Chapter 2

The village was called Thistle, and it was built under the boughs of the great forest called the Briarweald. This entire world was called Ulrath and seemed a hodgepodge of fantasy cultures mixed into one giant melting pot. All of it was a setting in a game called Myth/Real Online.

This was where Isaac was trapped.

That statement was not exactly true, but after an attempt at Logging out simply popped him into that black, featureless space again, Isaac understood he could only trade one prison for another. At least in this one he was not constantly being crushed by sheer nothingness. Though he was confined to a bed, at least he had things to look at while he recovered his strength.

Bit by bit, his memory was returning. The last thing he could recall before that timeless period of nothing was his father swinging a glass bottle down at him. It was a painful memory, but now he knew that he was put into a coma by his own father while protecting his sister Katherine. It sparked a constant worry inside him. Where was Kat now? Where was Mom? What happened to his body? How did he get into Myth/Real online in the first place?

As for the fact that this entire place being a game…it was frighteningly easy to forget that. Even though everything he saw was slightly cartoony, or perhaps anime-like (like the cat-girls), but the things the people did were practically the same of what little he remembered of his real life. It was painfully real right down to the little mean acts.

Isaac did not notice that right away. His ability to concentrate was utterly shot at first, leaving him drifting in and out of focus almost constantly. He once was looking at Farah bringing him breakfast only to suddenly jerk back to attention and realize she was gone and that it was noon, according to the sun. Drifting in and out of blank reverie and an inability to speak – it was no wonder that the residents of Thistle were convinced that he was retarded. Farah the Healer and Kiernan the Druid were kind to him, but Riselda, the catgirl who was Farah’s apprentice, seemed to regard him with disdain. She was never cruel, but he could feel the flat coldness of her gaze.

This was not unnoticed by Farah, who had gently confronted her about it. Perhaps they thought he was on one of his episodes, but they had held the conversation just outside his room. Riselda had said; “I know my duty, Madam Farah, but I won’t feel sympathy for his stupidity. The room he’s using could have gone to someone who needs it more.” There had been a disappointed silence after that and Isaac had felt helpless frustration boil in his chest.

He didn’t want to dwell on that feeling, so he stayed quiet and concentrated on recovering.

Because of this, Isaac improved quite rapidly, to Kiernan and Farah’s surprise and joy. He was walking and talking within the week, though with childlike clumsiness. The real improvement, however, was within his mind. With more memories as his foundation, many of the things he did not understand began to make sense.

Name:IsaacRace:Svartalfar (Poukha)Titles:N/ASatiety:78/100HP: 100/100MP: 8/8SP: 10/10Vigor: 4Reflex: 3Intellect: 8Charisma: 3Spirit: 4Virtue: 0Traits:Leyline Essence, Lost Child, ???

Some of the things listed in his Status Screen explained a great deal about his condition. For instance, the ‘Race’ box said that he was a Svartalfar(Poukha), whatever that was. He vaguely knew what elves and dwarves were, but not this one before. Maybe it was what beastmen were called in this game.

[Leyline Essence]

Creation Trait

You have bathed yourself in the mighty flows of the land's energies. Offering yourself, to gain a boon from ancient spirits

Now reborn from the center of a Leystone Circle, you hold a mere ember of that energy in yourself.

Humbled: You are rendered as weak as a child, with all attributes reduced to 1. You can re-train yourattributes.

???

While his mental state was entirely the result of his coma, the weakness of his avatar’s body was the effect of the creation trait [Leyline Essence], which had reset all his stats to the weakest score of 1. Isaac was fairly sure this was his own fault for choosing to randomize everything. The benefits of the trait were all hidden. The silver lining in that cloud was that he could increase his attributes by training them, according to the description. That was proven by the fact that none of his stats had remained at 1. That was good; he definitely did not want to stay an invalid forever.

Besides, he needed to get out of Thistle and explore this game world. He had only a distant hope that maybe, just maybe, his mother or sister might be playing this game as well.

It was the slimmest of hopes, but it was better than staying put and doing nothing.

