《Reintarnation: A Weegie's guide to Weapons, Wizardry, and the Wild West.》 1 - This is not Australia. It had been an hour or two since Dean woke up. This was not Dalmarnock. And he was pretty sure this wasn''t Glasgow. For one thing, it was hot. Taps aff hot... at least it was at first. It was supposed to be December, a week or so before the new year the last time he checked. Snow was predicted over the next few days. He enjoyed the snow, especially when it coincided with the winter festivities. Not Scotland then. Probably not anywhere nearby either. His first guess was Australia. The last thing he remembered he¡¯d just been laid off, arrived home to find his then girlfriend, Sophie, in bed with his best mate, Rob. Naturally, he was a rite mess. He dropped everything, and went to drink away what little he had in his savings. He vaguely remembered flashes of being booted from the last bar somewhere and stumbling his way to the bank of the Clyde, near Kingston Bridge. He sobbed. The real ugly stuff. Snot and saliva everywhere. Normally, in stories like this, there would be a suspicious truck hurtling down a nearby street, only to veer wildly, or a mysterious figure falling into the river, just begging to be saved. Maybe there was. Maybe. But how did he end up here? He knew no self-respecting polis would let him near the airport, let alone board a plane in that state. Perhaps he was kidnapped and had his not so vital organs and belongings taken. At least that would explain why he was missing his phone and his clothes, and why he woke up with a crackin'' headache. But it wouldn''t explain why he was wearing someone else''s clothes. Coming to his senses, he looked around, then down at himself, and then back around. He realized he was dressed a bit weird, but that was not a concern to him right now. He was in a rocky alcove, almost a cave but not quite. The morning sun stretched down, casting him in shade. He could hear running water but could not see any signs of a creak or brook from where he sat. Dean knew that if he was dumped in the middle of nowhere in an unknown land (possibly Australia) he would need shelter, clean water, and food. He could do without a fire for the time being. The alcove would do for immediate shelter, but water would become a problem, and food. He sat still, trying his hardest to listen for the direction of the water source, but he knew his hearing wasn''t great, nor was his eyesight. Panic suddenly shot through him, and he jumped to his feet. ¡°My glasses! Where are my glasses?!¡± he screamed internally. He patted himself down, finding a pair of circular rimmed glasses in his shirt pocket. These were not his glasses, but he tried them anyway. They were not in his prescription, and everything was blurry. He put them away. He also found a belt sheath with a big ¡®fuck-off¡¯ looking blade in it. ¡°Call that a knife?¡± He mused to himself as he unsheathed it for the first time. He was much more certain he was in Australia. Now equipped with specs that didn''t work and some form of protection, he took a proper gander around. There was still no sign of the water source, but in the centre of the clearing was a strange plant, and Dean found himself strangely drawn to it. He crouched down and examined it. It had teal coloured, effervescent leaves and small crystalline flower buds that did not seem to bloom. The sensation that drew him in begged him to unearth the exotic plant. With his knife in hand (which he was tempted to name Sheila) he gently dug out the roots of the unique fern-thing. He was incredibly disappointed. It looked a bit like ginger but much smaller, more gnarled and spindly. Real naff looking. He was contemplating re-planting the thing when his stomach began to rumble. In his youth, Dean had been an avid boy-scout. Even much later in his late teens and early adulthood, Dean enjoyed going out into the wilds to set up camp, picking seasonal plants, and fishing. So, it was out of character when he popped the whole thing in his mouth with a shrug and ate it. Dean was familiar with the whole ¡°toxin testing¡± methodology where you start by rubbing the food into your skin and wait an absolute age and then, should there be no adverse effects, gradually take more steps to test its safety. It was compulsive, impatient, and he was being a rite dolly, but he had a gut feeling it would be fine. His stomach cramped almost immediately after he swallowed, and his head began to swim. "You bampot.." he cursed to himself as he fell to his knees, convulsing in pain. He could hardly breathe - it felt like his insides were trying to claw their way out from his pores. He was sweating profusely. It was a black tar-like substance that oozed from his