Page 19

I feel like I know what to do now. I walk around until I find a few sticks. I also gather some plant fiber from flax type plants, and as many stones as I can carry, which isn’t that many without a bag.

While the horse eats, I settle in next to a tree and start smashing the stones together in a gesture I can only describe as primate-like. Most of them don’t break, but a couple of them shatter into shards of naturally sharp stone. Fixing the sharpened stone to the stick is tricky, but not impossible.

I use my weak axe to harvest more branches. Chopping a tree doesn’t mean much. I’ll need an iron axe for that. It occurs to me that things are going to be much more difficult to fabricate in the real version of this game world. Furnaces aren’t going to pop into existence if I stack stone the right way.

I take my longest, sturdiest stick and use the stone to sharpen the point of it. This, I should be able to use to hunt. It’s not the same as a sword, but I think it should work. Unless it doesn’t.

I don’t have to wait all that long to find out.

I hear a cackling in the near distance, a sort of sound that is half-humanoid, half-animal. I slide back into the bushes, taking cover in the hope of staying unseen. Does this version of the world have proper stealth mechanics? Does being in a bush mean they can’t see me? Or will they trigger aggro when they’re within a certain range of me like DFE does?

I’ve played so many games in my life, but I’ve never felt this level of tension before. My heart is pounding and I’m trying not to breathe too hard, and I’m clutching my self-made weapon with anticipation and desperation.

“Hehehehe! Muches and morses for us!”

Kobolds are making for my hiding spot in the bush. They are little humanlike creatures with exaggerated ears, noses and chins, spindly limbs, and a fondness for murdering un-geared newbies.

I grip my pointed stick. I hope one of them has a better weapon on it. A sword, ideally. They might even have some starter armor, gloves, maybe? Rations? A bag?

I feel lit up with anticipation as they get closer, passing me by in a pack of three. I let them go past, then leap out and stab, knowing I’ll do more damage by coming in stealth than fighting them entirely aware.

I know the moment the point of my spear pierces the back of the kobold that I have made a big mistake.

My first time killing a sentient creature is… not good. There’s more blood than I thought. I try to pull the shaft out, but it is firmly in there. I guess there are a lot of suction forces from viscera. My yanking only serves to make the creature fall backward. I let go, but the kobold is stuck on the stick, which has now punctured almost all the way through him from back to chest. He lies on the forest floor, screaming and coughing up blood.

“Why! Why would you do this?” It wails the question in anguish.

“Oh, my god! Oh, my god, I’m so sorry! I thought you’d lie down and disappear!”

“Healing potion! Gives us a healing potion!” it shrieks at me.

“I don’t have one. I’m so sorry. I don’t have anything.”

The other two are staring at the scene, which is horrific. One rushes to try to comfort the wounded kobold, but they are unable to do anything to stop the bleeding. It is too brutal and grievous an injury for him to survive for long.

“Tell my wife and children I love them,” the little creature rasps as the light leaves its eyes.

“He was so close to retirement,” the kobold at his side says. “He said he was too old for this. But we convinced him to do one last mission. One last shiny run for the den.”

It lifts its eyes to me, and I see that they are lit with the need for vengeance. The other is not far behind it. They both draw hatchets, and swig potions that create a quick glowing effect around their bodies.

“You killedses him,” they hiss. “Now you dies.”

It sounds fair. I never thought I’d ever do something absolutely heinous and entirely unredeemable, but here I am, saturated with the deepest kind of guilt. It seems reasonable that they would want to kill me. It almost seems reasonable that I would let them.

I don’t have a spear anymore. That’s still inside the dead kobold. I left my axe in the bush. I have my bare hands and nothing else.

They approach me with their hatchets raised. I freeze. I close my eyes. I wait for it to hurt, and then to end.

The sound of my heart in my ears drowns out the sound of large wings overhead, but nothing could ever be louder than the raging cry of a massive dragon hanging over us in the sky, wings extended, golden scales gleaming, mouth opened wide in protective fury.

Flame explodes from the dragon, two targeted bursts of intense heat that hit the kobolds dead center, knocking them away from me. Then he follows with a glut of fire, which turns them into near instant cinders.

Have I been rescued? Is there any such thing as rescue in this world that contains such raw brutality?

The dragon lowers toward me. I take cover, knowing there is nowhere to run. It could burn the forest around me if I made itangry, and once that happened it would be a horrific end. Best to stay still and accept whatever fate has in store for me.

The creature is beyond beautiful. It is flying art, every individual scale a gorgeous work in and of itself. It is also large, large enough that the trees it chooses to land in bend and snap like grass being stepped on.