances down at her notebook. “For my records.”
“Oric … Rune,” she says as she finishes scribbling my name.
“Good, Oric,” says the other nurse. “We’re going to put some medicine in the wound and get you stitched up. I want you to be careful with this arm.”
“For how long?”
“A week.”
I smirk at her.
“I’m serious.”
“Patch me up as well as you can,” I finally say, “I’m in a line of work that keeps me pretty active.”
They exchange glances.
> “Yes, I’m a Player Killer, I get it. But it’s not what you think,” I tell them, suddenly feeling candid. “I do what I do for a reason, and I don’t go after locals. No way, no how.”
“And that reason?” the older nurse asks.
“Revenge.”
She considers this for a moment. “Sometimes revenge doesn’t turn out the way you anticipate it will. I’ve seen a lot of people come to this hospital after seeking revenge. Some dead, some half alive. The wound on your arm – is this because of revenge?”
“This?” I glance down at the deep gash. It’s purple now, the inner edges pink. “No,” I finally say, “this was an accident.”
Chapter Ten: Wolf’s Swimming Lesson
“Pesata seal leather, huh?” the armor dealer asks.
We’re on the third level of the city, known for its vast market of armor, weapons, and rare items. I chose the gnome because he was the first seller I spotted who didn’t immediately cast his eyes away when he saw me. Behind him, his wife busies herself taking epaulets from a shipping crate. He wears the traditional gnome hat, the obligatory beard, and currently sports a pair of pants held up by suspenders. His wife is hatless, in a long-sleeve dress, and wears a pair of thick leather boots.
“Yep, stretched over Solidus steel,” I add as he examines the armor I’m hoping to hawk. “I don’t really want to get rid of it, but I need something that will protect my upper arms. So what do you think? How about a trade?”
He looks from my face to my recently wrapped wound. I stand before the weapon dealer in my sleeveless undershirt, which I wear just to prevent chafing. I’m sure I don’t smell great, but I can get a bath later, once I’ve collected Czech’s treasure.
“And how much lira do you have?” he finally asks.
“Just over a thousand,” I lie. No sense in giving everything away.
“I’ll tell you what, I’ll take the armor, and trade you … Chantrea?”
“Yes, Arun?” his wife asks.
“Take a look at this.”
His wife steps forward and starts examining my chest piece. She turns it upside down, cringes a little at the smell, but nods in satisfaction at the durability. Chantrea says something under her voice and he nods.
“Good, we’ve got just the thing, and you can keep your lira.”
“You sure?”
He nods. “The leather is shot on this armor, but Solidus steel fetches a fortune. It’ll just take a little work to get it.”
“This is it, Arun,” his wife says once she has returned.
“Are you sure?” he asks, examining the armor. “I thought it was the one with the yellow buckle across the front.”
She shakes her head. “This is what he sold us.”
“Right!” He grins at me like a seasoned salesman. “This, my friend, is a chest plate made of Stater Sand Iron.”
“Sleeves,” I remind him.
“Yes, it has those, short chainmail ones that function as an attachment. Where are they? Here they are.” He produces chainmail sleeves attached to a pair of epaulets, each fashioned into a wolf’s head. He connects them to the main armor piece, shakes it out to make sure they’re well affixed, and hands it to me.
As soon as I touch the armor, its stats appear. There are other stats, which I can check on my dashboard, but the barebones usually do for armor.
Armor: Stater Sand Iron Chest Plate with Wolf Epaulets
Grade: C
Weight: medium light
Def: -1
Special: SPEED +2
It’ll have to do, and I really don’t lose too many defense points with it.
“Deal,” I tell him.
He claps his hands together. “Good. Anything else?”
“Yes, who in here will be the easiest to buy some healing potions from? I’d like to not have to search around and haggle for the next hour.”
He looks to his wife, grins, and turns his grinning, bearded face back to me.
“We are a one-stop shop,” Arun says under his breath, “but you didn’t hear that from me. You said you had a thousand lira, correct?”
“Not all for healing potions,” I tell him. “I can make my own; I’m just in a bit of a hurry.”
“As we all are,” he assures me. “How about I sell you a case of six for 400 lira?”
I do the math in my head. It’s steep by a hundred lira, but it’ll get me from point A to point B and I won’t have to leave Wolf waiting any longer.
“Done,” I tell him.
“And your thigh armor, it’s Pesata leather as well, isn’t it?”
“It is, but I’m keeping these.”
“Keeping the Sea Dragon leather boots too?”
“Definitely.” I smile down at my black boots. “These are my lucky boots.”
“Fine, fine.”
“Be sure to come back and visit us,” his wife calls to me after I’ve turned away.