-------------------------

A Seaport Town

Millia was grateful that the tavern door was open – it allowed her to see the unlucky sod flying towards her in time for her to step neatly aside. She watched the poor guy roll into the gutter, then stepped into the building.

The rowdy patrons were crowded into a circle, egging on two men who were punching away at each other with no style at all. She would have blamed the booze, but since that person was sitting at the bar counter, she knew exactly who caused this particular brawl. She carefully sidled around the roaring crowd and the extremely hassled tavern owner to finally end up next to her target of interest.

“Had your fun?” She asked the woman.

“Mmm…” Her friend replied. “Yeah, pretty much. Why don’t we sneak out? It’ll be more fun.”

Millia sighed heavily. “You’re evil, you know?” Of course, that comment was met with an unrepentant smile. “My god, I think I’ve created a monster.” She muttered. “Fine, we’ll do it your way.”

And so, the two friends snuck out from the tavern, leaving the two men to fight over nothing. The town they walked through was built with wood and stone, with Nordic styling and dragon carvings everywhere. Since the weather here was pleasant, the locals wore clothes made of cotton, linen and silk. Since this was a port town, the people on the streets were of all races.

The majority of them were human, but among them there were the Romulii, who walked around in robes and tunics patterned with laurel leaves and wolf motifs.

The Svartalfar stood out since they were beastmen. Their chosen fashions were right out of medieval Europe. There were even a few knights, their full plate shining like ice in the sun.

The Dwarves had culture heavily inspired by Greek mythology, which made it a novelty to see them clad togas and sandals.

There was only a small group of dark elves, but they, perhaps, stood out the most. Their steampunk Victorian clothing seemed utterly out of place in their rustic surroundings, but they acted with complete unconcern about the attention they attracted. Their manners remained impeccable and seemed to be lifted straight out of Britain, along with their accents.

The only Orcs present were the crewman of a merchant ship. Their Arabic-style culture was as blatant as you could get, what with the merchant himself floating around on an actual flying carpet, hawking his wares with aplomb.

Even amongst such a colorful crowd, they made an unusual sight, walking together as they did. One was a tall and slender woman who could have walked right out of a magazine cover if not for her long, pointed ears. She had lustrous black hair that fell in extravagant waves down to the small of her back and was clad in an elegant dress that flaunted her beauty with devastating effect. She had skin as white as marble, full, red lips and high cheekbones in an aristocratic face and what could only be called bedroom eyes that languidly captivated the gazes of men that passed by. A Dokkalfar noblewoman and a temptress.

Millia, in contrast, was just below average height and seemed to have a stockier build, made even more so by the full plate armor she wore. The only part of her exposed was her face with its dusky skin, rounder and more heart-shaped than her friend’s. She had silver hair, styled in a pixie cut. With her big eyes, she looked young and innocent, as though she was just freshly out of high school. Her gaze was sharp and aware, though. Nobody could miss the large round shield strapped on one arm and the Nordic bearded hand axe stuck through her belt. A half-dwarf warrior in a no-nonsense outfit, always ready to fight for her life.

“Hey, Naga, about those two back there…” Millia began, her expression thoughtful. “They weren’t Players, right? I couldn’t see their names over their heads.”

The elf lady shrugged eloquently. “I don’t know. I thought I had stumbled onto a quest, but nothing came up. It’s kind of scary, now that I think about it. They were all acting like real people.” She let out a soft giggle. “It was still fun though. I didn’t think I could start a bar brawl that way! WORLDTREE must be staffed with geniuses.”

Millia rolled her eyes. “My god. I guess I should be thankful you don’t act like this IRL. I think some creepy stalker might have murdered you by now if you did.”

Naga, her character’s full name being CountessNaga, flicked her hair haughtily. Nearby, an NPC walked right into a merchant’s stand, causing the stall to collapse and the merchant to yell in outrage. “That’s because I can’t throw fireballs IRL. Such a pity. Some scumbags could do with a thermal attitude adjustment.” She growled, her face darkening.

Millia winced. “Yikes, did something happen recently?”

“Yep.” Came the flat reply. Naga glared frostily at nothing in particular.

