Leaving my house and locking my front door behind me, I thought about how I should do this. I’d need a party and a guild for support. Hopefully both. The world will need lots of both, if or when random monsters and dungeons appear.
In all the games I’ve played, adventurers can level up faster in groups when they’re working together, killing monsters and looting dungeons. With what happened, they’ll also protect the rest of the people who just want to keep living the life they had.
Most people don’t want to do anything but what they've always done. Some people will see this as a chance to get ahead by taking what they want, or making others do what they want.
In the list of Game Professions, I’d seen a Slaver Profession. For those who took that, too many people would see it, and want them dead. I might have to kill a few Slavers myself. The Mentalist CHARM abilities were as far as I wanted to go in that direction.
Looking around, I didn’t see anyone close outside. Even the cars that had rear-ended each other earlier were gone; either towed or driven off. There were just a few pieces of metal and glass swept to the other side of the road in front of the old pizza place. I’d eaten a lot of their pizzas over the years I’ve lived in Eddington, even before I lived here.
The now abandoned Speedy Pizza was a small, one story, mostly white building with some of the paint peeling and graffiti tags on the side and back walls. The red band around the top and on both sides of the center door had faded as well. Plywood covered the windows, while tattered brown paper covered the inside of the glass front door. You could still easily jimmy open the side door, so the taggers had never broken the front door.
Otherwise, it was a pleasant mid-May day with blue skies, fluffy clouds, and a flowery breeze from Mike Johnston's yard two houses down. Meg Whitford, next door, had a garden behind her house as well. I wondered how they’d handled the changes. Otherwise, it was a picture-perfect day. “Yeah, right.” I thought.
“Time to try some magic,” I said, with no one to hear but me. First was my lowest level MANA SHIELD in front of myself, then another in front of a Maple tree in the Whitford’s front yard. The SHIELDs shimmered a faint, watery blue. You could see through them.
The Level 1 SHIELD cost 10 MANA to cast and would last only a minute without support. I could keep it going with more MANA per minute or increase the damage it could take. For even more MANA points, I could do both. The minimum SHIELD wouldn’t stop much without burning through my MANA keeping it going, but everything that stops damage helps.
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
Next came my first offensive weapon, the MANA BOLT. Firing two MANA BOLTs at the top of the same tree, I saw leaves fly. They had the same color as the SHIELD, but left a quickly vanishing trail of light blue sparks behind them. That meant I could identify them by sight if I saw them. Knowing what someone is casting helps in any situation.
Like the SHIELD, I can increase the damage with more MANA when casting. Most spells have a fixed MANA cost for damage or protection. MANA spells were the exception, except for the minimum cost to cast. That was the same. I’d run out of MANA in a minute or two if I kept boosting them. I thought about balancing my choices between damage and protection while I walked over to my van in my driveway.
As I got in my van, I hoped that the police and local government would become helpers. They wouldn’t try to become petty overlords like they were in too many books and movies. Most of them are not likely to have any clues about how to deal with this. I worried that normal police procedures would mean dead cops until they could adapt.
In my town, Eddington, the city, and county offices are in the same old, edge of downtown red brick factory building. It still has the saw-toothed skylight roof. The sheriff and police offices are nearby. If the Mayor, City, and County Commissioners are trying to deal with this, I knew where they’d be, and the city police chief and Chandler County sheriff should be there, too. Thankfully, my old blue van started without a problem, like usual.
Eddington isn’t a big town, but it has a small university, and it’s located among rolling hills, ridges, and forests. There are some nice lakes nearby too. They built the town among ridges of limestone, so there are caves scattered here and there. “I bet those caves will spawn lots of monsters,” I thought. I knew of one cave under the town they’d sealed off before I came here for college decades ago. I wondered if it would stay sealed.
There weren’t many cars on the road, but I heard another siren in the distance as I prepared to back out of my driveway. When my van started, my preset classic rock station was playing Skynyrd’s Sweet Home Alabama. I listened to it as I pulled out and turned towards the stoplight to the west. It’s a good song even if you don’t live in Alabama. It felt too normal for what had happened.
After the turn out of my driveway, I took a left at the light, and headed south down Fox Avenue towards the back side of city hall and one of their parking lots. It held more cars than I expected when I arrived.
Finding a shady spot on the far edge of the lot, I parked there. I didn’t know how long I’d be here and it was a warm day in May. It will be a lot hotter in a month. Getting out, I rearmed and started walking.
Try driving a car some time with a sword on your hip. It doesn’t fit and if it did, it’d be damned uncomfortable. My sword was half for show, half for misdirection, and half for someone who got too close. The other half was for when I was out of MANA.
Update to chapter title.
It's an old song from the early 70's about people who love the place they live. I can't fault anyone for that feeling. I feel that way about the state I live and was born in. Just not all the people. Which is why I don't go back to my home town.
Musical Interlude:
Sweet Home Alabama by Lynyrd Skynyrd
