by Tom Hansen
He breathed, a slow inhale and fast exhale. His face relaxed. She knew he was worried, but he managed to soften his frustration and annoyance.
He pointed to the picture. “Also, if my daughter was in the same situation as you are right now, I wouldn’t want her freaking out. None of us are going home until we figure out what happened and have a plan to fix it. We are expected on level five in twenty minutes to meet Art and explain everything we know. I expect you there, Adrianna.”
She swallowed. Her heart skipping a beat for the second time this evening. It sent knife-like shivers down her spine. “Arthur—Geralt is coming here?” She felt extremely underdressed to meet the President of Epoch International. Why had she changed before the end of her shift? This whole thing happened because she stepped away from her computer.
Sven smirked and nodded, spinning the picture back around and picking up the headset. “Now, I’m going to call my wife and let her know I won’t be available this weekend; then talk to my daughter and apologize for not being there. Do you have anyone you need to call?”
Adrianna remembered she had been trying to go out and party with her friends just a few minutes ago. Her phone was still sitting on her desk where she had left it, probably still buzzing from her squad. The weekend partying with her friends felt petty and trivial.
“No. I—I think I’ll get changed and be back in ten.”
Sven smiled and nodded and signaled for her to leave, then turned to his phone and began to dial.
Chapter 01
He knew something was wrong the moment he logged in. There was another presence, a secondary interface that overrode his connection.
He tried to open his mouth in warning, but the words had already become void as the whiteness of the login procedure took over.
The first thing to go was his name, then his memories.
He began to panic. How could he explain what was wrong if he couldn’t remember his name?
Someone yelled at him, a woman? He should have recognized her voice, but he couldn’t understand what she was saying. Was it a memory? Was it real? What is reality but what we experience? Is it truly an illusion as the philosophers say?
He struggled to remember his past, but each time he picked up a memory, the secondary interface snatched it away one by one. As fast as he could grasp them, it removed them.
He was empty, open, violated. Beyond trauma or feeling.
He was blank, having lost everything that made him unique.
Part of him wanted to resist, but resist against what? The warm enveloping whiteness? What was there to be afraid of? He has no history, no past, and future. He just is.
What was a slate and how could it be blank?
He is nothing and everything. Matter and anti-matter. Word and void.
Memories come back.
They flood his mind; invasive, traumatic.
Life and death. Despair and joy. Love and destruction
They pained him. How can something so familiar feel so foreign?
If he was nothing, then why would these memories be wrong?
But they were wrong. They were forced. They were implanted, invasive, and immediate.
The secondary presence was there, teaching him, informing him. Then it receded, its job done.
There was a third presence. A stowaway.
White became black, and he opened his eyes.
As tensions continue to mount around Eloria, a new threat has begun to arise in the center of Paynim.
Flanked by the sharp Tau’moor Mountain range to the north, a murky swamp to the south, and oceans to the east and west, the Eternal Plains is in a strategic spot in the middle of the Paynim continent. For hundreds of years, the passive Tau’raj lived in peace until the Nagos tried to take the land by force.
Driven almost to the point of extinction, the Tau’raj have abandoned their nomadic lifestyle and banded together as one central tribe in order to repel the invaders that threaten their very existence.
Children, the elderly, and the infirm are sequestered in a secret location known as Sunset Cove, on the western edge of the Plains, tucked under a cliff and surrounded by the foothills of the Tau’moor Mountains. Those who live here know nothing but safety in the Cove, while the war for the survival of their race rages on outside their hidden borders.
But the solstice winds bring change, and an acrid smell is in the air as you hoe the ground and plant more beets for the fall.
This is where your story begins.
Matuk Scarhoof
Age: 40 Gender: Male
Race: Tau’raj Class: Shaman
Level: 001 XP: 0/200
Health: 100 Mana: 100 Stamina: 100
Talents: None
Items: Shovel
Matuk Scarhoof wrinkled his nose at the smoky smell wafting from the south. It reminded him of a campfire, warm and inviting. He could almost hear the pops and cracks of the wood as the tendrils of flame lapped gently at the driftwood bonfire.
Shouts in the distance told him of the younger bulls at play, probably chasing one of the little cows around. Peals of laughter pierced the air as she narrowly escaped a game of tag.
Preparations for tonight’s bonfire, celebrating the Summer Solstice, were well-underway in their small village. He looked forward to conferring with the Spiritmother.
He jammed his shovel into the hand-plowed earth and took a long drink from the waterskin tied to his leathers. The virulent afternoon sun beat down on his dark hide, forcing him to take more breaks than usual.
With every passing summer, the toil in the fields made the ache in his back worsen. He straightened up, rolling his broad shoulders, trying to get the kinks out.
He splashed a handful of water in his face. It was cool and soothing in the oppressive heat. Lingering drops clung to his snout before evaporating. He took one last draw from his waterskin, enjoying the water as it made its way to his stomach.
The scar on his right leg itched, as it always did when something was on the back of his mind. A distant memory tried to surface, a warning, telling him he was missing something.
He looked back over the field, scrutinizing the darkened, earthy soil. Each furrow tilled by his steady hand. No, he hadn’t planted anything wrong. Perhaps he was simply tired.
