Mason didn’t know how long this ‘tutorial’ would take, but ending the conflict at least had the chance of happening first. Who knew how much time Blake had? How much danger he might be in? His brother wasn’t exactly well suited to an apocalypse. He decided to complete the tutorial’s objective of stopping the conflict, the most logical thing to do was pick a side and destroy it. Conflict over. So which one?
First he went back towards the clearing to scout around the edges. He moved slow, and careful, watching for enemies in the gloom of the forest’s canopy. It remained free of enemies, the hot spots apparently just around the clearing itself. He heard a strange sound just ahead, though, and crouched with bow raised until he realized it was running water. He found a small stream running East from the clearing, many mushrooms and different herbs growing along its banks. Some looked familiar, but he didn’t trust his knowledge in this strange new world. The water, though, was still useful. He suspected it was reasonably clean, but wasn’t thirsty enough to risk it. If he could find something to boil it in, that would certainly work…but he’d have to wait and see. For now, he knelt at the side of the water, scooped handfuls of mud, and covered every scrap of exposed skin he could find.
The decision remained. Gnoll, or goblin?
The goblins were the more obvious choice. They were smaller, weaker. But they were also sneakier, worked in groups, and were likely therefore smarter. Mason didn’t much like his chances against either species, but since he had to pick, he decided he’d investigate and likely choose the gnolls. By their behavior in the clearing, they seemed largely like animals, and animals at least Mason knew how to hunt.
Once nearly completely slathered in the dark mud, he crept along the edge of the woods, circling for a good look at the fighting. Not much had changed since he’d run off. Goblins still came and went from their tunnels, attacking gnolls only if and when they outnumbered them at least three to one. For their part, the gnolls seemed mostly unconcerned for their fellows—almost bestial in their attention, emerging from the trees for the occasional ambush of goblins that wandered off in too small numbers. Every several minutes, a player like Mason appeared in the center of the combat, just as Mason had, and almost instantly died.
“Welcome to the tutorial,” Mason muttered as another one screamed and fell. A gnoll leapt on him and started chewing, and Mason looked away. He’d seen enough of the whole spectacle, and every moment in this place only increased his concern for Blake, as well as his hatred of their new robot God. The concern he abandoned because it wasn’t useful. The hatred he kept.
It was time to kill some gnolls.
* * *
The beasts looked human enough, so it didn’t seem ridiculous to think they’d have the same organs, or at least close. But Mason didn’t fancy his chances of piercing their hearts with an arrow. The human heart was well protected behind the ribs, at least from the front. Maybe from behind, he could manage it, or with a power shot…but, no. Better to go for the neck, or the leg. One might kill it quickly, the other at least slow it down enough for more arrows. He figured he’d start with a Cripple—in theory it would give him time to run, or keep shooting. Or so he hoped. Because if it came down to knife work he didn’t much like his chances. These gnolls were powerfully built, with long claws that looked like switchblades. It didn’t seem wise to get too close.
Well, he breathed. Nothing for it.
He’d searched long enough to pick his target—a lone beast at the edge of the forest, watching the clearing much like Mason was. It looked distracted. It was also far from the goblin tunnels and likely feeling safe, no enemies remotely close to its position. Mason steadied his breathing, drew an arrow, and crept a little closer.
When he’d come as close as he dared, and still the creature didn’t turn, he raised his bow and judged the distance. Thirty yards. No wind. He had a great view of the creature’s thigh, and chose. Hopefully Cripple didn’t screw with his aim, though he regretted not testing it first. But no time for doubts. He drew, and loosed.
The power tingled in his fingers as he shot. As he released he knew it was a hit, then watched as the arrow splintered and struck the creature’s leg like a detonated claymore. It howled in pain and surprise, looking left and right and still not seeing its attacker. Mason didn’t waste his good fortune.
He frantically drew and nocked another arrow. Aimed. Then released a Power Shot.
It was more than a tingle like Crippling Strike. A zing of energy coursed through his arms and fingers as the arrow thrummed, speeding toward its target too fast for the bow’s draw. His aim had been slightly off, but still struck the creature’s shoulder as it hunched down and growled. The impact jarred it back, but finally the beast turned and looked straight at Mason. Then it sped towards him in a limping charge.
