How to Be an Adventurer- World of Gimmok

by Damien Hanson

I can offer you—wait, what? Just like that?

  Yeah. It sounds good. What were you about to offer me anyways? I mean, it won’t change my mind either way, but I am a bit curious.

  I, uh, well, I am an item of power and can give you the ability to seek out or sense these extraplanar entities within a local distance. But, for us to be partners, I ask that you accept my mission and promise that, together, we destroy these beings so as to rid the planet of their infestation. I will strengthen your constitution and fortitude, and make you ever more resilient, while helping to guide your hand to greater accuracy and more vital strikes.

  Okay. Nice. Where are you? Can I go get you now?

  Yes, in the next room, the living quarters of this light tower. I am in a secret slot within the floor, by the entrance to this very building. Retrieve me!

  ***

  “So, guys, I think it’s time we got up and about. We can get out of here and be back to town before sunset,” Tracy noted as he packed his things and readied himself for further questing.

  “Yeah, I suppose it is about that time, guys. But, man, if I wasn’t getting close to something there.” Yenrab shook his head, giving a longing look at the fleeing concepts about him.

  “What were you working on, Yenrab?” Carric asked, both for his notes and for himself.

  “I was thinking about how eventful life has suddenly become in the space of just some months, and how I bet that it works that way for everyone,” the half-human barbarian said, the ideas flashing anew before his eyes. “Your life is just trucking along in some boring, almost silent, gear and the path ahead is just, you know, well paved and normal. No big bumps, but nothing special along the sides either. And then, suddenly, there’s a steep decline and a sharp curve and there you are hanging on to your pants with one hand because you lost your favorite belt and buckle while, with the other, you are clenching the steering apparatus, sweating and screaming because, onions and garlic, you’re suddenly awake and alive and you’re both cursing and having the time of your life, and well, when it’s all done you look back and think, ya know, I would love to do that all over again.”

  “What’s a truck?” asked Wex, packing gear into his ruck.

  “And what’s a gear?” asked Bern, doing the same.

  “Why, they are gnomish things from the technomancy,” Yenrab explained. “You feed a thing some black lumps, and it burps and belches and goes forward. Well, except when it explodes.”

  “Hey, guys, where’s Tracy?” Carric asked.

  “That’s fantastic!” Jenn Eric said, his voice laced with enthusiasm.

  “Hey, guys, where’s Tracy?” Carric asked again.

  “Yeah, I always thought I’d go there someday and see one of them. And maybe fight it,” smiled Yenrab.

  “HEY, GUYS, WHERE’S TRACY?!” Carric bellowed, an inquisition-made man as he exploded over being ignored and unheard.

  “Jeez, Carric, inside voice,” said Svein, packed and ready to go.

  Wex held up a finger and shook it at him.

  “Why are bards always so loud?”

  “And why are cleric-thieves so rude?” retorted Carric, doing his best to speak up.

  “Hey, everyone, let’s focus here. Where’s Tracy?” Yenrab asked in a worried voice. “He was here just a second ago!”

  ***

  Tracy had, in his usual way, let everyone else know that it was time to go and then, in fact, gone. It never crossed his mind that his absence might set off some alarm among the others since he had already told them what time it was and what needed to be done. And, besides, he had a mission. Or a date. A mission date? A date mission? He’d suss it all out later with his new friend.

  The man had gotten up and just walked out from the room as Yenrab talked about something or other. His steps were quiet and respectful as he padded over the undead remains and the broken door, careful of splinters since they can ruin a good pair of boots if they’re hard enough.

  He looked about the room from which the undead had come. The place looked like it had once been living quarters. But now it was just a shameful mess. Rot, rot, rot, though the one desk looked serviceable if one were in emergency need of a quick study.

  Alright, well, Mr. Sword said he was by the door and so, he thought, that’s a good place to go.

  He glanced back to see if he was out of the sight of the others. He was. Something made him feel a little bit guilty. He burped, reliving the piece of venison jerky he had stolen from Wex’s pack. Ah, yes, that. Well, he could settle that with him later.

