11

Half a day–that’s how much it took him to pick the casque up from the floor and log into Elderpyre again. It was like the room itself was designed to be boring–something that, Alex supposed, would make sense. There was nothing to do in there but stare at the ceiling, nothing to watch, nothing to read. For someone who’d spent pretty much every day of his life staring at one screen or another, sitting around and doing nothing was torture. He could hardly believe it himself, but he’d rather take his chances with the mist stalkers than spend another hour twiddling his thumbs.

Logging back in the game, Alex–well, Hunter–found himself back in that old-timey bar he’d met with faux-Grimm the previous day. Everything was just as he remembered it; the player piano was playing some chipper tune from the Roaring ‘20s, the air was filled with smoke, and Mortimer the bartender was behind his bar, wiping glasses squeaky clean. Faux-Grimm, however, was nowhere to be seen.

“Hey there, Mortimer.”

“Welcome back, Mr. Hunter”, said the man in the solemn, slightly dissociated tone you’d expect from a high-end bartender. Or an NPC. “How about another pint of that lager?”

“No, not today, thanks.”

“Trouble, sir?”

“You could say that. It seems I managed to get myself killed.”

“Ah, I see. Maybe something stiffer, then?”

“No, thank you. It would be great if I could ask you a few things, though.”

“I’m always happy to help to the best of my ability, sir.”

Hunter climbed on a barstool, leaned against the bar’s polished wood, and started massaging his temples. He had no idea where to begin–so he began at the obvious.

“Why did I end back here again?”

Mortimer seemed genuinely surprised by the question – something that actually managed to put a dent in his air of immaculate, impassionate professionalism.

“Why, this is your private Shard, sir. Your very own mind palace, as Master Grimm likes to refer to it. You can always return here whenever you wish to take a breather from your travels.”

That actually made sense, now that Hunter thought about it. Many games had a hub, a place for the player to use as a base of operations. This old-timey bar was his own, apparently. Not his first choice, as style went, but he had to admit it had character.

“In regard to your recent and unfortunate downfall”, the barman said as he put a tall glass of cold water before Hunter, “might I suggest you take a look at your Character Upgrade function? You will find that improving oneself is almost always the way to overcome adversity.”

“I, uh… see. How can I do that?”

“As Master Grimm would put it, just will it”, Mortimer shrugged.

Hunter did exactly that, and his Character Sheet window popped open before him.

Character Information:

Name: Hunter

Class: Outlander

Attributes:

Health 100

Mana 100

Stamina 100

Strength 10

Dexterity 10

Intellect 10

Willpower 10

Presence 10

As far as he could tell, he could upgrade any of these for a hundred Aether. And whatever that was, he knew he had exactly zero of it. He went on to try something he’d been thinking about earlier in the day, and cast Mystic’s Eye to learn about Aether. He summoned his mana, let it flood his mind, and went through the mental steps of the invocation. That same disturbing essence of saltwater and copper rushed in and flooded him, eating at the empty space behind his nose and eyes like battery acid. He gagged, reeled, and reached for the bar to steady himself. Knowledge came at a price, it looked like, and that price really sucked balls.

Your Mystic’s Eye has increased to 3.

A wispy essence that’s really more energy than matter, Aether is one of the primary building blocks of reality and the cosmos. It permeates all, and is what makes the existence of life possible.

Well, that was mostly fluff and filler, but at least he got an Ability increase out of it. Gaining some more ranks in his Mystic’s Eye and trying again would probably reveal more, but Hunter didn’t feel like getting smacked in the brain with all those side effects any more often than it was strictly necessary.

For the time being, however, he had other priorities–like getting back to the game world. Would he reappear at the same spot? He sure as hell hoped not. The idea of getting spawn-camped by those wraiths was enough to instantly make his butt clench.

“Mortimer? How can I get back to… well, back to where I was?”

“That is simple, sir. Simply use the exit over there, and it will take you back to your last position. Or, in your current situation, back to the Place of Power you’re anchored to.”

“Uh… I did not understand any of that.”

“Your existence in this world is anchored to Places of Power” Mortimer explained. “Right now it is anchored to a Place of Power in a location called Kiln PP-B-036. Since you recently met your temporary demise, stepping through the door will take you there instead of your last position. This may be mildly inconvenient, but it is a necessary safety precaution.”

“I see.”

Most games Hunter had played had similar mechanics. Save points, check points, spawn points–points of reference, in general. This Place of Power he was anchored to was, simply put, one such point.

“Thanks again, Mortimer,” he said, and started for the door. “I’ll see you around, I guess.”

“I literally have nowhere else to be, sir,” said the bartender and returned to polishing his already immaculate glasses. “Godspeed.”

Hunter crossed the threshold and walked through the fog wall. Being briefly deconstructed into a collection of disembodied senses was just as jarring as the first time around, but fortunately didn’t last long. Starbursts of impossible colors, tolling bells, and the smell of ozone and camphor overtook his being for a moment, but then it was all over just as abruptly as it had begun. A few seconds later he was back in one piece, waist-deep in the water at the bottom of that cave.

You successfully make your way back to the realm of the living, albeit losing a small fraction of yourself in the process. Your Élan quality is now 9.

Shit. He’d forgotten all about the pool. Who the hell would place a spawn point smack dab in the middle of a pool? And what the hell did that notification about him losing a fraction of himself mean, anyway? There was so damn much to figure out, and so little handholding.

Wet to the bone again, he waded out of the water and inspected himself. He was feeling okay, no wounds or pain or anything. Moreover, he still had all of his items stuffed in his pockets, as well as his glaive. The two excited chattering voices in his head informed him Biggs and Wedge were also close, and weren’t fans of either the cave or his absence.