Mason nocked, and loosed. Nocked, and loosed. The first arrow missed, the second caught the creature’s throat. It gurgled blood and tripped, collapsing to the forest floor before trying and failing to claw its way towards Mason. He watched, and waited, heart pounding with success and excitement, and soon the creature moved no more.
[Killed gnoll scout. Experience awarded.]
“Hell yeah,” Mason breathed and tried to control his raging pulse. He walked to the creature’s corpse and rolled it over. “Now let’s just hope my arrows didn’t break on your thick, ugly hyena bones…” He frowned and managed to only pull two undamaged arrows free, which meant he was already down to ten. “I should start gathering feathers,” he mumbled. “And where the hell am I going to find some damn cedar trees? What else works, ash?”
He stood and turned back to the forest, unhappy with his lost arrows but altogether rather pleased with himself. Then he froze at the sound of movement. He looked up to see another gnoll emerging from the woods, its nose sniffing at the air, yellow eyes locking instantly on Mason. Before he could even curse, it growled, and charged.
* * *
Mason didn’t waste time hating reality. He dropped his bow because he had no time to shoot, and he knew he’d never outrun the thing. He drew the goblin knife from his waist, stabbing as the creature reached him. The blade sunk into its gut just as its claws raked down Mason’s chest.
The beast’s speed and weight bowled Mason over and knocked him senseless. Then it was scrambling on top of him, fangs snapping, held back only by Mason’s dazed will to live. He seized the pommel of the dagger and pushed, the gnoll growling and whining slightly as it tried to claw Mason’s hands. Despite its grisly wounds, it continued to snap at his face with at least four-inch fangs. Mason turned the blade and twisted his knees to try and roll the larger opponent, then gave up and pulled the knife free, ramming it straight into the beast’s eye. Its mouth gaped then slackened, and the creature collapsed on top of him.
[Killed gnoll scout. Experience awarded. You have earned enough experience for level two!]
Mason groaned and pushed the creature off, hissing in pain as he plucked at least three claws from his skin. Blood oozed from the wounds, but they didn’t look deep enough to have pierced any organs. He blinked and felt vaguely light headed, knowing he had to at least try and stop the blood flow before he lost too much strength. But first things were first.
He held his dagger and flattened himself against a tree. He watched, and listened, then only when he was sure he was alone did he cut his shirt into strips and wrap them around his wounds like bandages. He had nothing to clean them, so all he could do was pray they didn’t become infected. He covered his exposed skin with more mud and a little gnoll blood, hoping it helped mask his smell from the other dog-like creatures.
“Now how the hell do I level?” he muttered.
[Accessing player profile.]
The familiar ghostly text floated before Mason’s eyes.
| Mason Nimitz Class: Hunter Strength:6 Dexterity:7 Vitality:6 Intellect:4 Will:6 Presence:2 Luck: 4 Titles: Killer Powers: Power Shot, Crippling Strike |
[New Power Available!]
Another power? Hell yes. He clicked the list as soon as it came up, and as before it looked relatively short. Some of the same choices he could have made at level one remained, which actually pleased him as he might be able to take everything eventually. But there were some new ones, including something called Aspect of the Wolf, which promised to be a speed increase. He nearly took it until his eyes practically bulged from his head at another choice: Regeneration.
However the hell it exactly worked, he desperately needed anything that helped keep him alive. He clicked it, and the profile closed after showing his new power, but he didn’t feel any different. He could only hope that would change relatively soon.
It was time to move. He knew the blood and corpses might attract more attention, so Mason forced himself away from his hiding spot and further into the trees. With a groan of relief he soon found a cluster of brush with very little else around it, and huddled down inside. In theory, he’d be hidden from view.
“Stop the war, it says,” he muttered. “Get to talk to Blake, it says.”
Mason tried not to imagine what sort of similar hell his brother was up against. Blake had many strengths, but surviving in a violence-torn post-apocalyptic wasteland wasn’t one of them. Mason had to hope his brother was alive, and relatively safe. RoboGod wouldn’t have offered the reward if it wasn’t possible, right? Maybe Blake had made friends to protect him. He was good at that. Mason had to assume so, because if his brother was dead, then he had very little reason to go on, and nothing much to lose. He closed his eyes, maybe just imagining it but feeling as if his wounds felt a little better already.
“Hang on, brother,” he whispered. “However bad it is. You can do it. I’m coming.”
