We leave the Whale Base secure in the very capable, if somewhat uptight hands of Captain Moon, our maps marked for Pitola. On the way we encounter more quests and hostile mobs, and Sherbie adopts a few more pets, including a snake, an enchanted tree sapling, and a shimmering white butterfly as big as my face, none of which seem inclined to be useful in a fight, and I can’t decide whether I should be resentful about it or grateful. On one hand, I could use the help with extra damage. On the other hand, so long as my evolved shroomlet aura remains our sole source of damage, it will continue to level up. In fact, several of my skills are leveling up on our way back to the city, and I loot some interesting items besides.
“I don’t get it,” Sherbie says when I loot a bunch of slain possessed forest critters, picking up my eighth crafting recipe of the day along with several other items. “When I played by myself I never got so many rare drops. But with you it’s a common occurrence.”
“It’s because I have two items for luck equipped.”
“No kidding? I’ve never even seen something like that.”
“Guess I’m just lucky or something.”
“I’m the lucky one; I get all your leftovers for free,” Sherbie grins as I hand him the recipe I just looted for windberry pie. “Seeing all these new recipes is making me hungry. We’ve been questing day and night without rest. Let’s take a break.”
Personally, I’m not tired, but I understand this lifestyle I lead of the sleepless grind isn’t for everyone, so I agree.
We find a clearing by a large forest lake with a stellar view. We’re pretty far off the trail again, so we have very few questers running through to spoil the scene. It’s nice, like our own private camp sight.
While Sherbie builds a fire, I sort through my loot, separating out the craftable cooking materials and trading them over to the guy with the cooking skill. It’s one I saved over for my own character—suffice to say I’d count it as one of the useless skills that really should go, eventually. Though not before Fishing level 2, I think with a roll of my eyes.
Perhaps unsurprisingly, Sherbie proves to be a rather thoughtful guy when it comes to cooking. To him, it’s an art form, and he takes it very seriously, though in the end the cooking mechanic is the same as any other crafting skill, requiring no actual work or skill on the part of the crafter.
No, it’s the presentation he’s focused on, decorating the plate with freshly plucked yellow wildflowers like the artist he is. To his companion, the butterfly he named Farfalla, he whispers some druidic words I cannot understand. In response, the butterfly flutters its wings over the dish, dusting it with a silver shimmer.
“Here you are,” Sherbie says, presenting me with a truly spectacular looking dish of windberry pie, as well as a foam art latte with a fluffy white critter on top.
“Wow,” I say, genuinely impressed.
“You like it? I made Bobo.”
Ah. So it’s a bear. Glancing up deliberately at the irritating animal companion Sherbie insists on bringing with us no matter how many strays he adopts, I take a special delight in chomping the head off right in front of him.
I don’t care if he is cute and fluffy, I know that little jerk’s true personality. This whole time he’s been aggroing mobs on purpose just to make my life difficult, then he gets right under my feet and trips me deliberately mid-battle, only to go hide with the other animal companions and pretend innocence, like he was only watching all along. Last time he pulled that stunt I almost died, but did Sherbie care? No, he only defended Bobo when I started to yell at him.
‘He’s only a poor little orphan child! Have pity on him! You killed his mother!’
It feels nice to get under Bobo’s skin for once, as I can see I’ve done quite effectively with this one chomp. How’s it feel to be picked on for a change? I taunt him as I lick the froth from my upper lip and his eye twitches with silent rage. Serves you right…
“Now this is more my speed,” Sherbie remarks, leaned casually back against a tree, sipping his latte as he views the picturesque scene. “Don’t you love going to a street café, sitting outside beneath an umbrella? Eating delicious food, sipping delicious coffee and watching the people go by…”
“I’ve never done anything like that,” I admit. “If I drink coffee it’s by myself in the basement. Decaf, no sugar.”
“Decaf? No sugar?” Sherbie looks as though I’ve just insulted all of his ancestors with these three words.
I shrug. “I have heart problems, so no caffeine. And my mom had me on a strict no-dessert diet. Said I was getting too fat.”
“Mama mia! If you’re fat, there’s just more of you to love, doesn’t she know that?”
I chuckle. “My mom isn’t exactly the affectionate type.”
“That’s your problem—you weren’t loved enough as a child. No wonder you’re so standoffish.”
The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.
“I’m just introverted.”
Sherbie gives me a doubtful look. “You’re a hard one to get a handle on, Rev, and that’s the truth. Sometimes you really seem like a nice, warm person. Other times, you’re ice cold. Like the steppes of Tibet in January,” he muses, looking off into the distance and bringing his drink to his lips for another sip.
I don’t know what to say to that. I am sure there is no malice in Sherbie, only honesty, so I can’t be offended. I can only look at his words as though I were being reflected in a mirror, and observe objectively.
Is that really how I seem to others? Could it be, that’s how I really am? Even I don’t know, for sure. After all, I’m practically still a kid, a nobody who spent the majority of his life locked away in self-imposed isolation. I never had friends before; I don’t know myself around other people. Hardly know myself at all.
“Ah, but that’s not to say I don’t like you!” he interjects himself into my thoughts suddenly, very flustered. “I don’t mind whether you’re warm or cold. After all, you’re my…” he goes quiet, and his pale face flushes rosy pink.
“Your what?”
“My…first real friend.”
