12

The next week or so was like an Eagle Scout’s wet dream. Hunter would wake up in the morning, grab a big breakfast, shoot the shit with Bob the cafeteria guard–who was a surprisingly chill guy, head back up to his room, and log in Elderpyre. Then he’d spend the day lounging around the cabin, swimming in the nearby creek, and teaching himself to fish. He’d often log out for an hour or so during the afternoon to eat and get some sun and exercise in the motel yard, then log back in until it was time to go to bed.

During this virtual wilderness vacation, Hunter figured out a few interesting things about Elderpyre; for starters, logging out and re-logging didn’t send him back to the place of power he was anchored to. He simply spawned back in the exact spot he’d been when he’d logged out. He’d also found out that the day and night cycle mirrored the real world one perfectly. To his surprise, he could actually sleep while in the game and wake up more-or-less as well-rested, just as if he’d slept in the real world. He still had to log out for food, bathroom breaks, sun, and exercise, though.

All the foraging for roots and berries, fishing, building a fire, and cooking had gained Hunter a hefty increase in his Survival skill, raising it all the way to 17. Food tasted and felt very real, by the way, though it did little to curb any actual feelings of hunger. A couple of nighttime forays in the surrounding woods also got him a few ranks in Low-Light Vision, raising it up to 8.

As for potential threats… Apart from deer and the occasional family of boars that came to the creek to drink, there wasn’t much. Hunter hadn’t spotted anything more dangerous or aggressive than a particularly angry swarm of wasps that made their nest near the wayshrine–and he’d learned to avoid those pretty quickly.

All in all, not a bad week.

Not a bad week at all.

When trouble came a-knocking a few days later, however–because of course it did–it caught Hunter with his pants down. All that camping vacation attitude had made him careless, and he paid for it with the cold barrel of a gun stuck to the back of his head.

Biggs and Wedge were chattering excitedly that morning, nagging at Hunter through their mental link to go down to the creek and see what they’d just found–and for good reason, as it turned out. Dozens, hundreds of reddish fish had suddenly shown up from god knows where and were furiously trying to make their way upstream, sometimes even leaping out of the water. Hunter could nothing but sit by the water and marvel at the spectacle slack-jawed. At times like these, it was almost too hard for him to believe that all of this beauty and splendor was just a simulation.

And then he felt the touch of cold steel at the scruff of his neck, along with the dry, telltale sound of a gun cocking just behind his ear. It took a whole couple of seconds for the feathery windbags to even notice and give him a useless overdue warning; the damn things were too busy trying to catch fish to actually keep an eye out for potential threats.

“Easy now, lad” said a female, vaguely British-sounding voice. “No sudden moves, do you hear?”

“Okay, okay!”

“Put your head between your knees and raise your hands in the air.”

Hunter did so, cursing himself in the process. He could hear Biggs and Wedge in his head, asking him what to do.

“Stay away”, he signaled to them through their mental connection, making sure the message was laced with anger and frustration. They had one job, the goddamn bird brains, and they’d managed to screw it up six ways to Sunday. He watched out of the corner of his eye as they reluctantly flew off to perch on the branches of a nearby tree.

“Hands up”, said the woman and prodded him with the barrel of her gun. “Don’t make me say it again.”

He raised his hands in the air just as the woman had told him to. It’s not like he had much of a choice. His glaive was comfortable sitting where he’d left it, which was inside the cabin, along with the rest of the few odds and ends he’d gathered during his stay in Elderpyre. Even if he had it, though, it’s not like it would make much of a difference. The woman had caught him with his proverbial pants down.

Even as Hunter had his hands up, the cold muzzle of the gun never left the back of his neck. Moments later, he felt a couple of manacles rattle shut around his wrists.

“That’s it, nice and slow. Turn around now. Let me take a look at you. No silliness of any kind, though–or I will shoot.”

The woman towering above him cut quite a striking figure; she was tall and slender, and was dressed in pants, high boots, and a leather tunic covered in dozens of straps and buckles. Most of her face was hidden by her raised collar and the angular brim of her tricorne hat, and her long hair was ash-grey with age. If a lifetime of playing games and watching movies had taught Hunter anything, it was that this was the dress code for badass. More importantly, she was still holding a wood-and-brass flintlock pistol just a few inches away from his face, its long barrel all but daring him to do something stupid.

Acting innocent was his best shot at not getting shot, Hunter figured–especially since he was innocent. Probably.

“Uh… hello,” he said, forcing a grin he hoped looked more friendly than sheepish.

“Hello yourself. Who in Grimnir’s name are you, and how did you end up this far out?”

“I’m Hunter. I’m… I’m just a traveler.”

The woman raised an arched eyebrow.

“Hunter, you say? Peculiar. No matter. You’re travelling awfully off the beaten path. Where are you off to?”

