“The strange wine/water bath seems to nourish him physically, allowing him to survive without food or drink, but his strange craving for Quintessence puzzles me. What does he get from it? Is it simply a drug to him?”

from “The the Queer and the Curious,” by J.P Cornish.

The town square felt poisoned, scarred like an infected wound. I turned away and marched toward the woods where I’d first gone hunting with Rey. One thing was for sure; if I was going to get anywhere in this world, I’d need some levels to do it.

“Hey!” Jacob called out to me. “Hey, where are you going?”

“Leveling,” I growled back, not stopping.

I heard him race up behind me. When he grabbed my arm I spun around with my axe raised. It wasn’t him I was angry at, and I knew that, but I felt myself right on the edge of a precipice, and and if he didn’t ease up, he was about to push me too far.

“Back off!” I roared. He let go instantly and raised both hands in the air like I was about to blow his head off.

“Okay, easy!” he said quickly. “I just thought you might want some help. Ya know, make friends?”

Images of Colin, Brad and Jordan flashed through my mind, causing me to bite my teeth.

“No thank you,” I told him firmly. He didn’t reply as I turned my back on him, and I felt a bit bad as I strode away.

He’ll get over it, I thought as I eyed the hard-lined shadows of the woods. But as I passed the last cottage at the edge of town, I heard a tired voice call out to me.

“Hey, sonny! Sonny, over here!”

I stopped and turned, looking for the source of the voice. But there was no one there—at least as far as I could see.

“Sonny!” the voice hissed again. “Bring yourself over here!”

My eyes traced a line through the shadows beneath the slanted, almost collapsing eave of the crumbling shanty beside me, and then I finally saw him.

A pale, fetal skeleton of a man, with a head swollen like a soaked mushroom and a body so frail his arms looked as though they would snap under the slightest pressure, lay awkwardly in a stone tub overflowing with a slick, pale liquid. He wore nothing but a tattered loin cloth, and his skin was wrinkled and so thin I could see his veins as they wrapped and twisted around his atrophied flesh.

“Yes, yes!” he chattered. “Closer, closer!”

I fixed my eyes on him and his name appeared.

Alastor Cook—Level 45.

I was greeted by the stench of alcohol as I approached the bath where he lay. From the pruning on his skin I guessed he’d never left the tub. There wasn’t a single hair on his body, and his mouth held less than a handful of teeth, scattered about his jaw with no real care.

“Ahhhh, a young Seeker!” he exclaimed, rubbing his hands together in a way that sent sinewy driblets of whatever vile substance he was laying in spilling over the edge of the stone to splash down beside my boots. “Come for great adventure, eh? Fanfare and virtue? Your name carved into stone?”

He cackled like a boy whose mind had betrayed him. I saw that he had no eyelids.

“Allow me to introduce myself!” he said with glee, trying and failing to hoist himself into a more stoic position. “I am the most regal, the most rakish, ravishing and radical, remorseless yet reliable, world renowned Alastor Cook!”

My lips were forced into a smile. “That’s a mouthful.”

“A mouthful of truth, my dear Seeker! Tell me, know you of the history of The Weeping Hills?”

“I don’t have time for this—” I said, turning away.

“The plague!” Alastor bleated out. “The plague took us! Left me like this! The villagers fled, but I swear I hear the smithy’s hammer when the moon is full and the wind is brisk!”

What’s this? I thought, looking back at the strange little man. A quest?

“Nice axe you’ve got there,” he smiled, eyeing my weapon. “A smithy could make it even nicer.”

“A blacksmith?” I asked. Alastor’ eyes said yes. “Where do I find him?”

“I hear the sound of his hammer from the woods,” Alastor replied, his eyes darting back and forth as he searched his mind for memories. “You tell him Alastor Cook says it’s time to come back to town. Tell him the plague is ended!”