“Want to talk about it?” Millia asked, her face full of concern.

“No, it was just some stupid thing in a bar. I had to put him in an armbar and it ruined a perfectly good Friday. But other than that, it wasn’t anything serious.” Naga replied nonchalantly.

“Shit, if you had to beat sense into that guy, it’s pretty goddamn serious!” Millia exclaimed, stopping to face her friend fully.

“I said it’s fine, Milly.” Naga grumbled. “Swanson threw the asshole out of the bar. It’s over and done with.”

Millia said nothing for a few moments. If something like that happened, it was no wonder that her friend was up to her old tricks again. Naga often used voice chat in other games to entice other players into giving her free stuff simply because she was a girl. Millia personally didn’t approve of it, but Naga never let it drag on into dangerous territory. She used it to get some measure of revenge against douchebags she met outside of the virtual world, misplaced though it may be. It often led to enraged players PKing her in return, but the repeated revenge killings somehow honed her skills until Naga became incredibly good at playing mage-type characters with many spells and cooldowns. Her skill at multi-tasking and micromanagement was pretty much at a professional level. The fact remained that all that skill only applied to games. She was still harassed in real life.

Millia had once jealous of girls who looked better than she did, but after so many years of listening to the crap Naga had to deal with from both men and women, she was actually a little thankful that her real appearance was a little plain. That fact did not exactly stop her from ‘tweaking’ her character’s appearance in this game, though…a few areas in particular. She no longer had that slight gap in her front teeth for one. Naga managed to outshine her effortlessly, though.

“Okay! Enough moping!” The Dark Elf said in a sing-song voice, clapping her hands together. She had a wide smile on her face again as if the last few minutes had never happened. “Let’s go hunting! Hunting! Surely you’ve had enough of abusing the training dummies by now!”

Millia grinned savagely. “You have no idea.” She lifted her finger and slashed right and down in the air, causing her menu screen to appear in front of her. She opened up her World Map and zoomed it out with both fingers. “The Goblin Warren north of the city sounds good to you?”

Naga leaned over to look at the map. “That’s a zone at least five levels above us. Sounds exciting! Let’s do it!”

Millia pumped one fist in the air. “Max level before Closed beta is over!”

Naga followed her lead. “Yeah!”

Later, the gate guards stared after the oddball pair who exited the city whooping and hollering like lunatics. The grizzled sergeant in charge could only shake his head. “’These Star-people are mad. All mad, I tell ya…”

--------------------------

Thistle

Isaac’s vague plan to move out of the Healer’s hospice had failed quite miserably, thanks to Farah’s kind nature.

Even though he could finally school his clumsy tongue into forming speech, he probably needed an actual silver tongue to even dent Farah’s will in this matter. It turned out that Kiernan had been asking around the village, trying to find anyone who recognized Isaac. It was a futile effort from the start, though the boy in question had no idea how to even explain that to the Druid, nor was he actually capable of telling the older beastman at the time. In the end, he still had to stay in the room he had woken up in.

Now that he was strong enough to move on his own, Isaac had started wandering throughout Thistle while Farah was working to avoid dealing with Riselda’s disapproving glares. Of course, he was something of a novelty in the village, which meant he was still stared at. He had no choice but to ignore them, since he needed the exercise to increase his attributes.

Isaac found himself enjoying these walks through the village. It was a peaceful place and the scenery was quite breathtaking. The buildings were all built in a gigantic forest, with massive trees that stretched far off into the sky. The buildings were built amongst these wooden titans and sometimes they seemed to have been grown out of the living wood itself. Though, given the presence of Druids like Kiernan, he should not feel so surprised about this. Thistle had many shops, like a blacksmith and a woodworker’s (now that one was a surprise). There was also a store that sold magical items and reagents. He had been fascinated by all the glowing trinkets on the shelves when he passed by one day. The most interesting building had been the Adventurer’s Guild, which was always full of said adventurers.