Mason didn’t know how long this ‘tutorial’ would take, but ending the conflict at least had the chance of happening first. Who knew how much time Blake had? How much danger he might be in? His brother wasn’t exactly well suited to an apocalypse. He decided to complete the tutorial’s objective of stopping the conflict, the most logical thing to do was pick a side and destroy it. Conflict over. So which one?
First he went back towards the clearing to scout around the edges. He moved slow, and careful, watching for enemies in the gloom of the forest’s canopy. It remained free of enemies, the hot spots apparently just around the clearing itself. He heard a strange sound just ahead, though, and crouched with bow raised until he realized it was running water. He found a small stream running East from the clearing, many mushrooms and different herbs growing along its banks. Some looked familiar, but he didn’t trust his knowledge in this strange new world. The water, though, was still useful. He suspected it was reasonably clean, but wasn’t thirsty enough to risk it. If he could find something to boil it in, that would certainly work…but he’d have to wait and see. For now, he knelt at the side of the water, scooped handfuls of mud, and covered every scrap of exposed skin he could find.
The decision remained. Gnoll, or goblin?
The goblins were the more obvious choice. They were smaller, weaker. But they were also sneakier, worked in groups, and were likely therefore smarter. Mason didn’t much like his chances against either species, but since he had to pick, he decided he’d investigate and likely choose the gnolls. By their behavior in the clearing, they seemed largely like animals, and animals at least Mason knew how to hunt.
Once nearly completely slathered in the dark mud, he crept along the edge of the woods, circling for a good look at the fighting. Not much had changed since he’d run off. Goblins still came and went from their tunnels, attacking gnolls only if and when they outnumbered them at least three to one. For their part, the gnolls seemed mostly unconcerned for their fellows—almost bestial in their attention, emerging from the trees for the occasional ambush of goblins that wandered off in too small numbers. Every several minutes, a player like Mason appeared in the center of the combat, just as Mason had, and almost instantly died.
“Welcome to the tutorial,” Mason muttered as another one screamed and fell. A gnoll leapt on him and started chewing, and Mason looked away. He’d seen enough of the whole spectacle, and every moment in this place only increased his concern for Blake, as well as his hatred of their new robot God. The concern he abandoned because it wasn’t useful. The hatred he kept.
It was time to kill some gnolls.
* * *
The beasts looked human enough, so it didn’t seem ridiculous to think they’d have the same organs, or at least close. But Mason didn’t fancy his chances of piercing their hearts with an arrow. The human heart was well protected behind the ribs, at least from the front. Maybe from behind, he could manage it, or with a power shot…but, no. Better to go for the neck, or the leg. One might kill it quickly, the other at least slow it down enough for more arrows. He figured he’d start with a Cripple—in theory it would give him time to run, or keep shooting. Or so he hoped. Because if it came down to knife work he didn’t much like his chances. These gnolls were powerfully built, with long claws that looked like switchblades. It didn’t seem wise to get too close.
Well, he breathed. Nothing for it.
He’d searched long enough to pick his target—a lone beast at the edge of the forest, watching the clearing much like Mason was. It looked distracted. It was also far from the goblin tunnels and likely feeling safe, no enemies remotely close to its position. Mason steadied his breathing, drew an arrow, and crept a little closer.
When he’d come as close as he dared, and still the creature didn’t turn, he raised his bow and judged the distance. Thirty yards. No wind. He had a great view of the creature’s thigh, and chose. Hopefully Cripple didn’t screw with his aim, though he regretted not testing it first. But no time for doubts. He drew, and loosed.
The power tingled in his fingers as he shot. As he released he knew it was a hit, then watched as the arrow splintered and struck the creature’s leg like a detonated claymore. It howled in pain and surprise, looking left and right and still not seeing its attacker. Mason didn’t waste his good fortune.
He frantically drew and nocked another arrow. Aimed. Then released a Power Shot.
It was more than a tingle like Crippling Strike. A zing of energy coursed through his arms and fingers as the arrow thrummed, speeding toward its target too fast for the bow’s draw. His aim had been slightly off, but still struck the creature’s shoulder as it hunched down and growled. The impact jarred it back, but finally the beast turned and looked straight at Mason. Then it sped towards him in a limping charge.
