It was curious how the flavour of the snack vanished the moment Peter materialised in the world. The way the game completely subsumed his senses, up to a certain threshold. If his body was disturbed, for example by a loud noise or concerning smell like smoke, occurred in his vicinity or other stimulus he would be kicked out immediately. Normal sight, sound and vibration were monitored and screened to create a fully immersive experience.

Furthermore, in-game sensations overlaid real sensation impressively. Just like right now he had a crick in his virtual neck from the way he had been sitting when he logged out. A quick massage eased it, but it was these little inclusions that really sold it as a believable world.

Looking around, Peter noted that the fox had vanished, taking its potential loot with it. Fortunately, nothing had respawned nearby so he started towards the stream that flowed by the village. It seemed the most logical place to find a rock he could make a primitive skinning tool from.

Kneeling down on the riverbank, he selected a stone about the size of his hand and eyed it for a moment. River rock. (Flint) the prompt described it as. Perfect, just what the wiki recommended. Taking a second smaller stone from the bank, Peter wandered over to a large boulder to use as a workbench. Placing the flint on the boulder on an angle he began to strike it obliquely. After a few strikes a half moon chip popped off leaving a sharp edge. It was only about half an inch across though – no skinning knife yet. A few more strikes and a second chip flew out.

Progress! Peter thought. Only about six more and it’ll be ready.

Alas, it was not to be. On the fourth chip the flint in his hand shattered, leaving only stone powder and an itching on his arm. When Peter rolled up his sleeve to see what had happened now, he found not one, but two new skills.

Tool making (Primitive): 0.01%

Invention: 0.01%

“Well, well, well. That looks like an important skill to be levelling. I haven’t seen any mention of that one online.”

Peter scoured the shoreline for another piece of flint. Finding two close by, he chose to pop the second into his inventory. When he opened the space he found DB had woken up and was busy eating the berries stored in there. Two big soulful eyes turned towards him and the rat proffered the half eaten berry he had in his paws.

“Aww, you big softie. Come out here.” Peter scooped the animal out and dropped the spare flint in. After a moment’s thought he grabbed a couple of extra berries as well. Sitting on the rock he chose as a workbench, Peter scratched DB’s head and let him enjoy his treat undisturbed.

DB was about halfway through the last of the berries when he sniffed the remainder and looked around. Then he dropped the unfinished snack and scooted into Peter’s lap and curled up. Peter stroked his little companion. He knew it was not getting him any closer to a functioning skinning tool, but he felt too peaceful to be interrupted by banging rocks against each other. After a while, little ratty snores began emanating from his lap. Thinking back on the rat pack that had devoured his face, Peter was stumped as to how this little guy had been one of them.

An itching from his arm announced that another update needed his attention. Animal Companion: DB. (Albino Rat. Combat Effectiveness: 0. Skills: Foraging.) So many skills were incrementing that it felt like his birthday and Christmas all rolled into one. It was a little sad that DB was not ‘combat effective’, whatever that meant, but it at least explained his passivism.

“Maybe if he were trained in martial arts he might be more use in a fight? I’d have to change his name to Splinter though.” Peter chuckled at his own joke. The movement of his belly disturbed DB, who opened one eye briefly before curling into a ball and going back to sleep.

Peter gently scooped up his little friend and put him back in the inventory so he could get back to work on the tools. Making a note that he was almost out of food for the little guy, he resolved to look into what rats could eat – though if the information acquired so far were any indication there were few things they could not consume safely.

As the quiet pop faded away Peter began hammering on the piece of flint again. This time, it took only two chips before it shattered into powder. Looking at the mess in consternation, Peter was about to toss the powder in the water when he thought better of it and (quietly) placed it in his inventory. You never know when something will come in handy and he still had plenty of slots spare.

Taking out the last piece, he set to work once more. Tapping more carefully than last time, he slowly chipped a sharpened edge into the stone. With every strike he focussed more closely on the task at hand. His world contracted to just two rocks tapping gently against each other.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

Ping! The final crescent of stone flew away and Peter’s arm itched with a fury, reminiscent of when his inventory was about to burst open. This time, however, it was combined with a pleasant warming sensation.