“What, were you waiting for me?”

He wasn’t sure if they could understand him, but the wordless indignation they projected through the mental link spoke volumes regardless.

“Well, next time I’m away just go on and unsummon yourselves or something. You can do that, right?”

They could, and something told Hunter they most definitely would.

With his Low-Light Vision showing him the way and his familiars perched on his shoulders like two pleasantly warm and feathery shoulder pads, he made his way to the exit at the top of the cave. It only took him a minute, but it was enough for him to get a notification informing him he’d gained another rank in Low-Light Vision.

Your Low-Light Vision has increased to 3.

Just like the day before, Hunter sat down in the sun and waited for his clothes to dry a bit before making his way into the forest. This time around, he’d follow a different path; he’d avoid the clearing and the standing stone altogether, and he’d try to make it straight to the log cabin. From his vantage point up there on the crag, it didn’t look too difficult. If he found his way to the creek, all he had to do was follow it downstream.

Being extra careful was probably a good idea, too. He asked Biggs and Wedge to scout ahead into the forest and keep an eye out for anything out of place, though he couldn’t be sure if they actually understood what he wanted them to do. In fact, the two windbags had apparently just figured out how to caw and squeak and generally do bird noises, and wouldn’t shut up. If there was anything or anyone out there, they would probably hear Hunter and his noisy entourage coming from a mile away.

In any case, Hunter made it to the creek in less than half an hour with no incident, and it only took him another half hour to get to the log cabin. Noisy as they were, his winged scouts were effective. As he went to take a look up close, a notification popped up on the ticker of his HUD.

Investigate points of interest in the Brennai Weald. (2/3)

Two down, one more to go.

As for the cabin, it wasn’t exactly a wonder of architecture; just four walls made of rough-hewn logs, a stone hearth, and a thatched roof. It was probably meant to be some kind of temporary shelter for local woodsmen and hunters to set up camp–not really a place for someone to settle down in and call home.

“Hello?” called Hunter, doing his best to sound friendly and non-threatening. “Anybody here?”

No response. Good. After having to spend time with the county jail crowd, Hunter wasn’t especially keen on socializing with any more strangers. He told Biggs and Wedge to keep an eye on the surroundings–they finally seemed to have gotten the hang of understanding words–and circled around the place to make sure there weren’t any nasty surprises around.

As it turned out, he did find something worth checking out; there was a small shrine behind the cabin. It was a headstone with some unintelligible writing on it, and a smattering of offerings, small trinkets, and charms neatly placed around it. It didn’t look particularly dangerous or menacing, but his traumatic experience with the standing stone was still painfully fresh in Hunter’s mind. It would be a while before he was going to be running around and randomly touching mystical-looking stuff again.

He summoned his focus–he was beginning to like the cool feeling of mana rushing into his brain, despite the agonizing explosion of coppery, acidic saltwater that followed–and cast Mystic’s Eye on the headstone. That feedback was a bitch, but his gut told him there was something important about that little shrine.

Your Mystic’s Eye has increased to 4.

A small shrine built by travelers to honor Ronnom, patron saint of wanderers and expatriates. Signifies the presence of a Place of Power. Pay your respects to anchor yourself to this shrine and to receive a blessing.

Alright, that sounded a lot less murdery than the standing stone. Hunter had actually been wondering when he’d stumble upon another Place of Power he could anchor himself to. Checkpoints were always nice. Scenic as the forest route might be, he was already getting sick of spawning all the way back to the cave under the crag.

Not to mention the damn pool.

He had no idea how he was supposed to pay his respects, so he simply played it by ear. He took a knee before the shrine, lowered his head, and let his hand rest on the headstone’s weather-beaten surface. It worked well enough, apparently, because a prompt popped up before him.

Do you wish to anchor yourself to this Place of Power?

Heck yes, he willed, and felt something tug at his core and shift inside him. Hunter instantly and instinctively knew he no longer had a connection to the Place of Power in the cave. Instead, he felt the little wayshrine embrace him with a warm feeling of welcome.

You are now anchored to this Place of Power.

You receive the blessing of Ronnom, patron saint of wanderers and expatriates. Your Serendipity quality is now 1.

While he was at it, Hunter was tempted to cast Mystic’s Eye again. Maybe gaining ranks would lessen the effect of the feedback. Envisioning this Serendipity game term, he went through the motions and conjured the ability once again–and regretted almost instantly. Saltwater, the taste of pennies, and the tang of acid hit him like a ton of bricks, stronger than ever. It hurt like hell, even more than before. He spat a string of the four-letter that would make an orphanage nun blanch, and wondered why the hell he continued to do this to himself.

A character quality that describes the measure of good or bad luck a character has accumulated. Triggers special encounters. What goes around, comes around.

Interesting. If his memory served, it was a special encounter that had scored him his glaive and had pitted him against the Ancient Shambler–indirectly netting him another handful of loot, as well as Skill ranks and new Abilities. Now that his Serendipity was again above zero, he could sooner or later expect to stumble upon another such bountiful encounter–couldn’t he?

For the time being, however, he’d had enough excitement to last him for a good, long while. The log cabin was a nice spot to kick back and relax. He had shelter, the scenery was pretty, and his two new windbag besties weren’t so bad as far as company went.

Yeah, he’d do just that; stick around the cabin, kick back, and relax.

The prospect brought a slight smile to his face. For the first time since those cops first banged at his door, Hunter caught himself feeling optimistic.