Chapter Two - Part Three

"Dear we have to talk."

"Sorry snuggle-muffin. Daddy's a little busy putting the sharp end of his big shiny sword into the nasty evil beast to talk at the moment, m'kay."

The gentle voice firmly inserted itself between the dashing middle aged knight and the lumbering troll.

"Hmmm, maybe should I just heal the troll so it kills you and then we can have our little chat in the REAL WORLD."

The Knight shuddered, he knew his Cleric companion wasn't bluffing in the slightest. With an almost pained expression he sent the troll an apologetic look before cleanly decapitating it in one swift slice.

"Coming sweetness." he scooped up the loot and jogged over to where she had sat herself down on a rocky outcrop. "Now what would be so important to worry my delicate flower so."

He bent down on one knee, clasped her hand delicately and gazed lovingly up at her.

"Bob I need you to focus."

The knights proud shoulders drooped as he stood up again, the seriousness of her tone destroying the atmosphere he was creating. He pouted sullenly.

"Come on Ethel, how many times do I have to tell you. Here I'm not Bob, I am..."

He cleared his throat and put on an overly dramatic tone,

"...The Noble Knight Sir Glorious; Valiant Champion of Lugh God of Light and War, while you. You are my busty, trusty, ever ready and nigh indispensible Cleric: The Holy Woman Celestaphim. Who bestows upon all the Goddess Freya's graceful blessing all while exemplifying her beauty and abundance."

He struck a pose and closed his eyes, as though waiting for applause.

"Quite finished?"

His long suffering wife sighed and patted a spot next to her on the rock as her husbanded nodded forlornly and shuffled his way to her side. She guided his head to rest on her shoulder and took one of his steel gauntleted hands in hers. He stroked it gently.

"It's about our son."

He jerked his head off her shoulder and stared her straight in the eyes, she was still the same woman he had fallen in love with even if the years had worn their marks on her.

"Jon's a man now. You can't be running after him forever just to clean up his messes."

She knew he was right but what mother doesn't worry about their child; regardless of age. He would always be her special little guy, who cried whenever he fell over and wouldn't sleep unless she rocked him while singing his favourite lullaby.

Bob Cyr looked at his wife, her blissful face meant she had clearly gotten lost in her rose coloured memories and he decided it was time, as the head of the family, to put his foot down.

"You will not interfere while he's Online Ethel."

The stern tone broken her from her dream state. As the words and tone sank in her face darkened and she responded with her own stern tone; a face like thunder.

"Robert Vincent Cyr if you think for one moment that I'll stand by while......"

He waved his hands in a submissive manner to try to calm her down.

"I don't mean it like that. I mean what single guy wants to go questing and hunting with his parents. With his mother constantly healing his every scratch..."

She interjected, still a little peeved at him.

"and a father who always tries to show of how cool he is even though his son is almost 30."

Her words stung more than the double critical hit of the troll he had just fought but they both started to chuckle and soon there were two players sitting on a rock in the middle of a mountain pass just laughing at nothing in particular.

The laughter naturally petered out as both of them understood that their sons well being had been on both their minds.

The Knight in shining full plate armour, his helmet plume bobbing in the breeze, gently took both hands of the maiden Cleric beside him in his own.

"Promise me you won't go running across the Continent to register him as a Friend just to whisper him every few minutes."

Of course she had wanted to be there to try to re-live those first few memories that all parents cherish. His first steps out of the starter town; his first hunt. She wanted to be there when he celebrated his first victory or to nurse him through his first death.

She wanted to approve of the first party he brought home and to send him off to his first dungeon or siege or raid with a teary eyed smile. Those kinds of irreplaceable memories.

"...Ethel."

Her husband prompted softly.

"Fine. I promise. Now darling we should hurry those vile trolls will have re-spawned and we still need to collect another 100 of their teeth for our quest."

She stood up, dusted off her tight robe and grasped her ceremonial mace with both hands. He watched the light play across her hair as she shook it loose, he was still watching mesmerized as she began to walk away, back down the mountain sheep path to the troll den they were camping.

She paused and gave a slightly irritated backward glance.

The Knight sensing his cue unsheathed his sword and held it aloft. Sunlight glinting off the finely honed and well polished blade.

"ONWARD~~"

He cried in a sing song voice.

'Geez, Bob. Seriously.'

She sighed as her husband of some thirty years, the retired plumber from the East coast, pranced past her. Once more full of boundless energy he raised his shield to rally a charge at the nearest brute.

*********

Eight days later Ogre once again appeared in the jungle basin.

He had purposefully waited an extra day before logging back in so that it coincided with the end of the week. That meant three full days, or rather twelve, of grinding back the single level he had lost. His throw skill had lost a few percent and his endurance and fighting spirit had also decreased.

The stat points he had gained upon hitting level ten he hadn't actually distributed yet so losing them made no real difference.

Apart from his level, skills and stats he had also lost some items. When he scanned through his inventory he noticed the only things to drop had been some trophy pelts and claws. They were easily replaced during his hunt. The most devastating blow was that his beloved war club had sunk to only a few points of durability.