He laid his new tool on the rock beside him and checked the update on his arm. Tool making (Primitive): 1%. The letters glowed gold briefly before settling back into the usual black and skin colours. Clearly every whole percentage point was a significant event. What could have triggered such a jump though?

Peter picked up his new tool and checked the stats on it.

Primitive skinning knife (Exceptional). Chance to harvest high quality materials: high. Chance to break: low.

“Well now, would you look at that. I wonder what other tools I can make here?” He frowned for a minute. “No, I can’t get distracted. I have to get those skins for that crazy old coot first.”

Peter popped the skinning knife into his inventory and pulled out his sickle. He spent a few moments turning it over in his hand in thought. The wooden shiv had been somewhat effective, but was a one shot. A stone knife would last longer but took forever to make. He cast about himself looking for inspiration.

A large stone resembling a jelly bean in shape but much larger caught his eye. In his mind’s eye a design formed. Down the river a bit, the willow tree that had provided the bark for the his first potion hung over the water. Peter searched around the base until he found a thick branch that forked perfectly at one end. Taking out his sickle he scored the bark on the branch lengthwise and carefully peeled it off in strips about half an inch wide. He fitted the rock between the forks and strapped it in with the bark. As he pulled the final bark strap tight, the whole thing glowed grey briefly. Peter examined it to see what he had produced.

Primitive stone warhammer (Average). Damage: 4-8. Critical chance: None. Chance to break: Medium.

Medium? He thought. Well, it’ll do.

The damage was double what the shiv had been, but it was a warrior’s weapon not a rogue’s and he had zero chance to inflict a sneak attack with it. At least it wasn’t going to break every time he swung it.

Next he had to find a way to carry it. He could not very well wander down the road waving it about. I’ll probably hit someone stronger than me by accident and they’ll hit back. Hard. A belt or holster of some sort would be best, but needed either cloth, leather, or the gold to buy them with. Hopefully this quest would provide him with one or more of these resources. Until then, a rope of braided bark tied at either end of the handle sufficed as a sling. It also earned him another 0.01% of a point in Invention. “Only a thousand more good ideas like that and I can retire!”

Opening his inventory again as he scanned the fields for targets, Peter scooped DB up and placed him on his shoulder. DB blinked in the light and dug his claws into the cloth. His little nose sniffed the air, then snuffled in Peter’s ear. Peter smiled and gave the rat a berry. “Your stats say you’re good at finding stuff. I wonder if that extends to animals?” He pointed at each fox in turn, listening intently to see if DB gave any indication of any sort.

Nothing.

Testing his hypothesis, Peter tried pointing at various bushes and trees. On the fourth bush, DB gave a little squeak. Unsurprisingly, it was a raspberry bush. “Well, we know what you like. What else can you do?”

Peter lowered his companion to the ground and started towards the nearest fox, giving the hammer some practice swings on the way.

As he approached, the fox spun to face him and began growling. DB squeaked and ran up his leg, up his back and hid in his hood.

“You’re supposed to be a rat, not a chicken.” Peter quipped as he heaved the hammer in an overhead blow. The fox dived to the side and the hammer slammed into the ground, sending vibrations up the handle to sting his fingers. Pressing its advantage, the fox bounded up to snap at Peter’s face. Peter’s new clothing proved its worth as the teeth found only the high collar.

“Once bitten, twice shy,” Peter grunted with the effort but managed to regrip the hammer and thrust the shaft into the fox’s mouth. Using the fox’s own grip, Peter heaved again and pulled the head of the animal up above his own and delivered a full powered kick to its chest. It tore free and rolled backwards momentarily before twisting to its feet again.

Peter, on the other hand was in much worse a state. Going muscle to muscle with even this low-levelled creature had drained him considerably. He needed a way to end this fast. A thought struck him, and as the two combatants circled each other warily he rolled up his sleeve, keeping the hammer extended between them as a buffer. The fox lunged, seeing him distracted, but Peter poked it in the snout with the hammer head.

