So long as he didn’t have bad weather to contend with, it should be okay. It wasn’t like he had many supplies to take with…
<<<<>>>>
Shipwright Proficiency increased to 3%
You now have a greater grasp of how materials go together to form basic watercraft.
<<<<>>>>
Not bad. He’d gained 3% Proficiency putting the raft together. The experience of building had been strange. He’d done some minor woodworking IRL, but this was different. He’d start working on something, and it’d just magically come together.
A couple of whacks with an axe and a square notch would be fully cut.
A single physical loop of cord resulted in half a dozen loops around the wood, and it was already tied off.
The gamer in him was more than a little excited to see how far he could push the skill and what sort of additional effects he could unlock.
“Time to test this bad boy out.” He ambled over to the fire, sand squeaking underfoot, and picked up his coconut water bottle. He took a swig before heading to the stream and topping it up. Then he dropped it into his inventory.
To be safe, he gathered a few more coconuts and deposited them in his inventory; they’d work well enough for hydration and a bit of food.
He gathered up the rest of his supplies, the leftover cord, his axe, along with a new spear and oar he’d built while making the raft. Last of all, he gathered up his intrepid companion, Wilson, and headed back to the raft.
Darren set Wilson in a small wooden frame he’d built at the front by one of the crossbeams.
Before he pushed out to sea, he pulled up the map in his interface. It overlaid his vision, showing the eastern side of the island, Razorfin Rock, and little else. The rest of the map was shrouded in the dark grey of the good ol’ fog-of-war. He flicked around it for a moment and found a large swath explored far to the north, where he’d spent five days exploring as a player. Not helpful right now.
He closed the map, and with an over-30s grunt, he pushed the raft down the beach and into the waves. He kept pushing until he was waist deep then scrambled on and grabbed the oar, paddling toward the not-too-distant reef.
“The good news, Wilson,” he said, “is that they space the islands only a few k’s apart in this region. It’s supposed to be relatively easy to navigate until you can upgrade your boat.”
“Thank you, Biggus,” he said in a British accent, “I’m glad you have someone you can explain the basics of the game to like they’re some noob.”
Darren shook his head. “No need to be snippy. Just makin’ sure you know so you’re not worried we’ll die out there.”
A few minutes of steady paddling later, they approached the reef. The water became increasingly choppy with every stroke of the oar. A mid-sized wave hit, and the front of the raft ducked underwater, sloshing seawater over Wilson.
Another wave caught the raft and pushed it sideways. With desperate movements, Darren fought to spin the raft back around before a larger wave came.
Spray coated his face as he grimaced and heaved.
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With ponderous movements, it straightened as they slipped ever closer to the reef.
He survived the next wave, then watched with a clenched jaw as the water dipped so low that coral broke the surface. The trough just served to highlight the size of the wave chasing it.
“Well, Wilson,” Darren said, “you let me down. You were supposed to find a break in the reef before we set out. If we don’t survive this, you’re fired.”
The wave hit.
It caught the raft, sending it nearly vertical. Cord snapped, and the logs spun free.
Darren threw himself sideways, trying to get clear of the logs before he was sucked underwater.
The world went hazy. Salt and sand stung his eyes as he tumbled head over heels.
He slammed face-first into the sand, copping a mouthful before the current ripped him away again. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to keep his breath held until the water calmed. Every moment of misery reminded him why growing up in Australia and avoiding surfing had been a poor life decision.
Darren’s lungs burned, and he thrashed—hopefully—upwards, trying to find the surface. He tried to open his eyes, but could see nothing but sandy, watery haze.
He gagged, his body screaming at him to just take a breath. And drown.
Then he broke the surface, instantly sucking in a lungful of air, as another wave smacked into him, giving him a mouthful of water instead. He coughed and spluttered, spitting water out as he fought to orient himself.
After a few moments, he found a rhythm and trod water, turning to see if he could spot any of the raft.
Raft it was, no more. The logs were scattered across a 50 metre area, and many were halfway to shore already.
A coconut bobbed to the surface next to him.
“Wilson,” he wheezed, “you made it.” He paused a moment. “You’re still fired, though.”
***
Darren huddled by the fire, shivering as the sun sank below the horizon. Wilson sat in the sand next to him. Darren had made it to shore and to the fire before falling into a fitful sleep for an hour.
He’d woken a few minutes ago to the temperature plummeting and the wind picking up, promising a storm. It was going to be a long night without shelter.
“No! Don’t you dare say it,” he snapped, staring at the sky. “I don’t need an ‘I told you so.’ ” He pulled up the old notification and accepted the quest to find shelter. Then he removed the roast panther from his inventory, took a few bites, swigged some water, and stood, stretching. Every muscle ached.
He trudged down to the beach, searching for the shipwreck… raftwreck? A few of those logs would make an excellent frame.
It didn’t take him long to find and drag several back to the fire. Every minute, the wind grew stronger, and he briefly considered that if the raft hadn’t fallen apart on the reef, he’d be in the middle of the ocean dealing with this right now.
Building a shelter was so much worse than building the raft. With Shipwright, everything felt easier than it should. The shelter, though? There were no shortcuts. It was every bit as tough as real life.
A thought struck him, and he paused his very impressive—albeit difficult—construction project to gather up his wood pile for the fire and shove it into his inventory before getting back to work.
20 minutes later, he had a log tied about shoulder high off the ground between two trees and a handful of branches lying against it. Working with feverish speed, he grabbed every branch and stick and twig he could see in the rapidly diminishing light and laid it against the frame.
A large drop of rain hit his head. Then another.
Still, he worked.
With one last desperate dash, he gathered an armful more of branches and threw them against the frame, finishing the last of it. He dove beneath the shelter as the downpour started.
The fire went out a moment later, and clouds blotted out the stars, leaving him in eerie darkness.
He curled into a ball, barely protected from the elements in his very crude shelter.
The triumphant chime of a quest complete notification sounded in his mind, drawing his attention to his HUD.
<<<<>>>>
Quest Complete
You have managed to build a “shelter.” Congratulations.
Reward:
-
10,000XP
-
1 Sovereign
<<<<>>>>
He closed the notification, and another appeared.
<<<<>>>>
Quest alert!
Survive the Night. Will your shelter protect you from the creatures of the night as well as it does from the weather? Find out.
Reward:
-
1XP
-
1 Bit
Accept?
Yes. No.
<<<<>>>>
"Two things," Darren said, listing them off with a finger each. "A: What the hell? 1 experience? And B: Creatures?"
An unearthly shriek split the night, cutting through the sound of rain pounding the ground. Another sounded. Closer.
“For the record,” Darren said, “I blame you, Wilson. You should have pushed harder for me to build the shelter, not the raft first.”