  And there was something else nagging at him. Some sweet odor beckoned from the outside, wafting in through windows whose shutters had long ago fallen to storm and rot. It smelled a bit evil. Wex would probably know since he was a wood elf, one of those elves that did not subscribe to the elven nations of the West and instead clung to tribal existence in both of the Reaches.

  Ah, well, nothing to do about it now. Fineblade was looking for him.

  Fiendbleed.

  “Oh, hey, so I’m here.”

  Inside voice! Aren’t you worried about your companions knowing what you are up to?

  The thought surprised the half-elf, whose parents had always shown pride in what an honest and intelligent person they had raised.

  Not really. Should I be? I mean, you are a sword that hates and slays demons, right? No lies? You swear it?

  Yes! I swear to you, Tracy Riley, that I am honest in our agreed coupling and that, together, we can rid this world of evil! But, your companions, perhaps they would not like an intelligent blade? We can, and sometimes do, possess the very people who wield us . . .

  Tracy paused a bit, with hesitation that was not like him.

  Will you attempt to do such a thing?

  The sword sounded offended.

  No. Never! Not to a race native to this world and not to one as blessed as yourself, blessed one of the God Coraellon. Your myriad of selves is a great honor with which to be partnered.

  Right. Okay. Well, I’m not going to tell them unless they ask. But I’m not going to lie about it either.

  Tracy poked about with his quarterstaff, pushing against the various tiles of the room. He felt one give.

  Warm, hot, or really handsome?

  The sword, attuning to his partner even now as they shared their mental bond, was confused for just a moment before it came to understand.

  Super handsome. I am just underneath. Once you hold my hilt our contract shall be signed, and we will be one. I will be a part of you, one that you can call to hand or send away as necessary, though, really, I will, forever on, always be a part of you. I am a being of honor, Tracy Riley. This partnership will be a long one, and so, now, I give you my consent to back away and leave me if you wish. But, if not, let us become the champions this world needs.

  Tracy smiled, warm with trust.

  I’m in.

  And, indeed, he was, for he had removed the tile and revealed the blade, which glowed brightly in his presence. He grabbed the hilt without a moment’s pause.

  You complete me, the blade confided.

  I know.

  Chapter 37: A Berry Bad Time

  The rest of the party assembled in haste as they prepared, in a bit of panic, to find their lost comrade. It was surprising to all of them how even the newcomers, Svein and Wex, seemed concerned and moved with haste. Tracy was a fond and dear little fellow, even to them.

  Getting into battle position, with weapons in hand, Yenrab rushed into the room first, well ready to tear off some heads. From there followed Svein, his chainmail creaking and clanging as it swayed with his combat jog, and then Bern, his dual blades extended, and Wex, his short sword drawn, and his shield at his side, both jogging with haste. From the rear came the bards, Carric first, with a face drawn over in concern, and Jenn Eric second, looking a bit annoyed.

  And there was Tracy, holding a glowing sword. He looked up at them and waved. The sword’s glow cut out and faded.

  “Woah,” said Y
enrab.

  “That looks like some new destiny stuff right there,” Carric chimed in with a snicker.

  Bern swore. Then swore again.

  “Son of a dirty half-ogre’s snot-ridden double-edged septum!”

  Svein sighed. Then, before any of them could reprimand the sorcerer for being so irresponsible and Tracy-like, they noticed something. Something about this room. As the adrenaline from the rush dropped and wavered, they were struck by an aroma. A sweet aroma. One that beckoned and enticed. A smell that, as they breathed it in, began to take over.

  It hit Yenrab first. Whether it was his awesome strength, constitution, or simply his massive set of lungs, it had a powerful effect over him. He shuddered and his mouth began to wonder. “Breakfast,” he gasped, his tongue now lolling out of his mouth.

  “Hello!” Tracy waved, his voice down-to-earth and carefree. Yenrab ignored the man, running passed him at an interested jog.

  “Is it just me or is Yenrab a little bit weird?” the Freemeetian asked the rest of the party.

  The barbarian ran to one of the two doors leading out of this place and threw it open. Snorting loudly, he bellowed out in ecstasy.

  “Berries!” the large man spat without sanity. He had spied a thick covering of berry-laden ivy growing up against the wall thereout, and he rushed to it with determination.