Waiting until the fox tried again, this time he swiped the hammer crossways and caught it in the side of the head. Risking a glance while his opponent was dazed, Peter thumbed the mark to open his inventory. It tore open and while he waved the hammer in the fox’s face to ward it off he reached in and groped for what he hoped to find.

Peter’s arm was beginning to ache from the weight of holding the hammer one handed and he let it sag to the ground, hunching over with exhaustion. Emboldened, the fox leapt once more, seeking to make a meal of the tired Traveller. Instead, it received a handful of stone dust straight to the muzzle.

It fell back, coughing, sneezing and whimpering. Peter seized the handle of the hammer with both hands and swung overhand with all his might. Again and again, like a railroad worker driving in a spike, until the fox stayed down. Peter fell to the ground beside it, spent.

As he lay there drawing huge lungfuls of air, he thought about his choice of weapon. Clearly hammers were not for him. He needed something with more finesse. A ranged weapon? Maybe a bow? This was a fantasy setting so modern energy weapons were out of the question, and he had not found anywhere to learn magic yet. The shiv had been nicely effective, and the speed had appealed to him. How about specialising in daggers? He liked the speed, and non-wooden versions probably would not leave him with a handful of splinters.

He was distracted by a movement in his hood. DB squirmed his way out and began pawing at the side of Peter’s head.

“Sorry buddy, I didn’t fall on you did I?” Peter rolled up onto one elbow.

“Squeak.”

“Are you sure?” DB just cleaned his whiskers and sniffed. Peter began to feel a little silly for talking to a rat and expecting answers.

He picked himself up and fished the skinning knife out of his inventory. Unsure as to how to use it, he just swiped it down the fox’s back from head to tail. A small message popped up in the corner of his vision. Underage user, simplified skinning enabled. The fox vanished, leaving a folded piece of leather behind.

“Well, that makes life easy, doesn’t it DB?” Peter dropped the quest item into his inventory. One down, nine more to go. Ten if you count the optional “big one”. “What say you, buddy? See if we can swap this pounder for something more stabby? Or should I try to make it myself?”

DB sat up on his rear paws and waved his front paws in the air. Peter reached down and let him run up his arm again. Safely ensconced on Peter’s shoulder, DB put one paw on Peter’s cheek and waved the other at the town in the distance.

“Trade it in? Ok, you’re the boss.”

Peter trudged back into town, with DB sitting on his shoulder most of the way. Lengthening shadows heralded the coming sunset and a few other groups joined him on the road, though everyone remained a respectful distance from each other. Nearing the gates, DB gave a little whimper and scurried into the hood and snuggled up against the back of Peter’s neck. Peter reached back and gave him a little scratch but left him where he was.

Inside the gates, the gas lamps lining the streets were being lit. Small clockwork robots scaled the posts with surprising agility, sparked the flame in each housing at the top of the pole and slid down again to scurry over to the next one. Peter examined one closely as it dashed past, hoping for the pop-up. Sure enough, Lamp-light gearling. Level: 0 appeared over the little brass head. An itch on his arm told him he had earned an increment in a skill too. A quick check of his Mark showed it was Appraise.

Schweet, he thought, I need all the information I can get.

Lamp light was shining through the windows of the houses along the way and as he approached the city centre, Peter saw the signs for the businesses that were open after dark were lit as well. To his dismay, the smithy was not amongst these. In fact, the apprentice smith was lying in the centre of the square halfway between the smithy and the tavern. Beside him was a spilled tankard and he was singing a VERY bawdy song about a lady who was also an itinerant worker.

Thankfully the gas lamps lining the square lit the space nicely and he was able to give the massive man and his puddle a very wide berth, as Peter wandered back to the tavern. The evening crowd had gathered to drink, eat and be merry. Only the foolhardy or masochistic hunted in the dark it seemed. The air inside had cleared considerably so Peter assumed that the tribesmen had moved on. It still smelled of stale beer and wood smoke but they were a breath of fresh air in comparison.