The frail little fellow smiled his broken smile at me. All I could do was nod back. My mood was sour and strange, a mix of anger and introversion with all of my focus on finding Rey. But there was something about Alastor that held my attention, and if finding his smithy meant upgrades to my axe, I was definitely going to keep an eye out.

“I’ve got you, Reggie,” I smiled. He frowned at my nickname, thought about it for a second, then gave me a nod of approval.

“Oh! And, Seeker? I just delight in the taste of Quintessence. Bring me some and I will show you my wares!”

“Wares?”

“But of course!” he chortled. It was a wonder his eyes didn’t fall out of his head. “I am the town’s Blood Merchant! Come and see, come and see!”

I took a step forward and eyed him, and a trade icon appeared in the corner of my vision. When I opened it, a shop window appeared with a list of everything Alastor had for sale:

Alastor Cook—Blood Merchant

90 Soothing Syrup.

160 Blunder Slugs

160 Six-Shooter Rounds

160 Rifle rounds

200 Firebomb

715 Gas Can

95 Throwing Star of the Orient.

2,600 Cursed Parchment.

900 Bottle of Madness.

3,100 Flint.

“These all cost Quintessence?” I asked him.

“Wonderful, tasty Quintessence!” he nodded, licking his lips with a fleshy grey tongue. “Bring it to me! Best deals in all the Hills!”

I wanted to stick around and go through each item and inspect it, especially the Cursed Parchment and Bottle of Madness, whose purpose I couldn’t deduce by their name, but I had a total of 15 Quintessence left over from raising my Vitality, so I couldn’t buy anything anyway. Besides, I had leveling to do.

“Sounds good, Reggie,” I said, closing the window. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to go do some leveling.”

“Very good, young Seeker,” Alastor replied, slinking back into the murky waters of his bath. “Remember—tell the smithy the plague has ended!”

“Don’t work too hard,” I called back to him as I strode toward the trees. I heard his mad cackle ring out through the night before I stepped into the shadows and the sound was swallowed up by the silence of the wood.

I walked with a renewed sense of vigor and kept my eyes peeled for the scattered light of a torch that I knew I’d find. After a moment, a Corrupted Villager came into view. I strode forward without hesitation, giving him no time to react, and slammed my axe into his chest.

35

Before he had a chance to counter, I speared him with the pointed tip of my blade, spun, and set a carving slash across his thighs, spraying blood against the trees and sere.

42—47

His health was dropping and my Rally bar was growing. I ducked and rolled out of the way of his downward attack with his torch, and brought my axe up in an oblique assault against his right side. My blade cut his elbow, missing the vital flesh hiding his organs.

27

But my rally bar was about 75% full.

Come on! I screamed at myself, dodging nimbly to the side as he swung out with a backhand. His ashen fist wiffed the air and I struck out again.

29—33

My bar was almost full, and more than half of his health was gone. But as I drew back for another swing, the sickly man unleashed a cry that rang out through the woods like a farm bell. More voices called back in response, and I saw the flickering of more torches approaching from the shadows. I remembered the group of men I’d seen with Rey and taken such care to avoid.

Shit!

I drove my axe into his guts, and with one more strike, watched as my Rally meter filled. It flared with light and my axe burst with a gleeful red glow. I stepped back to dodge the villagers incoming attack, then brought my blade down across his chest with everything I had.

A wet sound like swollen flesh being slapped against cold stone sang out as my blade carved into him.

110

“Oh, Hell yeah!” I cried out, shocked by the increase in damage given to me by Rally. I slashed up again with a backhanded stroke that obliterated the remaining sliver of health on his bar. He fell, but there was no time for celebration.

Out of the trees came an angry throng of villagers, some wielding torches and others with pitchforks. I counted four of them. Under normal circumstances, I’d be in deep shit. But I had my Rally meter full, and the crimson glow of my axe fueled me with unwavering confidence. I took a deep step forward and swept a long carving strike into the two men in the front.