The day he saw the Guild was also the day he first saw another Player for the first time. That person’s name had been floating above their head…and was wearing such a skimpy set of clothing that Isaac could barely look in her direction without blushing heavily. She was a catgirl like Riselda, but she appeared to be in such a rush that by the time Isaac had gathered the courage to talk to her, she had disappeared from the Guild.

“Oof!” Isaac was jolted out of his musings as he walked into wall and fell onto his rump.

“Oh. It’s the lackwit.” A stranger’s voice said.

Opening his eyes, Isaac found himself looking at the imposing muscular form of a blonde Svartalfar he had never met before. The man was mostly human like Farah, but his golden hair and the ears reminded him of a lion. He was dressed in finer clothing then the rest of the village, the best being the embroidered vest. A sword swung at his waist and a smile was on his face. Isaac felt more wary of this man’s expression than his weapon.

“What have we here? Wandered away from the hospice, have you?” He drawled. Isaac watched nervously as the leonine man’s lackeys surrounded him. “You shouldn’t trouble the Healers…especially Riselda.”

A heavy hand clasped his shoulder from behind. “Shall we bring 'im back, boss?”

“That was what I was intending to do. After all, ‘tis a good deed, is it not?” The blonde man retorted. Isaac could only watch nervously and let himself be steered back to his place of residence. He knew Farah was not in, as she had left to restock the herb supplies. In short, it was most likely that this man and Riselda would meet.

Indeed, when they reached the Hospice, Isaac briefly saw Riselda’s face at the window. It disappeared and the door opened, revealing the Healer apprentice. The tips of her mouth were pulling downward in a scowl as she saw the blond man. Then, she turned her gaze on Isaac. He saw her expression blacken even further in resentment. He could only cast his eyes downwards, unwilling to meet that awful gaze.

“Hello, dear Riselda!” He heard the blond man greet cheerfully. “We happened on this wayward patient of yours in the village. Now we return him into your tender care!”

“Good afternoon. Malcolm.” Riselda’s reply was flat with displeasure. “I suppose I should thank you then.” She walked closer, artfully dodging Malcolm’s too-casual swipe of his hand. She swatted off the hand grasping Isaac’s shoulder and replaced it with her own iron grip. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a job to do.” She pulled him away, none too gently. A sudden fit of harsh coughing suddenly erupted from within the Hospice, causing Riselda to suddenly release Isaac from her grip and rush back in the door. This left all of them to stand around awkwardly.

Riselda reappeared in a rush, a satchel thrown over her shoulder and a small sickle at her waist. Worry and alarm had tightened her face. “Move! It’s an emergency!” she shouted, before Isaac’s wrist and getting right into his face. “You. I won’t have you running off again, you understand?” She snarled. Isaac stared helplessly in the face of her fury. She whirled and dragged him down the path past Malcolm and his lackeys.

“Hold there, what is going on?” came Malcolm voice as he briskly walked up beside them.

“Go away, Malcolm! I don’t have time to waste on you!” Riselda shot back.

“Are you going out of the village?” Malcolm asked as he craned his neck to look around. Isaac could see that Riselda was definitely heading out of Thistle at a very rapid pace. “Here now, it’s dangerous outside, what with all the monsters and Unborn. You’ll need our protection!” While saying so, he grinned and slapped the hilt of his sword.

Riselda let out a cry of frustration. “Gods’ Blood! Do what you want then! Someone’s life is danger!”

Isaac felt a sudden sense of foreboding in his gut. This won’t end well at all…

----------------------

What had started out as a good day was turning out to be utter misery. Isaac was burdened with a growing armload of various herbs and mushrooms while Riselda scampered up and down trees, rocks and undergrowth with a businesslike efficiency, her sickle flashing in crisp clean cuts. However, it was not the fact that he was being used as a pack mule that weighed on his spirit, but the quiet words the Healer’s apprentice had spoken on the way to this section of the Briarweald.

“You’re nothing but trouble.” She muttered, her back as stiff as a board as the group journeyed on. “I can’t stand people like you. So greedy for power you’ll pay any price and overreach yourself. It’s the same every time…all your ilk end up doing is to make things so much worse.” She made a sound of disgust. “Why am I even telling you this? You can’t even understand half of what I’m saying, can you?” Saying so, she widened her pace, outdistancing Isaac and shrugging off Malcolm’s wandering hand for the umpteenth time.

