Morning came without incident. He woke to a prod in his side; Anne was studying his face as her boot poked him.

“We're on our way again.” He sat up, looking around in a panic that he had slept in – but no, Norris was also still sitting down, rubbing his eyes in a gesture that conveyed that he, too, had just woken. It took a moment of looking to find Arias, at the top of the hill she had – apparently – slept on. She was … stretching, her absurdly long hair falling this way and that with the motions.

Thomas clambered to his feet, and was surprised that Anne was still standing there … looking at him, studying his face.

“What happened, anyways?”

Thomas remembered the same conversation with Norris, the day before, and struggled to formulate his thoughts again. It came slightly easier, using the man's offhand comments as supplementary material for his excuse. “Didn't quite fit in, everyone there already had a place.” Anne didn't stop studying him, but she did eventually nod, and turn away.

Breakfast, taken on the road, or river as it were – three meals with this group, something familiar – was more of the bread. Where did Norris keep the stuff? Anne was the one with all the bags at her waist, the other two didn't seem to be carrying much of anything. Norris didn't even have a weapon.

Their walk was interrupted by a sharp whistle from the side; Arias waved, when the three walking along the riverbed turned, pointing behind them, in the opposite direction from her. Anne cursed before Thomas had even finished turning back around to face the other way, grabbing the long staff from her back, and in a single continuous motion, her hand moving from tip to tip, the staff was pulled into a curve. A bow, strung just like that.

Thomas stared at the animals that were descending the far hill. The shit? That was a herd of deer. Small deer, at that. They looked like baby dear. Their fur was a bright gray that glinted in the sunlight, rather than the brown he was accustomed to, but they were just deer. He frowned, looking at Anne, who hadn't looked away from the herd. Then he turned to Norris, expecting laughter. Norris, however, looked … grim.

Thomas slowly turned back to the herd, even as Arias pulled up alongside them. Norris muttered quietly as she arrived.

“Fight or run, Anne?”

“Fight. They must have our scent, they've formed a pack.” She responded, equally quietly. Thomas, for his part, was looking between the gray-haired woman, and the … huh. They had tusks. No, not tusks, fangs. They were like … sabretoothed … deer? And Anne had said pack, not herd. His confusion was giving way to alarm, seeing the reaction of the three to a threat he would have completely ignored.

“Thomas, should have asked earlier. Class?” This was Anne; Arias had moved forward to stand between the deer and the rest of the group.

“Brawler.”

“Alright. You're in front. Arias, move back and take the flanks, keep them from encircling us. Norris, I think we need Caress.” The way she said it made the word sound … almost cool. Except for the word itself.

Thomas hesitantly stepped forward to stand where Arias had been, looking at the approaching – pack, of sabretoothed deer. They didn't move right; deer shouldn't walk like that, like they were stalking something. It was eerie, and put him on edge. And one second they were descending the hill, and the next, a kick was flying at Thomas' face, one of the deer having gotten there, and spun around to kick with its hind legs, in less time than it took him to realize he needed to get ready.

Thomas jerked back from the kick, narrowly avoiding a cloven hoof that flashed by, and the deer was just -gone-, a good dozen paces away, an arrow sticking out of the ground where it had just been standing. He'd barely processed that when another kick missed him – he'd stumbled back again when he realized how close he first had come to hitting.

He was only aware that another had missed him, and was starting to feel like this was manageable, when pain exploded across his chest with a cracking sensation, and blood sprayed from his mouth in a cough he hadn't prepared for. Thomas tried not to vomit, struggling to stand upright; he couldn't even keep track of what was going on, but he saw an arrow take the next deer that had angled for him in the eye.

There was something insane going on a few yards away from him, which he didn't have the attention to spare for; he was only vaguely aware that a large number of the deer were occupied with something like a ghost squid, tentacles grabbing and squeezing them. Arias darted in and out of his peripheral vision, and every time she moved, there was a spray of blood.

Thomas, for his part, swung at a deer, missed, and was rewarded with another shot of pain from his left hip, and then from his right knee; he staggered. He hadn't even seen which had struck him. His chest was hot and wet, and he suspected he was now bleeding from three wounds, but the possibility of a fourth and fifth kept his attention away from them.

“Thomas, Call Out, now!” It took him a moment to remember – he could pull aggro? He really didn't need any more, but he turned, and focused. Norris was surrounded by three of the deer, with Arias trying to distract them from the thin man, who for his part had just thrown a – bottle? – at one of the deer. Thomas chose one quickly, and shouted at it.

It wasn't a normal shout. He felt something pulse inside him, and what came out of his mouth was something more like a roar; his already overtaxed bladder gave out a little bit in shock. The deer, or whatever these things were, spun, and ran at him; Thomas was vaguely aware of an arrow hitting one of the others, and then the new opponent was upon him.

He punched as it ran – and for a change, his fist connected, with a horrifying crunching noise. The deer had run straight into the fist, and he had the impression of the animal flipping over him and crashing behind – but another blow caught him in the small of the back, his attention diverted from the horde he had been watching. His knee gave out, and he fell forward with a groan, catching himself on his hands.

