Dean Adams

Health: 100/100

Stamina: 100/100

Mana: 100/100

Status:

Level: 1

Experience: 13/1,000

Rank: None

Title: None

Class: None

Role: None

Party: Unnamed

Alliances: None

Allegiances: None

Stats

Strength

10

Perception

10

Charisma

10

Endurance

10

Intelligence

10

Poise

10

Agility

10

Wisdom

10

Constitution

10

Dexterity

10

Fortitude

10

Luck

10

Skills:

Herbalist – Level 2

Herb Lore – Level 2

Hunting – Level 1

Butchering – Level 2

Animal Skinning – Level 2

Scan – Level 2

Abilities: None

Spells: None

Enchantments: None

Attributes: None

Dean kept his head ducked and shoulders hunched as he trudged drearily along, trying to keep the rain off. It was a lost cause. He was already soaked to the bone, and another gust of bitter cold wind set his teeth chattering. Thanks to the scouts surrounding the party, they hadn’t encountered anything remotely interesting, unless he counted a couple rabbits and a poisonous alchemy ingredient. He didn’t.

He was pulled out of his thoughts when Sarge quietly barked, “Hold up, do you hear that?”

Dean couldn’t hear anything over the rain as he wiped the rain dripping down his face and studied the nearby forest. Another gust of wind chilled him, but it also brought the sound of metal clanging against metal. Someone nearby was fighting.

“Stay put, I’m going to check it out.” Sarge whispered as he slipped into the underbrush.

Dean grabbed the hilt of his sword as he glanced at the others. Ryan looked back at him, the same puzzlement and excitement on his face, but Marie stared in the direction her husband had gone.

The sounds grew louder, until it sounded like they were just ahead, when Sarge burst out of the underbrush with his sword drawn, already bloody from the fight, and turned to face his pursuer. A moment later, something burst out of the forest, snarling as it hurled itself at Sarge.

Sarge caught its sword with his own and shoved it backwards. The creature fell over, knocking down another creature that burst through the underbrush. A third followed, jumping nimbly over the first two and attacked Sarge.

Dean quickly scanned the two creatures as they climbed back to their feet.

Goblin Scout – Level 2

Health: 40/40

Dean was able to get a good look at the goblins as they stood up. They were both about four feet tall, with greenish black skin, stubbed noses and pointed ears. They hissed as they attacked.

Marie jumped in front of Dean, defending him from the attack, as Ryan charged the other. Dean drew his sword and tried to move so he could help Marie. She kept herself between him and the goblin.

Sarge yelled at him as he fought, “Run, Dean. Get out of here.” He deflected the goblins sword, then flicked his wrist and stabbed it in the stomach. The goblin groaned as it died, “Go.”

“No,” Dean yelled back, “I want to fight.”

Sarge withdrew his sword from the goblin, stalked over to Dean and glared at him, “There’s about a hundred more back there,” He pointed where the noise was coming from, “And they’re coming this way. We can’t beat them all and we can’t run while you’re in danger. Now, Run.”

Sarge grabbed him by the shoulder, turned him around and shoved him. Dean stumbled a few steps, just barely able to keep his balance. He turned around, about to yell at Sarge, but stopped when he heard more noises coming from the underbrush. A lot more noises.

Cursing, Dean angrily sheathed his sword, and ran.

He hated it. Hated that he was running from a fight, that he had to run because his death meant losing the five-day journey to the new city. Mostly, he hated it because he knew the others were right.

He ran, his feet splashing and sliding in the mud, until his stamina ran out. He stopped, hands on his knees as he gasped for air. He heard noises behind him, and he looked back just in time to duck beneath the arrow that embedded itself in a tree right behind him. He started walking as fast as he could, weaving between the trees to keep his attackers from targeting him. Once his stamina was almost full, he set off at a fast run, hoping his longer strides would put some distance between him and his pursuers. He lost track of the time and distance, just knowing that every time he thought he lost them, he’d slow down to catch his breath, only to hear them again.