Riselda’s animosity was hurtful and confusing. But she was partially right. This was kind of his fault. No matter how it happened, he was still being a burden to Farah and Riselda.

Malcolm’s henchmen had spread out to keep watch over the area. Even though Malcolm’s motives were pretty transparent, he still limited himself to occasionally trying to start up small talk with the catgirl. No matter how much he smiled and swaggered, though, Riselda studiously ignored his advances.

Even though none of them were adventurers or soldiers, they, with the sole exception of Isaac, had grown up among the trees. Every Alfar there kept a good watch on both the ground and the branches.

Unfortunately, that habit did not help them when a monster burst from the ground and killed one of them outright.

“GYAAAA-” The scream was cut off mid-sound by a wet crack as the man’s neck broke between the jaws of his attacker. Everyone had turned towards the noise, just in time to see one of their number lose his life. Isaac felt all the strength leave his knees. He collapsed onto his rear, his load of medicine scattering onto the forest floor. The monster prowling slowly towards them looked like it had no skin, all its purplish-red flesh exposed to the air. Its muscles bulged in odd places, with a long and narrow head full of haphazardly grown fangs. It had an oddly grown collection of opaque eyes that rolled in their sockets. A whip-like tail lashed at the ground, tearing chunks of dirt loose.

It was an abomination sewn together by a mad creator with nothing but slaughter to its purpose.

“U-u-u-unborn!” someone stammered. Everyone was frozen to the spot in fear at the hideous sight of this thing. It screeched at them, causing everyone to recoil. “Run! Run!” a voice shouted. Isaac turned his head to see Malcolm and his lackeys turn tail and flee. Riselda was staring in disbelief at their cowardice, before snapping her gaze at Isaac. He was closer to the beast than she was. If she ran, then Isaac would die.

On the ground, Isaac felt his heart hammer in his chest. The Unborn was a terrifying sight. It was growling and he smelt the terrible stench of decaying flesh from it. He was vainly trying to convince himself that this was a game, but a horrifying thought wormed its way into him. What would happen if he died? If this was a game, then he would probably respawn somewhere. But how certain was that to happen? He hadn’t even worked out how he was in this game-like world. Should he die, would he be expelled back into the featureless black space, never to return? That fate frightened him more than dying.

The Unborn crouched, about to pounce. Isaac curled up around himself, a whimper of fear escaping his throat. However, he saw Riselda’s eyes widen and she spun around, running as fast as she could. A shadow passed over him as the Unborn leapt over his body and pursued the catgirl instead. Isaac was frozen in stunned disbelief, watching the monster pursue the girl instead of his helpless form. Its jaws bit down, lightning quick, and seized the girl’s calf out of the air.

Riselda screamed in horrified agony. “Aaaah! Help me! Anyone, please help!” She slashed the Unborn around its mouth with her sickle, but failed to do any damage. Seeing how useless her attacks were, she stopped and began stammering something in another language. However, even this failed to do anything, as all it did was cause a burst of weak flame to spurt aimlessly from her hand. Tears began to stream from her despairing eyes as the Unborn began to bite down harder.

To Isaac, her sobbing was suddenly overlaid with the voice of his sister. “Please! Please don’t hurt me!”

It washed away all the fear in his mind. What was he doing? He was useless again! Someone was going to be hurt because he didn’t do anything again!

Almost without thinking it, Isaac had stood up and hurled himself at the beast, screaming wordlessly. He landed on its back, causing it to yelp in surprise and release Riselda’s leg from its jaws. Scrabbling for a good grip, he clawed away. Something popped under his fingers and coated it in wet goop and the Unborn screamed so loud it deafened Isaac. The Unborn bucked and leaped under him. His grip was tenuous at best, so it was not long before he was thrown off. He felt weightless before something hard slammed into his back. He did not even hit the floor before a vice clamped down on his midriff. The Unborn had Isaac in its jaws.