Three more strikes hit him as he lay there, falling upon his arms, legs, and face – and they glanced off his skin, not even scratching him. He pissed himself a little bit more even so; the one that had bounced off his cheek had looked like it would hit him square in the eye.

The fourth, however, did catch him, like a hammer to the jaw, and he felt bone crunch, and suddenly his mouth was full of blood. Arias flashed by, and blood splattered. He heard the whistle of arrows, but he felt thoroughly done, and spat. A glob of blood and … and his teeth. He could see three … no, five teeth. He couldn't feel his tongue, his mouth was just a ball of pain and misery.

Thomas collapsed onto his side, then. His field of vision was filled with dead deer, their silver pelts red. One was a few feet away, and above him, from his sideways perspective; its guts were laid open, and he stared blankly at the loops of intestines that had spilled out; one of the loops was was severed, and oozing; he became aware of the scent of shit mixed with the scent of blood.

Thomas closed his eyes. The arrows had stopped, and someone was speaking, standing over him, but he felt thoroughly, thoroughly done. That had been his fucking teeth on the ground, and he was just done. He'd die, and this nightmare could be over.

Great objective complete: Survived a small herd of level 12 Silver Fawn as part of a party. You've earned six customization points. You've reached class level 6! Free distinction earned!

Oh. He'd survived. Great.

Class Distinction: Thick Skull

You are immune to non-lethal damage

Class Distinction: Latent Power

+1 Maximum Stamina

He desperately wanted to pass out, but just … couldn't. Everything hurt. He turned his attention to his statistic screen.

Thomas Bluebrim

Brawler

Legend of Wind

Level 6

0 Misfortunes / 0 Fortunes

0 Curses / 0 Blessings

27/165 Health

0/0 Mana

2/4 Stamina

1 Distinctions Available

29 Skill Points Available

10 Customization Points Available

Strength

Constitution****

Intelligence

1 Melee Damage Bonus

2

0

3 Maximum Worn Armor

140 Maximum Health

22 Additional Skill Points

0 Deflection *

4 Damage Reduction

1 Maximum Stamina Points

1 Melee Damage Bonus

12 Base Armor

0 Spell Piercing *

Wisdom

Agility

Perception

6

0

0

6 Lores

0 Bonus Targeting

0 Reaction Time

6 Arcane Resistance

0 Evasion

1 Stamina Regeneration

0 Mana *

20 Movement *

0 Missile Range Bonus *

Okay. So this was what … no, he'd just leveled up, so he'd taken a hundred damage. This is what a hundred damage felt like. How many blows had he taken? Six? Seven? He'd lost count. Oh. He just lost another health. Bleeding, right.

Thomas was aware of somebody above him. More pain, but there was plenty of that to go around. Oh, his shirt had been cut away. Pressure, pain. There was lots of that. His pants were next; he wasn't so much aware of the pants being cut, as the feeling of air on some of the few places that weren't already in pain.

“Pressure, here, Arias. Norris, I'll need you to conjure more bandages. You with us again, Thomas?” He groaned in response. He didn't want to be. “Alright, good. Stay with me. Norris, alcohol. Thomas, this part will hurt.” It did, but compared to everything else, it was more just a change in the flavor of the pain for a moment. Oh god his mouth. His teeth. “Here and here, Arias. Wrap this.”

Well. He didn't get to die. He was watching his health, and it had stopped dropping, stabilizing at twenty four. No, twenty three. He felt more pressure; someone was moving his leg around, wrapping something around his hip and thigh; Arias. Should he feel embarrassed or something? Nah. Hurt too much. Anne continued talking, but he stared at his status screen, not listening, trying desperately not to be aware of the real world. Just the comfort of the blue, and the distant, uncaring numbers. Twenty two. A countdown it was.

In his remote awareness, he found he could think clearly, and logically, after a sense. So, those deer had been level twelve, had they? And the rest of his group must have been higher leveled, or at least comparably leveled. Anne probably hadn't expected him to be level five; everyone reacted like that was the beginning of adulthood, which he'd just barely reached.

He had an advantage with constitution, right? That's what he'd gathered. He got more out of it; a lot more, if he gathered correctly. Damage reduction of four. Assuming he'd taken, what, six blows? That meant, if he understood correctly, he'd avoided twenty four damage entirely. That was more health than he had left. And he probably got more health than a normal person. His class had saved him twice over. No, he had another twenty five health from the Inhuman Size. Three times over.

A voice cut through, into his awareness. “Stay with me, Thomas. You're going to make it, just stay with me.” He shifted his attention back to his statistic screen. So he'd survived only because of his constitution focus. Alright. And as he got more levels, he could take even more punishment.

A pain lanced through his knee that brought him back to awareness of the real world. “Okay, that should do for that.” Anne was holding an empty vial over his leg. Hey, health potions existed; his number was rising again. The world wasn't total shit after all.

His choices, were, though, because his terrible choices had yet another terrible outcome. What he was really good at, was, apparently, surviving, and even staying conscious, when he absolutely should have just gotten some nice peaceful death in.