pores. Was this thing a psychoactive? He could feel his heart speed up, faster than he was sure it had ever beat. He swore he could hear his hair growing. He blacked out. After an indeterminate amount of time, Dean woke up from his turbulent state, sprawled out on the blackened floor. His lips felt parched and he was hungry. Wait. Was he hungry? Not really, a wee bit peckish maybe. He realized his headache was gone, as was any of the pain he felt from ingesting the root. The 8-point Heavenly herb. How did he suddenly know what it was? Sitting up, he rolled forward and kicked down, causing him to bound upright. Landing deftly on his feet, he realized there was a stream above him on the surface of the rocky formation that bore the alcove. He knew all that somehow. He knew in the rainy season, the little pond would occasionally overflow and would drain down into the cave from a small crevice in the roof, landing perfectly at the base of the plant. That¡¯s how the 8-point Heavenly root could survive. He could see the change in the colour of the dirt of the crevice where it held tight to the remaining moisture from the last rainfall. A sharp pain lanced through Dean¡¯s head, followed by an equally bright flash of light. Shaking his head, Dean recovered. There was no light, no pain. What was going on? Dean went to adjust his glasses to get a better look around, but realized he put them back in his pocket. He could see just fine. Nae, he could see perfectly. 20/20 vision, or maybe even 20/10 which he didn''t even realize was possible for normal people. Was the 8-point Heavenly herb responsible? As the neurons in his brain began to fire on all cylinders and comprehension started to dawn on him, he froze, pulled abruptly from his introspection. Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings. *Crack* That was the sound of a nearby branch being snapped, approximately 30 yards away. He had a compulsion to investigate. Dean didn¡¯t know if Australia had bears or wolves, but he was sure he could not take them in a fight. Doubly sure he could not talk his way out of a hungry beast¡¯s mouth. He pulled his knife and crept towards the open side of the cave with his back pressed against the wall. As he peeked round the corner of cave wall, his heart pumping, Dean stared and retracted his previous belief. He was not in Australia. Before Dean stood a child. At least that is what his initial, surprisingly logical, thought told him. No, Dean, that is not a child. He thought to himself, fear and wonder rising. That is a goblin. A goblin with a fucking gun.
The goblin was a about 5ft tall, grey in complexion, with wispy hair tied in a kind of top knot. It was covered in tattoos, and wore shabby leather pants and shoulder straps. And it held a gun. It faced away, crouched over a bush and used its gun to dig into the dirt of a nearby shrub. The entire sight was baffling. Maybe there was a logical explanation for this? Maybe he was still under the psychoactive properties of the 8-Point heavenly root? Dean made to step back into the alcove but lost his balance on a very inconveniently placed pebble and stumbled, alerting the goblin to his presence. The goblin spun to face him with a yelp, gesturing his gun wildly with little care for proper trigger discipline. Now he had a better look at the thing, Dean noted it looked like an absolute bawbag. Its face was all scrunched up, a bit like a hairless pug, but with a less of a dog muzzle and more of a pig''s snout, or that of a bat. It shouted at him incomprehensibly. Dean winced at another sudden bright flash and pain behind his eyes. This was just like before. ¡°Oi! Oi! I got a big boy!" the creature yelled over its shoulder, suddenly speaking English. "You! Don¡¯t you move! Gimmie the short and pointy! Any munching you got! But don¡¯t you move a bit or I¡¯ll git you nasty!¡± ¡°Um, wha?¡± Dean enquired, very eloquently. The goblin looked confused for a second, halting his erratic toting of the firearm. ¡°Give. The. Pointy. And. Your. Munchings,¡± the goblin barked slightly exasperated. It was gaining confidence, its excitement evident as it realized it had the upper hand. It started jostling the revolver in Dean¡¯s general direction again, coming closer. Dean¡¯s mind was blank yet somehow racing at the same time. There was so much to digest, but no matter how hard he tried to collect his thoughts he found it impossible. He had to do something, but nothing was coming to his mind. Maybe he could surprise the goblin once it got close? Or throw the knife hoping it would at the very least startle the creature. For the briefest moment, time seemed to slow and he saw it all. The tension in the Goblins shoulders, the way it slightly favoured one leg, the subtle way it tried to look around for anything or anyone else of interest. He could visualize his plan of attack. The numerous openings the goblin left. He knew exactly how much force he would need to apply to break bones or puncture flesh. ¡°And give the big coat too! Gets cold tits!