The rain finally started to let up and a break in the clouds allowed the sun to shine through. His side splitting, he stopped and rested his hand against a tree trunk, bent over double as he gulped for air. He heard the sound of pursuit behind him and sighed heavily as he pushed himself off the tree. There was a muffled grunt of pain, then silence.

“Don’t move.” A soft, melodious voice said directly behind him, “Turn around slowly.”

Dean licked his lips as he asked, “Which is it? Don’t move or turn around?”

Someone to his left snorted, “He’s got you there, Aleria.”

“Shut up, Neva.” The first voice replied, “Turn around.”

Dean turned to find two arrows pointed at his chest. Aleria had long blonde hair down to her waist, braided to keep it out of her eyes, and almond shaped green eyes that were glaring at him.

Neva was slightly taller than her, though he couldn’t be over five foot five by Dean’s guess, with short brown hair, tossled in a way that reminded him of the lost boys from Peter Pan, and matching eyes that seemed amused, despite the arrow pointing at Dean’s chest.

“Who are you?” Aleria demanded, “And what are you doing here?”

“Dean. My name’s Dean” He replied, “And I was running from some goblins.”

Three more elves emerged from the forest. All of them were wearing the same mottled green cloaks, leather armor that was definitely a better quality than the chest piece Dean was wearing, and soft brown boots.

The tallest of the three spoke first, “We took care of the goblins. I’ve had harder fights with snubworms. What about the human?” He eyed Dean carefully, “Has he told you why he led those goblins into our land?” Dean studied the newcomer as he spoke. He had the same high cheekbones as Aleria, a similar tilt to his eyes, though his were brown, and dirty blonde hair he kept in a tight ponytail running midway down his back. Dean guessed they were siblings, and by the attitude, the new guy was the older of the two.

“I was just about to ask him, Famor.” Aleria muttered in response before looking at Dean and asking, “So, human, why were you leading them here?”

“I didn’t know this was your land.” Dean admitted, “I was just trying to get away from them.”

“Why didn’t you just kill them?” She asked.

“It’s complicated.” Dean said as he weighed his options. He could tell them the truth, though he didn’t like the idea of telling them about his friends or about the settlement crystal. They could decide to hunt down and capture his friends, and for all he knew, the settlement crystal was worth valuable enough to kill him.

On the other hand, he had no idea if he could convince them of a made-up story. It would probably be a charisma check of some sort, and include a skill like deception or subterfuge. He had neither, and something about the Famor told him getting caught in a lie wouldn’t be good.

“Then uncomplicate it.” Famor said.

Resigned, he told them the truth, “My friends and I are on the way to found a new city. We were attacked by a bunch of goblins,” He paused, trying to think of a way to hide the fact that he had the settlement crystal, but couldn’t think of anything. “And since I have the settlement crystal, they told me to run.”

Voice dripping with scorn, Aleria said, “You abandoned your friends in a fight? You’re a Coward.”

Dean shook his head, “You don’t understand. We have to build a new spawn point before the orcs invade Torial.”

“What orcs?” Famor asked.

“An army of orcs is about to attack Torial. They’re being led by something called a shadow wraith.” Dean said.

Neva gasped, “That’s impossible. They’re just myths.”

“I’ve seen it.” Dean said, “It’s not a myth. It’s real.”

Aleria glanced at Famor, her brows furrowed in worry. “Mother will want to know about this.”

“He’s lying.” Neva insisted.

“It doesn’t matter.” Famor said, “The Elders must hear of this. And they’ll want to hear it first-hand.” He looked at Dean, “What’s your name, human?” Dean gave his name. “Be forewarned, Dean. If you even think of trying something, I will know, and I will kill you without a moment’s hesitation. Do I make myself clear?”

“Crystal.” Dean replied.