Hunter opened his mouth, ready to try and bullshit his way out of the situation, then he drew a blank. He knew nothing about the area–or the world, even.

“South. I’m going south.”

“You don’t say.”

“Yes, I’m off to… Green... town? You know, that one town near the big river.”

One look at the stony, unamused eyes of the woman was enough to tell him his bluff was DOA.

“…and what is the purpose of your travel? Does the town lack a village idiot?”

“Uh…”

“Save it, transient”, the woman said with a sigh, lowering her weapon. “I know what you are. I’ve met your kind before.”

“Lady,” said Hunter, also dropping the charade, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

The woman frowned and stared at him, as if trying to decide whether to believe him or not.

“Get up.”, she said finally. “Walk to the cabin–slowly. It’s not a good idea to be out in the open out here. The forest has eyes and ears everywhere. There, we will palaver.”

***

The woman, pistol still in hand, led Hunter inside the cabin. Biggs and Wedge watched from their perch, silently asking him whether they should follow. Hunter mentally signaled them not to. He was in hot enough water as it was, even without having to explain to the angry lady why there were two dorky, raven-shaped spirits following him around.

When they were inside, the woman told him to sit down in a corner. Hunter obliged. He’d just sit tight for the time being, he figured–not that there was much else he could do with those heavy iron cuffs clamped around his wrists. She didn’t seem to be really hostile or anything, after all; just a bit too cautious. Given what he’d come across himself in this forest, could he really blame her?

Hunter watched his captor as she went around the cabin, making sure his glaive and other items were out of reach and making sure there were no surprises of any kind. Despite the silver in her hair, she moved with a grace that was almost feline. He couldn’t tell her age–not if his life depended on it. Beneath her tunic and cloak, her figure looked slender and athletic and taut, and still curvy enough to appear feminine. Her face, however, was that of a somewhat older woman, marked by crow’s feet and even a couple of pale scars. She must have been pretty once. Beautiful, even. Big grey eyes, high cheekbones, a straight nose, well-defined lips. She reminded Hunter of those actresses that somehow managed to look youthful and dignified, even when they were pushing sixty.

Good bone structure had a tendency to do that, he supposed.

Was she an NPC–a non-player character? Was she an actual person like himself? Hunter couldn’t make heads or tails of it. She surely seemed real enough, judging from the way she talked and moved, and even form her facial expressions and mannerisms.

“So… who are you again?” he asked.

“Call me Fawkes.” She sat down cross-legged with her back to the wall, her eye on the door, and her finger on the trigger of her pistol. “We can talk now, transient, so talk. What’s your business in the Weald?”

Hunter had to do a double take. The what now? Oh, yeah, the Brennai Weald. That was the name of this area. He’d seen it mentioned in a notification when he first got in the forest.

“I’m just wandering around,” he told her, trying to sound as earnest as possible. “I don’t even know where I am, to be honest with you.”

Fawkes studied him for a few moments.

“You mean to tell me your appearance here is simply a matter or coincidence? Spare me the lies, transient. I told you, I know of your kind. Wherever you go, trouble follows.”

“You keep calling me that,” Hunter argued back. “Transient. I’m not from around, that’s for sure, but I get a feeling that this isn’t what you mean.”

“Transients, outlanders, dreamwalkers, visitors from lands beyond, omens of storms to come” the woman said, starting to lose her patience. “You’re one of them. Do not try to deny it. I smell it in your blood.”

“I don’t deny anything,” Hunter raised his cuffed hands in a gesture of surrender. “I don’t know anything. I’m new here. I just woke up in a cave a few days ago. Came to this cabin for shelter. I’ve been here ever since.”

He sounded pitiful, and that gave the woman pause.

“A transient with no hint of vainglory, then?” The woman’s stiff lips cracked into a lopsided smile. “Will wonders never cease? Alright then. I believe you. All the same, I have to detain you and take you to the Brennai. These are their lands, after all, and you’re trespassing. From where I see it, you are their mess to sort out, but do not worry; they are fair people. Stern, but fair. If you’re as clueless as you say, you have nothing to fear.”

Fawkes rose to her feet, produced a length of metal chain from one of the satchels that hung from her belt, and secured it to Hunter’s handcuffs.

“On your feet. It’s a good few hours to the village, and I’d rather get there sooner rather than later. I bet even you’ll be in a talking mood when they get some ale and a hot meal in you.”

Hunter gave it some thought. Really, he had no reason to say no. Fun as his little camping vacation had been, he was bound to look for some other place sooner or later–so why not do it now, and with a guide to boot?

“Do these have to stay on?” he asked, holding his cuffed hands up.

“Yes,” Fawkes told him, and her tone left no room for arguing. “I like you, lad, but make no mistake; I will shoot you.”

Too resigned to do anything else, Hunter sighed and fell in line. He had heard that same line a few times too many those few last days, and it was starting to get tiring.