¡± The goblin said again, gesturing emphatically, drawing Dean from his thoughts. ¡°Gallus wee shite, yoos¡± Dean mumbled under his breath while carefully and begrudgingly removing his overcoat after dropping the knife. It was a nice duster; he had always wanted one but thought he might look a bit daft. Now that he was wearing one though, he felt chuffed. He saw it again, right now. Time had once more slowed, and the future overlayed the present. An instinct he didn¡¯t know he had began to take over. He threw the opened duster at the goblin, blinding its view. In its panic it fired, the trajectory wide. He kicked down at Sheila, the knife, from where he had dropped it, and it arced up. He swiftly kicked out, propelling the knife forward with immense force, plunging deep in the creature¡¯s vital point. Darting forward he snatched the gun, cocked the hammer and fired into the convulsing body. Without a second thought, Dean rolled, narrowly avoiding a shot to his head as a section of the wall behind received a spray of buckshot, sending dust everywhere. He turned and without truly looking, he fired two more rounds into the near distance. A coppice of dryland trees. There was a crack followed by a short scream, followed by silence. Dean stood and as quickly as it came to him, the strange feeling left. He had just killed someone. He looked down at the gore that remained of the goblin. There was more blood than he had ever seen, and he stared for a while longer without realizing. He felt bile surge in his throat. He had killed someone. Why was his first instinct to fight? He''d never thought of himself as a violent person; he even hated those ultra realistic gore-porn movies that his classmates from high school seemed to love. He had killed someone. He was scared. Now it was over he felt so scared, so fragile. He was alone and he had just killed someone. He was panicking. He had to focus. He took a deep breath in an attempt to center himself. What mattered was that he was still alive. He was alive and in another world. Dean threw up. 2 - Our World Lightning crackled across the darkened horizon as Malicius leaned down upon the highest balcony of the tallest tower of his incredibly ominous castle fortress, peering down at his equally ominous domain. He was the ¡®The Phosphagus Dark Magus¡¯, the demon lord of this land. The un-contested ruler of the heavenly demonic sect. Many many years ago, in his youth he had accidentally stumbled across an ancient tome written by some unhinged madman who, coincidentally, had a theory on cultivation that really resonated with Malicius. The theory went ¡®Why do all the hard work yourself when you can just absorb the life forces of others? With this one trick you too can become the greatest, most feared, most powerful, and undoubtably the most handsome being to ever ascend from the mortal planes. Terms and conditions of the following prophecy apply¡­¡± He did not read any further. ¡°Excuse me, most dreaded one¡­¡± a voice filled with absolute reverence and fear called out from behind him. He knew they were there of course; no one could sneak up on him, certainly not one of his measly acolytes. Instead of verbally acknowledging his attendant, he sent out a weak burst of chi, not enough to harm the decrepit creature but enough to remind him of his immense power. ¡°Ah yes, my lord, your sickening aura is most¡­ um... sickening! Vile even!¡± His mook kowtowed before him. Malicius allowed a small smirk to spread across his emaciated face. Of course he was vile, he was The Phosphagus, the devourer of light, Antithesis of Hope. ¡°Most despicable one, I bring news from your disciple, Vroma. She wishes to let you know she has arrived at her destination and will begin preparations for the next stage of your most nefarious plan¡­¡± his minion relayed. This really was good news. His disciples were sent out across the Hinterlands with the explicit goal of inciting fear and chaos among the plebian masses, where the artefacts he so benevolently bequeathed to his minions, would harvest the dark energies said fear and chaos would generate. After a short while, the attendant left his presence without further instruction. A most excellent servant, he would allow that one to live a little longer. Malicius content with the progress of his masterful plans sighed with relief. He loved doing absolutely nothing and getting everything exactly as he wanted.