The smells of the campfire grew stronger and there was yelling in the distance, but it washed over him as he breathed in.
The air was now acrid and it burned his lungs. He coughed to expel the vile smell.
The bonfire wasn’t being lit until midnight, so why was he smelling smoke?
The screams he had thought to be Tau’ri at play took on a sinister edge. Shivers ran through his shoulders despite the heat of the sun.
He turned back towards the village, realizing the warning hadn’t been a figment of his imagination. There really was a fire.
The village barn was bathed in orange rivulets of flame. Black billowing smoke surged into the air, while dozens of pigs, chickens, and goats ran around, bleating and snorting.
A dozen Tau’raj chased after their animals.
Quest Available! First Alert:
The barn in Sunset Cove is on fire! Seek the Eldermother to find out how you can help contain the blaze!
He dropped the shovel and loped down the field, tromping the freshly tilled ground he’d so meticulously dug over the last four hours.
His lame leg screamed as his hooves dug through the dirt. Nothing else mattered. He had to help his tribe.
Eldermother stood at the crossroads, pointing and barking orders to the Tau’ri.
“Hekli, I have baskets stacked inside my hut, bring those to capture the chickens! Telutci, go help her!”
Her yellow flowing robes puffed from the breeze, mimicking the frenzy of the flames.
She took a step back, shielding her face from the heat with her hands. The bells dangling on the tips of her horns inaudible over the roar of the flames.
“Yanasi Scarhoof,” the exasperated old cow waved him ove
r as he turned into town. She pointed a stubby arm behind her. “There are buckets in the shed behind my house!”
He nodded once, pivoting on his good leg toward the back of her hut. His muscles burned with the effort.
“Ituha, Minya, Sihu!” The old cow pointed at three Tau’ri gawking from across the road. “Follow Scarhoof and help him organize the buckets!”
A euphoric sensation warmed his hooves, spreading through his legs and into his torso. The feeling startled him, as something he’d never before experienced, yet felt rather normal.
Beneath his health, stamina, and mana bars, popped up a new one: XP. A boon given by the Spiritmother to her children who have been called up to be an adventurer.
For the first time in his life, Scarhoof got experience. The amount of experience on his bar barely registered, but it was there. He stared at the bar for a moment, not able to form thoughts. Why him? Why now? But he didn’t have time to dwell on that, as a message popped up, reminding him of the danger of the fire.
Quest Update! First Alert:
Organize a bucket brigade to quench the blaze! (Gained 20 XP)
Arriving at the back of Eldermother’s hut, Scarhoof wrenched open the shed door, cracking the wood and throwing splinters in every direction. He grabbed the first six buckets stacked in the corner and addressed the Tau’ri. “Grab the rest and head to the watering hole!”
He didn’t have time to organize them, they would figure it out and be behind him shortly.
When he arrived back at the crossroads, Nitene was there.
He nearly tripped at the unexpected appearance of their village’s newest member.
Nitene Softfeather stood talking to Eldermother, an exasperated look on her face. Her long tan tail jerked back and forth in agitated movements.
With most of the village composed of the infirm, elderly, or very young, Nitene was an enigma. She was middle-aged, like Scarhoof, but not in the army. All able-bodied Tau’raj were in the army.
He ground to a halt in front of her, his sudden stop throwing up sand.
The heat from the blaze was intense, scalding his face and exposed arms. He couldn't risk anyone else being this close to the barn or getting harmed. It was his duty, his job.
“Softfeather.” He held the buckets at her. “Can you take the Tau’ri to the water and begin filling? I will douse the fire.”
She looked like he had just asked her to step into a latrine. She eyed him up and down.
Beads of sweat rolled down his snout and he wondered if it was from the flames or her glare. Perhaps she didn't hear him?
“Nitene,” he presented the buckets again. “I’ll toss the water on, but I need you to help get it from the pond.”
A wry smile crossed her lips and she shook her head. “While I appreciate the desire to keep me from harm, I am better suited being this close to the blaze. While you,” she leaned back, taking in his full broad form, “seem more suited for fetching.”
He eyed her for a moment, hot breath snorting out of his nostrils in a steamy miasma. Her unwavering gaze and cocky half-smile took only a moment before he broke. He didn’t have time to argue with her if the blaze was to be contained.
“Follow me, Tau’ri!” Scarhoof’s commanding baritone rang out over the crossroads.
She turned, drawing her hands together and began to chant.
He hesitated for a moment. She was a spell caster?
The fire.
He whirled on the collection of Tau’ri crowding around him, indicating with his outstretched palm. “Form a line from this spot to the watering hole. Alternate large and small.”
“Move!” He clapped his hands to jolt them into action. The half dozen Tau’ri fell into line.
He and the largest Tau’ri ended the line. He stepped into the murky depths of the town pond, thirty meters behind the barn. The water came up past his knees, helping to drain some of the heat from his sore legs.
He plunged the first bucket into the water, then held it out .
“Pass it!” He admonished.
“Yes, Sir!”
As one of three town guards, he was used to being called Sir, though it never sat right with him. It was not lost on him that he had been a few years older than this Tau’ri when he was first called to service.