“Good,” Famor said, “Then follow me.” With that, Famor turned around and started walking into the forest. Neva and Aleria lowered their bows, but kept them ready as Aleria gestured for him to follow. Dean followed and the two fell into step behind him. Over his shoulder, Famor commanded, “Manu and Anya cover his tracks.” The other two elves immediately fell behind the group.

Dean glanced down. With each step, his boots were sinking deep into the mud, leaving a clear trail behind him. Somehow, the elves weren’t leaving any trace of their passing. A notification popped up.

Congratulations, You’ve learned the Skill Tracking.

“What’s so funny, human?” Neva demanded.

Dean realized he was chuckling and stopped. “Nothing you’d find funny.” He muttered.

Famor walked ahead of him without glancing back. Either he was used to getting his way when he commanded something, or Famor was a complete badass that could kill him before Dean could attack. Dean suspected both were probably true.

Dean tried to study the path they were following, hoping he’d level up the tracking skill in the process, but it vanished fifty paces in either direction. After several minutes, he gave up and stared at the forest. The trees were massive, with thick trunks that disappeared into the canopy above. The underbrush was teeming with various plants and mosses that he yearned to gather, but didn’t think the elves would let him stop to pick them. He could hear birds and other wildlife all around him, and caught sight of several staring at them as the group passed. There was never a break in the canopy that he could see, but the forest floor was easily bright enough for him to see through, almost like the whole forest was slightly glowing.

The silence finally got to him, and Dean asked, “Famor, is it?”

“It is.” Famor said.

“Aleria mentioned that your mother would want to know about the wraith and you said something about Elders. Is she one of them?”

Famor hesitated before answering, “She is, and a Truth Minder.”

“What’s a Truth Minder?” Dean asked.

“She knows whether someone is speaking the truth or telling a lie. I suggest you only speak the truth to her. If you want a chance to live through today, it would be better to admit you lied to me about the wraith in order to spare your life than attempting to lie to her about it.”

Dean gulped, “Then it’s a good thing I’m telling the truth.”

“We shall see.” Famor said.

They walked for several minutes in another tense silence before Dean asked, “So, does this forest have a name?”

“It does, but you wouldn’t understand it. In the human tongue, my people call it the Divine or Sacred Forest.”

“Do humans have a name for it?”

“The Forbidden forest.”

Dean bit back a laugh. He was suddenly imagining the forest filled with centaurs, giant talking spiders, and a wild Ford Anglia running around in it. Instead, he asked, “Why do they call it that? Is there some kind of beef between humans and elves?”

“Elves don’t eat meat, human.” Neva spat.

Dean rolled his eyes, “I mean is there a problem between the two.”

“Do you not know the history of your own people?” Famor glanced back at him. Dean didn’t respond, figuring his silence was answer enough. After a few seconds, Famor continued, “This land was once ruled by a powerful king. They called him wise and just because all creatures were treated equally and fairly under his rule. It’s said that he could raise mountains or dry up an ocean with a single world.” Famor paused, his face furrowed in anger. He spoke the rest through clenched teeth, “But it wasn’t enough, he wanted more power. He wanted elvish magic. You have to understand, no human has ever mastered elvish magic. It’s not possible. But the King came to believe he could, if he drank the blood of the True Mother.”

Famor turned to look at Dean, his expression a mixture of anger and sadness, “You would call her a Queen, but that isn’t exactly the right word. There isn’t a word in the human tongue to explain what she meant to my people. And that king, that greedy human, betrayed her. He murdered her and drank her blood. It didn’t work, obviously. Instead, he was tainted by the evil act and succumbed to a demon.”

Dean recognized the overlap with the game’s plot line and asked, “Wasn’t that a thousand years ago?”

“Perhaps, but it will still be remembered a thousand years from now.”

“So, our people have been at odds ever sense?” Dean asked.

“There have been a few times of peace between our peoples. But it never lasts long. Elves have come to realize that humans are always greedy for power, and will stop at nothing to achieve it. That is the way of humans.”

Dean suddenly didn’t like his chances of getting out of here alive. He really wished there was a Ford Anglia running around out there somewhere.