  Wex, meanwhile, stopped in his tracks and swore. Pale fear conflicted with his naturally tan skin.

  “No. No, no, no, no, NO!” he screamed. “Plug your noses. Get back. Now!”

  Both of the bards clattered passed him, their many pouches and slung items clacking and clattering as they did so. “Berries!” an enthralled Carric said with enthusiasm, Jenn Eric cooing in pleasure and agreement.

  “Gods!” Jenn Eric Enpeasea muttered aloud, showing sweet and dreamy wonder upon his face. He picked up his jog to a sprint once out of the door. Carric followed behind him, murmuring something indistinct in joyful and childish tones.

  “NO! Stop! Fight it!” the cleric of Mask pleaded. “This isn’t good. This isn’t good at all.”

  “I’m here, Wex. What’s going on?” Bern asked, his voice tainted with worry.

  Svein stopped. Upon his face an epic battle of wills and struggle for control raged in full display.

  “The internum carne vescuntur baca. It draws sentients to it with its aroma, and people eat its berries. Its seeds. The body can fight it if just a few are ingested. But too many, which really isn’t many at all, and their poison will overwhelm the ingester and use the body as a field from which to sprout anew. This is bad. Really bad,” Wex noted with a frightened face.

  “So, what do we do?” asked Bern.

  “Well, quick, right now, bind Svein. He needs it,” Wex ordered. “Tracy, are you okay? No problems? No compulsions.”

  “Yeah, I’m good,” Tracy answered, admiring his sword. “But I’m really interested in seeing what Yenrab, Carric, and Jenn Eric are up to.”

  “NO! Tracy, no!” Wex said with a stern and commanding voice. “I’m an elf, and I am immune to the charm of these vines. But, with your half-human heritage, I’m afraid you might not be.”

  “Okay,” said Tracy as he walked through the door to the outside, clearly uninterested in anything the cleric has to say at this time.

  “Gods alive! Bern . . .”

  “Got it, Mr. Bossman,” the assassin interrupted. “He’s tied harder than a sailor on leave.”

  “Hahahaha! You, man, for a human, you are amazing,” Wex said, losing himself in the moment.

  “For a wood elf, you are surprisingly soft-skinned,” noted Bern, clearly enjoying himself.

  “It is not like I have never heard that one before,” said Wex with a grin, forgetting himself and the situation for a brief moment. They got along very well, the two of them.

  Tracy’s head poked back in from the doorway.

  “Hey, guys, so Yenrab and the bards are eating, like, a ton of berries. They’re also just smearing them all over their faces. It looks amazing,” Tracy Riley told them in a childish and excited staccato. “Are you gonna come join us or what?”

  “Oh, no. Okay, Bern, how are you feeling? As a human, I expect you are struggling hard with this. The aroma of the internum carne vescuntur baca drives most races to culinary insanity. Shall I bind you?”

  “No, bro. I’m good. Not really a fan of fruit. Or vegetables for that matter,” Bern noted nonchalantly. “And, honestly, I’m still angry about my braai!”

  “You, uh, really? I have never met a non-elf that can resist this!” Wex said in a surprised voice. “Right, well, then, come with me. We need to bind our friends, and then I need to visit these surroundings, quickly, and hope that there is a suitable antitoxin available.”

  The duo headed outside as fast as their legs could carry them. The first thing they saw was Tracy mashing berries onto his face and clothing. His new sword was nowhere in sight.

  “It’s a heck of a party out here, guys. I don’t know what got into them, but, man, they know how to have fun,” the Freemeetian said with enthusiasm.

  “He’s an elf, like you?” Bern questioned.

  “He’s a half-elf. And not like me. He’s a Freemeetian from Elfsmeet. And, well, they’re different there. Free spirits, you know?”

  “Yeah, the prozzies and kissies back in the Nemedian empire always talked about the free spirits guys would buy them. If I ever become king, everyone will get a free spirit!” Bern said in absolute confidence.

  Wex groaned, wondering if the man was making a play on words or otherwise just simply didn’t understand.