Mason nocked, and loosed. Nocked, and loosed. The first arrow missed, the second caught the creature’s throat. It gurgled blood and tripped, collapsing to the forest floor before trying and failing to claw its way towards Mason. He watched, and waited, heart pounding with success and excitement, and soon the creature moved no more.
[Killed gnoll scout. Experience awarded.]
“Hell yeah,” Mason breathed and tried to control his raging pulse. He walked to the creature’s corpse and rolled it over. “Now let’s just hope my arrows didn’t break on your thick, ugly hyena bones…” He frowned and managed to only pull two undamaged arrows free, which meant he was already down to ten. “I should start gathering feathers,” he mumbled. “And where the hell am I going to find some damn cedar trees? What else works, ash?”
He stood and turned back to the forest, unhappy with his lost arrows but altogether rather pleased with himself. Then he froze at the sound of movement. He looked up to see another gnoll emerging from the woods, its nose sniffing at the air, yellow eyes locking instantly on Mason. Before he could even curse, it growled, and charged.
* * *
Mason didn’t waste time hating reality. He dropped his bow because he had no time to shoot, and he knew he’d never outrun the thing. He drew the goblin knife from his waist, stabbing as the creature reached him. The blade sunk into its gut just as its claws raked down Mason’s chest.
The beast’s speed and weight bowled Mason over and knocked him senseless. Then it was scrambling on top of him, fangs snapping, held back only by Mason’s dazed will to live. He seized the pommel of the dagger and pushed, the gnoll growling and whining slightly as it tried to claw Mason’s hands. Despite its grisly wounds, it continued to snap at his face with at least four-inch fangs. Mason turned the blade and twisted his knees to try and roll the larger opponent, then gave up and pulled the knife free, ramming it straight into the beast’s eye. Its mouth gaped then slackened, and the creature collapsed on top of him.
[Killed gnoll scout. Experience awarded. You have earned enough experience for level two!]
Mason groaned and pushed the creature off, hissing in pain as he plucked at least three claws from his skin. Blood oozed from the wounds, but they didn’t look deep enough to have pierced any organs. He blinked and felt vaguely light headed, knowing he had to at least try and stop the blood flow before he lost too much strength. But first things were first.
He held his dagger and flattened himself against a tree. He watched, and listened, then only when he was sure he was alone did he cut his shirt into strips and wrap them around his wounds like bandages. He had nothing to clean them, so all he could do was pray they didn’t become infected. He covered his exposed skin with more mud and a little gnoll blood, hoping it helped mask his smell from the other dog-like creatures.
“Now how the hell do I level?” he muttered.
[Accessing player profile.]
The familiar ghostly text floated before Mason’s eyes.
| Mason Nimitz Class: Hunter Strength:6 Dexterity:7 Vitality:6 Intellect:4 Will:6 Presence:2 Luck: 4 Titles: Killer Powers: Power Shot, Crippling Strike |
[New Power Available!]
Another power? Hell yes. He clicked the list as soon as it came up, and as before it looked relatively short. Some of the same choices he could have made at level one remained, which actually pleased him as he might be able to take everything eventually. But there were some new ones, including something called Aspect of the Wolf, which promised to be a speed increase. He nearly took it until his eyes practically bulged from his head at another choice: Regeneration.
However the hell it exactly worked, he desperately needed anything that helped keep him alive. He clicked it, and the profile closed after showing his new power, but he didn’t feel any different. He could only hope that would change relatively soon.
It was time to move. He knew the blood and corpses might attract more attention, so Mason forced himself away from his hiding spot and further into the trees. With a groan of relief he soon found a cluster of brush with very little else around it, and huddled down inside. In theory, he’d be hidden from view.
“Stop the war, it says,” he muttered. “Get to talk to Blake, it says.”
Mason tried not to imagine what sort of similar hell his brother was up against. Blake had many strengths, but surviving in a violence-torn post-apocalyptic wasteland wasn’t one of them. Mason had to hope his brother was alive, and relatively safe. RoboGod wouldn’t have offered the reward if it wasn’t possible, right? Maybe Blake had made friends to protect him. He was good at that. Mason had to assume so, because if his brother was dead, then he had very little reason to go on, and nothing much to lose. He closed his eyes, maybe just imagining it but feeling as if his wounds felt a little better already.
“Hang on, brother,” he whispered. “However bad it is. You can do it. I’m coming.”