After attempting to mentally collect himself from waking up in a new world, possibly gaining some kind of magical power and then immediately being thrown into a fight with goblins, he gathered their corpses and began to go through their belongings where he found: a small sack of miscellaneous detritus and various wee trinkets, 11 bullets, 9 bronze coins, and 2 iron coins. He also found a partially full metal flask, a small tobacco pouch, something he assumed was a fire steel, a wide brimmed hat, and another gun; a single action revolver like the one he disarmed from the first goblin. Upon picking it up his sight was drawn to the gun, where something strange happened.
Item: Goblin Revolver Quality: POOR UNCOMMON
This rather awful revolver is originally of a reliable gnomish design, but after being tinkered with by goblin gearheads, it can fire a wide variety of ammunition. It is much more likely backfire, misfire, or otherwise cause you an unfortunate time.
The description flared in his mind, startling him. For some reason it spoke in a rather opulent English accent. He wasn¡¯t sure why, but he felt strangely antagonistic against the thing. ¡°Uh, Hullo?¡± Dean started, hoping this would generate some sort of response. There was no reply. Dean had played his share of games, read his share of comics and novels. And wanted to try it out. The thing. ¡°Status!¡± Nothing happened. ¡°Inventory!¡± Nope. ¡°Menu! Open sesame!¡± Nae a bloody thing. ¡°For fucks sake, man!¡± he cried in frustration. Realising this was a waste of time, Dean clambered to his feet and took a deep breath. The sun was beginning its descent, and he had no idea where to go, or what to do. No, he did know. First and foremost, survival. He had a decent chance here; there was shelter and running water. But he wasn¡¯t sure about food. He had caught the goblin digging in the dirt, and it asked him for munching which he strongly guessed was food. He supposed he could eat the goblins but didn¡¯t know if it was edible and, after the 8-point heavenly herb incident, he didn¡¯t want to risk it lest it ¡®sow the seeds of corruption across his dantian¡¯ He had no idea what any of that meant but it sounded cool. He made his choice. He would go out in search of a people who could help. He emptied the flask of its contents, clambered up the rock side in search of the stream, found it after a short while, refilled the flask and stowing it in a jacket pocket. He then clambered down and decided North was a good direction and plodded off.
Over the next few, incredibly uneventful, hours Dean¡¯s mind began to wander back over the past few days. He knew he was not happy. He worked a very mundane IT desk job at an unremarkable company that paid exactly the average salary for his position, but demanded unpaid overtime to reach targets, and even didn¡¯t let him have a day off for his birthday (That was something of a sore spot for Dean). The cold-hearted corporate machine had decided to cut down on his department after they all worked their asses off to create and deploy an automated pipelining service that would do their job without asking HR about the lack of birthday-related days off. Normally Dean would finish work around 7pm, cycle home for 7:30pm, play a round or two of whatever game Rob, his best friend and flatmate was playing, pop by his girlfriend Sophie¡¯s house for tea (read: dinner) Who had most likely eaten already, and head home to tidy up, and head to bed. After being given that fated notice of dismissal, Dean decided to head home early only to encounter Sophie and Rob playing Naked twister in the combined living room/ kitchen. Dean¡¯s initial reaction was confusion, then denial; Sophie was supposed to be doing her Master¡¯s, she was always busy with her Master¡¯s. That¡¯s why he hardly met up with her anymore. His next next