It hurt. And yet, the pain was not so bad that Isaac could not move. He had his hands gripped on either side of the monster’s jaw. However, he was too weak to push them apart. The abomination shook its head with such speed that Isaac’s vision blurred. He saw a red bar in a corner of his eye that plummeted rapidly.

This was the end. Isaac was about to die. He choked in agony as the Unborn’s maw crushed him tighter and tighter…

There was the sound of the earth breaking and wood cracking. A rush of green flitted by and Isaac landed on the floor, driving the teeth of the Unborn deeper into his wounds. Cracking open an eye, he saw that the head of the monster still clamped around him. The rest was torn away, held in the coils of a massive serpent made of roots and vines. The name floating above it read >. It had its fangs buried in the Unborn’s body. With a jerk, it squeezed tight. Stinking liquid gushed out and splattered everywhere.

Isaac let his head fall back bonelessly against the ground. Just before his eyelids closed, he saw the horned figure of Kiernan approach.

And Isaac slept.

[td3]New Skill Discovered!

Pain Resistance Lvl.1

(Passive)

Agony is no stranger to you. Your have learned to dull pain instinctively

and keep moving to avoid the worst of damage.

[/td3]

Synchronizing Experience...

Pain Resistance lvl.1 -> Lvl. 9

Experience Synchronized! Skill increased!

------------------

When he awoke, he was once again staring at a familiar ceiling. This time, though, Kiernan was already sitting next to his bed. Isaac drowsily regarded the Druid’s kindly expression as a thought floated up from within. Ah, he reminds me of Grandfather…

“How are you feeling, lad?” He asked. “Here, drink this medicine.” Kiernan handed him a wooden bowl filled with a dark liquid that smelt strongly of herbs.

Isaac grimaced in distaste and gulped it down. He shuddered at the horrid aftertaste, but his drowsiness receded. He blinked as several icons he had not noticed disappeared, in the same general area as where his HP bar usually was. He also noticed a tiny chevron bobbing up and down next to his name. It seems that he had levelled up. He turned his attention back to Kiernan. “T-Thank you…” He said, feeling the words come more smoothly. "Everyone...fine?"

Kiernan shook his head solemnly. "It was too late for one of you. Nobody else died and the herbs were delivered in time to save a life. Then, he pointed with his thumb over at the foot of bed. “Look here. You might be surprised.”

Isaac looked and was surprised indeed. Riselda was sleeping face down at the table. A scattered pile of dirty bowls, rags and empty glass bottles was strewn all over the surface of the tablecloth. “The lass has been taking good care of you. She felt guilty that you got hurt saving her, you see.”

“Um…I didn’t…do much.” Isaac admitted, his words halting. “I was…useless...”

Kiernan’s face grew stern. “You did enough. She could very easily be dead. Even though I sensed the Unborn Rothound’s presence when it appeared, I was still very far away when it happened. That is the danger of these abominations; they can spawn from anywhere. Riselda survived because you managed to distract the monster in time!”

“…Yes, but…I should have…done better.”

The Druid leaned back and silence fell for some time. “I have an idea, of sorts.” Kiernan stated, his voice soft. “You see, I suspect that you have a hidden power that has nothing to do with the Leystones.” Isaac’s brows furrowed in confusion before he realized what the Druid may be referring to. “The land has been astir with stories about people who appeared out of thin air after the meteor shower one week ago. These ‘Star-people’ may appear to be normal folk, but they grow stronger with unbelievable speed. I suspect that you are one of them.”

Under Kiernan’s intense gaze, Isaac could only shiver. “W-What are you…?”

“Calm down, lad.” Came the reply. “I just want to know; will you be my apprentice?”

“I don’t…understand.” Isaac asked.

“I will teach you rune-lore. In addition, I will also arrange for you to attend both warrior and magic training for self-defense. We’ll start from there and see if you have talent in either of those things. You think you are weak? Then we shall do something about it. What say you?”

Isaac saw nothing but sincerity in Kiernan’s face. This is what he needed. With the Unborn and other monsters out there, he needed a way to prevail over them. Dying was too much of a risk.

“…Yes. I accept.”