A group of obvious Travellers were drinking in a corner booth. It seemed weird to Peter that people could get drunk in a game, but such was the realism of this simulation. He wondered if the game would let him buy one?

“Rosie!” he called out, approaching the bar. “Can I have an ale please?”

Rosie extracted a tankard from under the bar and pulled an ale for him. “That’ll be a copper piece, young sir.”

Peter paid her and received the drink. His first sip nearly made him retch, this stuff was horrible. Furthermore, a small popup in the corner of his vision informed him that whilst he could drink the swill, inebriation effects were disabled for minors. Well that spoiled the whole point. And the whole pint, come to think of it.

Peter took a table in the least smoky corner of the room and set the tankard on it. Popping open his inventory he emptied all his worldly possessions onto the slightly splintery wood. DB ran down his arm and started to nose about through the items looking for food. A wafted scent caught his attention, causing him to rear up on his hind paws and set his whiskers a-quiver. Suddenly he rushed to the tankard and nearly sent it toppling in an effort to get at the liquid within. Peter snatched him up and held the struggling rodent until he calmed down. Once DB had stopped squirming he took the tankard and gently tipped it until the rodent could lap at the ale inside.

After a while Peter became aware of attention being turned his way. He looked up but couldn’t tell if anyone was watching him specifically though. Turning about, it appeared that everyone was intent upon the conversations at their own tables. The movement pulled the rim of the tankard away from DB, who grabbed it in his ratty paws and held on for grim death and brought Peter’s attention back to his own table. Still, the feeling of being watched persisted.

He began putting things back in his inventory, but made a note of each item as he did on a piece of paper he had... acquired... from the recovery room under the temple.

Fox pelts. Check.

Skinning knife. Check.

Berries. Significantly fewer but check.

Sickle. A bit blunted, but check.

Stone dust. That had come in handy, double check.

It was a bit annoying that the Travellers Mark showed all those stats, but didn’t keep track of what was stored in the inventory. Still, Peter loved writing, so it was no major issue. It took a while to juggle the items, rat, and ale but it was pleasant in here and DB struggled less with every passing moment. Obviously the restriction on getting drunk did not apply to creatures in the game.

Eventually DB let go of the rim and was content to lie on the table while Peter thought about what he was doing and where he intended to go from here. He started making notes on things he wanted to acquire.

It was pretty evident he was not what the forums seemed to call a tank. It was also evident that he could not avoid combat altogether. Perhaps some sort of stealth skills would come in handy. His talent with components would come in handy too. The stone dust was a good makeshift choking agent, but the effects did not last long enough. The improvised sleeping drug had worked, but not for long enough either. If he wanted to stay out of Jacob’s workshop he would need to be fast, quiet and deadly. An idea struck him.

Make a spear or lance, he jotted down on the paper.

What would it take to build one? A hard shaft. Heh. Wood is probably the easiest material to get for that. Sharpened tip, stone? Metal? How to bind the tip to the shaft? Peter’s pen skittered over the paper as he formulated a design. The weaving attracted DBs eye and he began to chase the writing implement, leaving damp paw prints all over the sheet.

“Oi, gerroff you lush.” Peter pulled the pen out of DB’s reach with a jerk. His wild motion tipped the tankard off the table and onto the floor, causing the contents to splash all up the cloak of an armoured figure hunched over the next table. The crimson cloth immediately darkened, and the owner whipped around with their face changing to match it.

“You little noob. Look what you’ve done to my cape. It’s worth more than you can dream of. Look at it!” The armoured hulk flipped the table to the side and bore down on Peter. DB was flung into the crowd with an alarmed squeak.

Peter could only stare up at the player in fear. “It’s just an item in a game though, isn’t it?”

“Just an item?” The voice boomed out of the helmet. “Just. An. ITEM? It took six months and the deaths of half our company to earn this cape!” The brute drew himself up to his full height. “I’ll see you outside the cemetery.” He roared, pulling a massive sword from the holster on his back. It burst into flames a moment before it was thrust through Peter’s chest, the chair behind him and into the floor.

Agony ripped through him and Peter screamed.