He didn't yet have the pre-requisite strength to wield the weapon he'd looted from the ogre scouts.

To try to cheer himself up a bit he looked over the spoils he'd taken in his last fight against the Jungle Fiends. Between the three of them he had picked up one wooden tribal mask, three of their 'Magic' pouches and a small bag of twenty strips of Jungle Jerky.

It was chewy, fairly tasty and would be a welcome replacement for his rye bread; that was down to its last couple chunks.

He stowed his faithful wooden hammer in his inventory and to compensate loaded one of his small bags with as much pebbles as it could hold. It was one of the bags he'd taken from the Field of the Fallen, made of a sturdy leather and had a long draw string.

If it came down to it he would have no trouble swinging it around like a flail.

With his preparations complete he turned and headed into the dense undergrowth, brushing aside a large frond as he entered the clammy darkness.

Eight days later he exited the tightly packed jungle fauna and began his ascent of the cliff face.

His hunt had been successful and Ogre had regained the stats he lost plus more. His throw skill, now being his primary weapon, also gained a level and he had cleared the level ten hurdle thanks to the stealthy ambush of a Jungle Stalker.

The large sabre tooth panther like creature had assaulted him after he had just finished battling several Tiki gnomes.

The large Jungle predator had decided not to exert itself too much, it would kill the heavily wounded victor at the height of their celebration.

What the big cat hadn't counted on was taking several stones the size of fists to the flank as it stalked around the wounded Ogre. Even as he was recovering from the effects of curse magic he had been vigilant in watching his surroundings.

He didn't want a repeat of his first death; too caught up in bloodlust to remember the basics like watch your health.

The sleek black feline had pounced from the tree line but Ogres accurate throws stalled it in mid air, giving him time to draw his club, before he pounded on it. The Jungle Stalker had dropped a set of razor sharp fangs that Jon felt sure could be made into a decent weapon.

With a final worthy trophy added to his pack he decided it was time to return to the village.

He put his new points straight into his strength stat, bringing it to 100.

This allowed him to equip the new club weapon at least, once the war club and his old three pound lumber were repaired he could sell them on, even for a few copper.

This new club was a thicker version of his three pound lumber and it was called "Ten Pound Lumber". It required a strength of 100 to swing but it had the best damage of anything he'd seen so far; 15 - 18.

Objectively it was a trash weapon in the eyes of other players.

By the time they had raised a character with at least the 100 strength required they were far beyond the level range and were looking for weapons that dealt 150 - 180 points of damage.

That was fine, people tended to forget that the Jungle Basin was the Barbarian starting zone and hunting in it was akin to crushing rabbits and foxes in other starter zones. It was this environment that shaped the next generation of Barbarian warriors.

With the new club slung over his shoulder Ogre attempted to scale the sheer vertical wall before him.

Hand over hand he inched his way up the rocky surface.

**********

The grizzled Barbarian Trainer paced nervously back and forth, over the beast skin rug, in his home.

It had been several weeks since he had sent the young Barbarian soaring over the edge and down into the jungle basin below. He had at least stayed to ensure he was still alive. If the young man had died from the fall he would have been in some serious trouble.

At first he hadn't worried too much. A few days in the jungle was nothing; a week was just too short to really hunt a good trophy; two weeks was just about right. Three; well he must just be taking his time.

'He should be back soon. '

Every day since then the anxiety had grown a little more in the Instructors belly as he repeated that phrase over and over under his breathe, beady eyes scanning the cliff edge.

Old Kang would have mounted a search party but that would mean informing his wife and he had been pacing since dawn in order to work up the courage to do exactly that. A small voice at the back of his mind actually hoped that if he deliberated for long enough then the boy would return by himself.

He was to engrossed in his thoughts to see the figure looming at the window, only looking up when a strange shadow blocked the light entering the room.

"BOOOOO"

His eyes came upon the soulless eyes of a being that should not be there.

"Jungle Fiend!!!"

He cried, falling backwards on the floor, one hand clutching his chest. Years of endurance training and his own battle hardened senses stopped him from having a heart attack, if only barely.

He stole a cautious glance at the great sword hanging on the wall, judging the distance he would have to cover.

It happened in an instant. The Jungle Fiend let out a sound and the Old Warrior lunged across the room, knocking the sword from the wall hooks as he dived behind a table he up-righted in the motion. With his back to the hard wood he tightened his grip on his Oldest friend.

A sound reached his straining ears but it wasn't the usual blast of air that he had expected from their lethal blow pipes. No it was the unmistakable sound of laughter.

"Hahaha... your face.....thought I was a real....hahaha....."

The old man poked his head over the table edge to see the Jungle Fiends trade mark tribal mask sitting at a jaunty angle on the head of the very youth he was waiting for.

Jon wiped away a few more tears from his eyes as he watched the Fearsome Instructor climb out from behind the table.

'That'll teach you to kick people off of cliff's'

he thought as he returned the Trophy mask to his inventory, such a prank had only come to him half way up the cliff face but he had let it ferment as he climbed, a wicked smile plastered on his face.

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