  “Alright, Tracy, this is not a party. And we need your help. Each of us needs to pull them off of the vines and fast. Every minute spent gorging on berries is a, I don’t know, let’s say a point less in their poison save. We need to tear them down and off.”

  “Really? We’re all certainly taking our time saving them then,” Tracy responded as he began to remove his clothing. “It’s alright. This sounds fun. We’ll wrestle them!”

  “Tracy, what . . . you know what, man, do your thing. At least, you’re a guy today, thank the gods,” Wex said as he moved into what could be called a rush, grab, and drop position.

  Bern mirrored him, nodding. Tracy, now bereft of clothing, splatted a few more berries on his exposed skin, and did the same.

  The gods-awful Freemeetians. What is wrong with those people? Wex thought as he raised his hand, in wood-elf fashion, and counted down with his fingers so as not to startle their prey.

  Five fingers—at the ready.

  Four—a review of each individual plan.

  Three—a review of the conclusive plan after tackle.

  Two—crap, do these guys know what I’m doing?

  One—well, now or never.

  Go!

  The three of them all moved on mark, very professionally and smoothly despite what inside knowledge of their characteristics and mannerisms might lead one to expect. If the situation were viewed in slow motion, with some sort of magical lens, they could see, at the last instant, Carric and Yenrab reacting defensively to the charge, while Jenn Eric, perhaps comedically, got his face plowed hard into the stone wall by a wildly grinning naked sorcerer covered in juice.

  It might be time to discuss the flaw in their strategy. As wood elves go, physically, most of them are quite slender in build. Wex was not unusual for his race. He had a body similar to that of a human boy, without fat, but with little muscle. He was quite agile and dexterous but physically unimposing. When he landed upon Yenrab, it was like casting a pebble to move a rock. He exhaled audibly and slid off of the behemoth with a moan.

  Unlike Wex, Bern was well fit and quite stout. Humans often seemed to have that physical edge, a sort of manic fitness that, considering the even more miniscule life span of orcs and their massive prowess, may well be part of living life fast and hard. He slammed and grabbed Carric as gently as he could, well strong-arming the panicked and charmed bard into a submissive
position before quickly and easily binding him. Then, as Wex gurgled loudly, Bern vaulted to his feet.

  “Berries! More berries!” Carric pleaded zombie like.

  “Carric, you’re my brother. I do this out of love.”

  Despite the addiction, the word brought him to a pause. Suddenly, tears began to stream out of his face as he fought against the maddening compulsion within him. Brother. Friend.

  Bam. The half-orc choke-slammed Wex against the building.

  “You are am eat this. Is good are for you!” Obviously intoxicated with charm and poison, Yenrab was still powerful and mighty. With his other hand, the barbarian plucked a bunch of berries. New ones rose and matured from where the previous ones had been plucked.

  Outsider! screamed Fiendbleed, in a sudden surge of anger and understanding, demanding justice.

  “Yenrab?” asked Tracy out loud, a bit confused. The others glanced at him, assuming his comment was addressed to their half-mad friend and companion.

  The vine. Wielded by your hand, as I attune to your mind, I can better and better detect such foreign presences. I can now feel it strongly. This plant is not native to this world!

  Tracy was a bit surprised.

  Does this mean I’m going to be running around weeding this planet?

  Fiendbleed was dramatic and angry in its response.

  This is our destiny. Burn it! Destroy the vine!

  Tracy shrugged, though his generally placid face looked a little annoyed, and he put his arms out, palms up, away from his body. He chanted words of magic and tiny flames leaped out from his digits, each racing down to form small fires in each of his hands. Then he began to wave his hands over the vines, torching them. For fun, he imagined that they screamed at him as he did so. No, Tracy, no, they shouted. We are too young to be destroyed by someone so devastatingly handsome.

  The thought made him smirk. Fiendbleed laughed as well.

  ***

  Yenrab smashed berries into Wex’s mask.

  “Is am good! You is the eat it!”

  The wood elf threw his head back and forth in wild desperation, to and fro, doing anything to prevent the juice from dripping into his mouth. His kind were well-resistant to charm. But, as a poison, who knew what the liquid itself would do to him.