(^_^)
One thing I did before I died in my last incarnation was stow away a pair of Sea Dragon leather boots. They don’t add anything to my attributes, but they’re durable as hell, they dry quickly, and from what I’ve experienced and seen from others, once a player gets a pair of these, they usually hold onto them in any way they can.
I admire my boots as I take the stone stairs down to the dock. Above us, seagulls soar and squawk as a few fight over bits of food. I’m reminded of the seagull I fried up earlier, which sits a little heavier in my stomach than I’d like.
A guy a few heads taller than me steps out from behind a statue of a Hashmonean mermaid and blocks me from passing.
“A Player Killer,” he growls. “Lost my brother to one of youse.”
“Do you have any other brothers?” I ask him calmly. The breeze picks up, rustling my long brown hair. Once it stops, I smile at the man and ask, “Well?”
The NPC, a clean-shaven fellow with muscles stacked on muscles, nods.
“Glad to hear it.”
He licks his teeth, and spits a small sliver of meat onto the front of my new armor. Everyone around us bristles. The crowd starts to part, and I know the city guards will follow sooner than later if we starting going at it.
As much as it pains me to do so, I step around him and move on.
“What kind of bloody broken sword is that?” He laughs and a few of his mates, much smaller bruisers, join in.
“It’s not bloody yet,” I say under my breath.
He continues following me through the crowd, laying into me with taunts about everyone from my mother to “the queer way” that I walk. Behind him, a few of his fuckboys keep a close audience, but only close enough that they can laugh at his gibes.
They’ll scatter if I so much as turn back and give them a dirty look.
We reach my platform and I whistle. Wolf approaches at full snarl, his blue-green eyes trained on the men behind me, his ears flat against his head. By the time I turn around, they’ve all headed back the other way, all except the guy who lost his brother to a Player Killer.
“Well?” I ask him. “Ready to end this here or can I move on?”
He curses, backs away, and disappears as soon as he can into the crowd gathered at the far end of the dock.
“One more raft trip,” I tell the big Tagvornin beast.
Wolf drops his tail between his legs.
“Don’t be a scaredy cat. Now get up there!”
He walks along the dock, his tail still tucked between his legs, and waits until I bring the raft as close I humanly can before hopping on. Once he’s in the middle, he lies down with his head between his two front legs, pants for a moment, looks out at the water, and re-buries his head.
“I thought you’re supposed to be a big bad wolf,” I tell him as we push off.
He makes a whining sound.
“Like I said, last trip. Okay?”
(^_^)
The wind is not in our favor this time, and it’s a lot harder to get us moving at a good pace. As I steer the raft, I think back to what
the nurses were talking about in the hospital.
If Tagvornins are moving south, it’ll spell trouble for anyone they encounter. Not everyone from the city of Tagvornin is bad, and the wolves they breed are something else, but many of the inhabitants are known for their thirst for war.
Not that the biggest city in the south, Solidus, is any different. The enlightened authorities in Solidus pretend they are above combat, but their intellectualism has spawned other types of war games, from psychological warfare to preemptive strikes.
I pull back hard on the oar, jerking the raft to the right. Wolf yelps and I laugh. “Sorry, had to do it. I won’t do it again.”
He gives me a look that tells me he’s not amused.
I’m pretty much silent for the next hour as we sail along the cape of Unigaea, and Wolf is too. We see the occasional fishing vessel. One in particular has just caught a swordfish nearly as long as I am tall. The two fishermen use a crank to wheel the swordfish in, which still puts up a pretty big fight.
To pass the time, I mentally go over the plans for the rest of the day. Get the loot, get to Solidus to buy some armor, and continue to level up my avatar. All in all, a good day. Maybe I’ll learn more about the sky turning crimson, but that’s neither here nor there.
I know where the Drachma Killers are, and it’ll be a while before I’m strong enough to pay their city a visit and avenge my village.
Thinking of revenge brings back memories of the Drachma Killers swarming into Ducat, setting the homes ablaze, killing women and children, stripping the men of their skin, coming after everyone, everything, all while I …
I take a deep breath in. I was a coward and I died a coward’s death.
I knew they would torture me once they found me holed up in my home with a table pressed against the door. So I did what I had to do.
The water near us stirs and I glance to it.
“Shit!”
The raft overturns as a giant, scale-covered tail whips at the water. I crash through the waves and catch sight of something enormous moving past me.
I instinctively go for my sword, ignoring the sting from the cold salt water.
Wolf!
I surface, take a deep breath, spit out some of the water, and glance right to see Wolf’s feet splashing against the surface.
The Last Warrior of Unigaea Box Set: A Fantasy LitRPG Adventure Page 7