Half of their health vanished instantly, and a follow up attack finished off the one on the left. Rusted spikes tore towards me from another, and I just barely managed to swat the blow away with my axe and maintain my Rally. I spun and let the falling man glance off my back as he collapsed to the forest floor, and brought my blade up in a rising attack to finish off the other.

“Come on!” I roared. But as I turned to the other two, I saw an iron shovel coming straight down at my face. There was no time to block, but my left hand seemed to move instinctively, and I raised my Blunderbuss and fired.

Doooommmmmm!

The riposte went off, staggering the villager who collapsed to his knees. He was open to a massive attack, but I still had another man to deal with. Without turning, I anticipated his attack and threw myself into a roll just as his torch scorched the air beside me.

I speared him with the tip of my axe, stopping him in his tracks. Blood sprayed but a quarter of his health was already gone. I swung out again, but he deflected the blow and drove his boot into my chest, crushing a good percentage of my health. My Rally bar vanished.

Another swing narrowly missed me, and I knew that if this turned into a two-on-one, I wouldn’t make it. The villager beside me was still staggered, and I leapt behind him, seizing the opportunity. My axe tore open his back, painting the leaves above our heads with his blood. His health vanished and I yanked my blade free as he hit the ground.

The surviving villager landed a blow to my cheek that sent my head spinning and whipped me around. My knees twisted awkwardly, causing me to collapse to the ground. Quintessence wisps and strands from the fallen villagers twisted around me and sank into my chest. It was completely placebo, but the gain had me feeling stronger, despite the fact that my health was more than halfway gone.

I rolled backwards, anticipating the villager’s next attack. His torch blunted the scrub where I’d just been laying, sparking tiny bits of lichen into tiny embers that vanished quickly.

I looked up and saw I was between the sickly man’s legs and felt a tiny smile inside of me. My final blow caught him right in the groin. Blood spilled like lethal candy bursting from a gruesome piñata. The Corrupted Villager howled. One of his feet caught against my side and he toppled over like a dead tree. A whirlwind of Quintessence wrapped around me like angelic light before being sucked up by my body.

I was panting, but between breaths I managed to mutter, “Hell yes.”

I popped a Soothing Syrup, relishing in the sweet taste sensation of restoration that brought my health to almost full. Not wanting to take any chances with the low amount of HP I had, I tossed back another one that took me to 100%. Quickly, I opened my character sheet and saw I had enough experience to raise my Vitality another point, but the cost had risen. Instead of 110, it now cost 139, a 27% increase from before.

“Diminishing returns,” I muttered. Still, I had enough to get it up to 7. I desperately wanted to start raising my Strength so I could deal more damage, but what was the point if I died in three hits to Level 2 mobs?

I really had gimped myself when I chose Meat Sack, and normally would have relished the challenge. But things had changed. I had to find Rey and I had to find it quickly. There were consequences now—real consequences, and I was kicking myself for not just picking Sole Survivor. I’d have been kicking so much more ass and so much more easily.

I plucked loot from the ground, finding a few more vials of Soothing Syrup, some Blunder Slugs and a curious looking shard of blood-red crystal.

Mortal Shard—Use to obtain 350 Quintessence. Highly sought by Seekers.

“Sick,” I muttered. It felt flimsy and weak, like it wanted to be destroyed. So, I crushed it in my hand and unleashed a whirlwind of Quintessence. “Two more points of Vit.”

I used it immediately, bringing my Vitality to 9. My health was still only 199, which was below even the starting health of the other starting classes, but I was starting to feel a little less exposed.

Rand—Level 1 Vitality:9 HP = 199 Strength:5 Skill:5 Viletaint:5 Intellect:5

The discovery of the Mortal Shard had me feeling a bit more hopeful about how long it would take me to level up. I was more than halfway to level 2, and was anxious to see what happened when I leveled up, so I shouldered my axe, tightened my grip on my Blunderbuss and kept walking, taking a new path, one that would keep me clear of that dreadful Midwife. It wasn’t long before I was wondering if I’d made the right decision.