Younger and younger every year.
He dunked two more buckets into the pond, filling them halfway to ensure the youngest of the Tau’ri could continue to be of assistance.
“Keep going, Tau’ri. Nice and easy!”
In short order, the bucket brigade delivered water to the barn, passing the half-filled pails to Nitene Softfeather, who now wielded a shimmering bubble around her. She took each bucket in turn, running practically into the fire to dispense it, and back out to give the bucket to the next Tau’ri, who ran them back to Scarhoof.
Eldermother stood some ways away, waving her arms to contain the blaze in pockets of air, preventing it from jumping to the fields.
He tried not to stare, but it was fascinating to watch the two cows work, particularly Nitene.
He hadn’t known her long; she appeared in Sunset Cove about three months ago. One day the hut across from Eldermother’s home was abandoned, the next day there was a new occupant. Eldermother had introduced her at the next bonfire, but that had been the extent of the introductions.
Life had seemed a little brighter since she showed up.
Still, she had managed to get into the Cove while he was on watch and he hadn’t figured out how she’d done it. Her bypass still grated on his mind.
Before long, the fire had been put out, and Nitene dropped whatever spell she had put in place to protect herself from the heat. Despite dancing in and out of the burning building, she didn’t have a whiff of smoke or soot on her face or hooves.
She sauntered over to him. “You did an admirable job there, Scarhoof.” She gave a curt nod. The silver ring in her ear matched the larger one in her nostrils.
Her piercing black eyes twinkled as she shot him a smile, then turned to collect the Tau’ri. “Come now, Tau’ri, we need to find those animals that have scattered to the wind.”
He found himself admiring her backside; her strong haunches, thick legs, and stout tail swishing back and forth. She was one fine heifer.
She turned again, facing Scarhoof, who quickly looked up from her swishing tail. If she had noticed him admiring her backside, she didn’t seem to care.
“Since you were such a help with the barn, perhaps you would be a dear and find a way to mend the fence and help the Tau’ri round up these animals?”
Scarhoof’s thick tongue lolled in his mouth as he struggled to find the words. Had his brain short-circuited?
Quest Update! First Alert:
Get all the animals back to the pen and find a way to fix the gate. (Gained 20 XP!)
Getting his thoughts in order, he pursed his lips and gave her a stout nod. “Of course, Nitene.”
She studied him for a moment before touching his shoulder. “Thank you.” She turned to shoo a couple of the smaller Tau’ri away from the smoldering wreckage.
He noticed Eldermother sitting under the awning of her hut, a knowing grin on her face while she rocked back and forth.
Scarhoof turned, his heart fluttering in his chest.
Chapter 02
He ignored the old cow and turned his attention to the burned-down barn. While the flames were now gone, the distinct crack and pop of smoldering embers told him that there was still an immense amount of heat contained in the wreckage.
The ground was wet with ash, forming a gray mess all over the ground. It oozed around his hooves. He growled, searching for a stick to dig the grime out. It would be a pain to clean out and would get everywhere in the village over the next couple days.
That’s when he heard a snort and saw the telltale flash of pink.
He turned and walked around to the back of the barn, following the sound. Sure enough, a lone pig dug in the muck, its little tail swish
ing back and forth. Sizing up the swine, he tried to sneak forward but a spasm from his lame leg sent a jolt of pain through his body. He managed to stay upright but landed heavy hoofed about a handspan shy of the beast, startling it and sending it running with a caustic wail.
The animal ran between his legs. When he tried to reach for it, he slipped and landed face-first in the gray muck.
He tried to stand on the slippery floor but found one of his horns had lodged itself in a wooden post!
Embarrassed, he swore under his breath and yanked hard, tearing the hunk of wood and releasing himself from its prison.
He galloped after the escaped pig, which had run back toward the farmland where Scarhoof had toiled that morning. The breezy air cooled his skin and dried out the muck clinging to him. He brushed off some of it as he ran to the fields.
They were hard to notice—the pig’s prints—but the gray dustings on the wheat stalks were more obvious.
“I’ve got you now, piggie.”
Twenty years tilling these fields in a three-bull rotation had made him intimately familiar with every stalk and furrow.
A rogue pig could wreak havoc on all their hard work.
It was bad enough the barn had burned down. They had lost all the wheat stored in burlap sacks on the hayloft. This field of wheat was going to be vital to the tribe’s survival come winter.
“Here piggy, piggy!” He called out, his normal baritone voice in falsetto hoping to encourage the pig to come to him. He knew it was ridiculous. In his entire time in Sunset Cove, the pigs never showed intelligence or obeyed commands, hence the now broken fence to keep them penned in.
He heard a snort to the right and caught a flash of pink flesh.
Well, look at that! It worked.
He repeated the noise, and the snorting grew closer, the stalks of golden wheat pushing to the side as the pig moved toward him.
To his left, another sound joined in, a scratching, sniffing sound, followed by a feral scream.
Scarhoof turned just as a flash of brown and white came at him. Something clamped down on his upper calf. Pain shot through his leg. He yelled out in surprise and kicked, trying to shake off his attacker.