emotion was anger, a seething white-hot anger. The fury of ten thousand suns surged through Dean¡¯s body before dissolving away in the thick, viscous weight of depression. The whole moment was over in about 4 seconds. He entered the door, looked up at the scene before him, coughed, turned right back around left, closing the door softly behind him. He mindlessly waiting in front of the lift for a short while, got inside the rather claustrophobic metal box, and bent over with his hand on his knees, retching. But nothing would come. His body refused to throw up anything, but the taste of bile reached his throat causing him to hack and splutter. He quickly headed outside from the lift and walked to the nearby station, realizing that he could not be arsed to wait for the next train, he continued his march, all the way down to Kelvinhall.Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there. He had a soft spot for the bars here. Rob, Soph, and he would always end up in one of them after classes when they studied at the nearby University of Glasgow. He thought those were good times, Him and Rob had plans to open a company that did Security consultation, or Web development, they could never decide. None of that happened. Soph knew what she wanted to do though, she always had it planned out. Bachelours in Computer Science, 2 years in Development until she had the experience to be a full stack developer, back to Uni for her Master¡¯s studying neural networks in artificial intelligence, then a PhD in the same. Dean had always admired her drive and discipline. He wanted to marry her one day, maybe start a family? He wasn¡¯t sure if he¡¯d ever want kids, he knew she didn¡¯t and that was okay. She wanted to prioritize herself, and he wanted to be there to support that, but he did want to have something. Something he could call a family. As a teen Dean had lost his mum after complications with her lifelong illness, and his ol¡¯ da did not take that well. He decided that Dean was old enough to be the man of the house, and he would take the incredible burden of being a deadbeat alcoholic very seriously. He once looked up to the man, he taught Dean how to fish, how to set up a tent, how to create his own shelter from what he had, all sorts of soldier stuff, despite never being in the forces himself. He was stern, and a bit distant, but ultimately loved Dean and his mother. But after her passing he changed completely. There was no hard but caring gaze, no unsolicited advice, just a cold void. A shell of the man who he once was. He too died a few years later, but dean had always thought he truly died that day with his ma. It was a lonely time after that. The drinks came quickly, Beer, beer, whisky, beer, several shots of something that tasted like poison, but he didn¡¯t care. It didn¡¯t feel long but he was eventually asked to leave the premises by a very encouraging, very large bald man with a beard and missing teeth. Dean explained that he was fine, and not in fact, bladdered or ¡®causing a scene¡¯. Then things got hazy. But he knew he ended up on the old ¡®Our World¡¯ Mural. The perspective made him dizzy, and he stumbled back on his ass, right in a puddle, where he sat and cried for a long time. He realized he was cold. He looked up into the sky and was not surprised to feel the drizzling rain. He also realized that there were very few people here. Scratch that, no one was around. In his state of great inebriation, it was only a bit strange to him in that, in the centre of a major city, it was all so still. The usual gusty winds were calm, there were no taxis blaring horns, no shouts from the fellow Weegies off on the pish. The only sounds the soft drizzle, the gentle slosh of the Clyde nearby. In that moment, he was at peace. He had found catharsis. The next thing he knew he woke in that cave.