Now I see why he was blushing. I think I’m probably blushing too.
Jeez, this guy. What am I going to do with him?
“Your first real friend, huh?” I say, for lack of a better defense, finding myself teasing him reflexively.
“Well, that’s—! I mean, that’s just…”
“No, I’m flattered to hear you say so. But let’s be realistic, here. You don’t even know my irl name, so how can you say we’re real friends?”
“Of course I know your real name! You’re, you’re—McConsoleKing!”
I stare at him incredulously, and his blush deepens to true red. He purses his lips together, for a minute looking like a balloon about to burst. Then, just like a balloon, he does.
“What is your real name, anyway?!”
“I’m not telling you.”
“No fair! You already know my real name is Herbert Spinaci!”
“Not true. I only knew your gamer handle was S. Herbert.”
Sherbie looks mortified. He sputters a moment, then cries, “No fair! Tell me your name—first and last!”
“No way. You’re definitely the type of lonely creepy guy who’d end up stalking me in real life if I gave you my full name.”
“I wouldn’t!”
“Herbert Spinaci.”
“Stop that!”
“Spinaci, does that mean spinach in Italian?”
“I’ll kill you!”
We go back and forth like this for a while. Sherbert’s fun to tease, so I can’t help myself, even if it is earning me more than a few whacks from this guy who doesn’t know he has 20 strength.
Do I really have to say it out loud? Of course I feel the same way. I only met him a few days ago, but I’m sure he’s the first and only real friend I’ve ever had. Sorry, Sherbie. It’s too embarrassing to say it to your face. But…
“Austen.”
Sherbie stops pummeling me to stare at me with teary eyes.
“Your first or last name?”
“First.”
“What’s your last name?”
“McConsoleKing.”
“Seriously?”
Before I can answer, the lake’s surface breaks suddenly, dousing us with water. The next instant, a gigantic plesiosaur-like creature snatches me up in its jaws, and drags me beneath the waves.
[-75 HP]
Surprise attack! I’m gonna be eaten by the Loch Ness monster!
Is my aura on? I was taking a break and I considered switching it off, but suddenly I can’t remember if I did or not.
A quick check confirms it’s on, and the creature is taking damage. But so am I. With each chomp of its teeth into my unshielded body, I lose more health.
[-69 HP]
[-85 HP]
Nessie bites hard—but I’m not dying here!
It’s difficult to get my bearings, being swung this way and that beneath the waves, but I am keenly aware of one thing at least—I still have my sword.
That’s right, my level one wooden sword that I received upon character creation, I’m still toting that thing around. And while I’m well aware it doesn’t do shit for damage, perhaps given my proximity to all the creature’s sensitive mouth and face parts, I just might be able to get in some kind of critical hit, big enough for Nessie to let me go.
Nothing to do but go for it.
While still counting on my aura to drain the creature and sustain my ailing HP, I take aim and jam the sword straight up into its gums alongside a large, pointy tooth.
The plesiosaur roars with pain, releasing me in the same motion. I turn from it at once, determined to swim for the surface before I start to take drowning damage. But that’s no easy feat, in this armor.
Still, thanks to my high agility score, I’m somehow managing to inch my way towards the surface, and the sunlight just out of reach.
Not fast enough.
Nessie comes at me not from below, but from the side, chomping down hard and turning again, spearing straight for the center and bottom of the lake.
[-79 HP]
[-91 HP]
[You are drowning]
[-50 HP]
[-50 HP]
[-50 HP]
Holy percentages, Batman! What is that, 5% of my HP going down every second with drown damage? I won’t survive long at all like this. And the monster? It’s only down to half health.
[-50 HP]
[-50 HP]
Giving up? It doesn’t even enter my mind. I don’t care if I’m just going to die anyway—I’ll fight down to my very last HP point.
Just then the beast changes its hold on me, opening its mouth and repositioning me inside as though to swallow me whole.
I can’t see a damn thing, but I’ve still got a hold on my sword, and I can more or less gauge the direction the beast is trying to force me.
That does it.
Wooden sword throat punch!
It cries with pain, rattling my bones. But I’m not done.
Throat punch! Throat punch! Throat punch of destiny!
[-50 HP]
[-50 HP]
[You are drowning]
Drowning, yes. But unless I’m mistaken, that was one critical hit too many. That thing is dead.
[You have reached character level 20]
I struggle to force the creature’s mouth open, and burst free from the jaws of certain death. But I’m so far submerged at this point, the surface must be thirty or forty feet away. I’ll never make it.
Ironically, now that the monster’s dead, I can no longer rely on its draining life force to keep me alive. It’s damn frustrating. And I’d come so far without dying, too. Of course, that was partly because my heart condition made the game log me out every time I was in danger of that happening, but still! I was proud of my record, damn it!
[HP critically low!]
Guess this is it. Goodbye, cruel world.
Just then, I feel something tugging on the back of my trousers. I’m caught on something, being pulled rapidly upwards. Another dinosaur? No, that’s—!
A fishing line?!
Ziiiip! Weeeee!!
I break the surface of the lake with 3 HP left.
“Rev!” Faintly, I am conscious of Sherbie screaming, flailing his fishing pole as he struggles to pull me to shore.
I’m sorry, Sherbie. I take it all back.
Fishing skill level 2, where would I be without you?!