It was last light before Dean decided to stop and make camp for the night. He had found a reasonable clearing; he gathered some twigs and smaller branches from the brush around him to use for firewood. The land here was less arid, but still not as lush as he was used to. He was cautious of starting a fire he could lose control of in this drier climate. Surprisingly he wasn¡¯t hungry yet, a wee bit peckish perhaps, but he would survive the night without food. Come morning however, he was not sure he would have the strength to trek very far, let alone all day as he had planned. He would need to eat. Thinking quickly, he tossed his coat and the little burlap sack that held much of his things, taking only his knife. He crept quietly away from his camp for quite some ways, until he spotted what he was looking for. A hole. Dean had never hunted, while he had the opportunity to, he never felt it was appropriate as a sport and not wanting for food so desperately, he did not need to hunt for his meals. Until now. He carefully unlaced his boots and began to prepare. He knew a few knots off by heart but was out of practice. He found a nearby sapling and began to set up his snare. He repeated the process with his other lace and made his way back in the direction he came. With no small amount of luck, he would have breakfast. ¡°Cheers.¡± Dean muttered as he bit into the slightly charred rabbit. He was elated, for the first time in so long he felt proud of himself. He had never caught anything to eat before, and despite his uncertainty he was successful. He wasn¡¯t normally the type of person to be grateful for things like this, he came from a place where food was easy to come by, so long as you have a few quid you could buy yourself a burger or a sandwich. Obviously, there were those who struggled, even in a big city like Glasgow. Poverty was everywhere, but so was abundance. In Dean¡¯s eyes it was a matter of greed. Dean wasn¡¯t sure how to dress a kill, so it came as no surprise that he mostly butchered the poor thing. He also didn¡¯t have time to bleed it, so it wasn¡¯t the greatest eating he had ever had. Despite that, it was good. Really good. He would kill for a packet of crisps and an IrnBru but knew that he would never taste them again. As soon as he had finished his meal it happened again. His head shot with a blinding pain, but this time when he opened his eyes he was met with a screen:
--Log--
Experience gained: Analytics. Analytics has gone from level 0 ¨C level 0. Experience gained: Botany. Botany has gone from level 0 ¨C level 1. Experience gained: Fortitude. Fortitude has gone from level 0 ¨C level 1. (The subskill ¡®Poison resistance¡¯ has been created from Fortitude). Experience gained: Poison resistance. Poison resistance has gone from level 0 ¨C level 0. Experience gained: Stealth. Stealth has gone from level 0 ¨C level 0. A new language has been added to your compendium: Goblinoid. Experience gained: Combat Prowess. Combat Prowess has gone from level 0 ¨C level 1. (The subskill ¡®Flow¡¯ has been created from Combat prowess). Experience gained: Flow. Flow has gone from level 0 ¨C level 0. You have defeated a Goblin Scout (level 1) Experience gained! Experience gained: Firearms. Firearms has gone from level 0 ¨C level 1. Experience gained: Firearms: Pistol has gone from level 0 ¨C level 1. (The subskill ¡®Quick-fire¡¯ has been created from Firearms). Experience gained: Quick-fire. Quick-fire has gone from level 1 ¨C level 1. You have defeated a Goblin Scout (level 1). Experience gained! Experience gained: Analytics. Analytics has gone from level 0 ¨C level 1. Experience gained: Hunting. Hunting has gone from level 0 ¨C level 1. (The subskill ¡®Traps¡¯ has been created from Hunting). Experience gained: Traps. Traps has gone from level 0 ¨C level 1. Experience gained: Cooking. Cooking has gone from level 0 ¨C level 1.
¡°Woah¡± Dean spoke out loud. ¡°I know Kung-Fu¡±. 3 - A fear of failure. Dean could hardly contain his excitement. He had made it. It was shortly after dawn on the third day of hiking from the rocky shrubland, now into rolling grassy hills. He had found civilization. A short while back he noticed something in the distance. At first, he thought it was the morning fog rolling out, but as he continued, he soon realized it was smoke. He had found someone, or perhaps it was a settlement. He crested the hill and overlooked a wide valley with a creek winding through the middle. Near the bank of the creek was a campsite. It consisted of one of those old-timey ¡®Oregon Trail¡¯ type of Wagons with a canvas awning, an A-frame tent set up in the shade of the wagon. A tripod stove was perched over a small campfire and hitched up nearby were two oxen. No, not oxen, Goats. Huge goatlike creatures, they were taller and wider than any goat he had seen before. It reminded Dean of a Takin but about twice the size. Aside from the birds that would soar by far above, small rodent things that would shoot away from sight as soon as they suspected they weren¡¯t alone, the rabbit he ate for breakfast a few days ago, and a snake or two that he had no interest in getting acquainted with, Dean had not seen any of the native animals. He managed to forage a few berries (that he did perform a toxicity test on) which is what he had so far subsisted on. The smell of bacon wafted past as he continued to spy on the camp. His stomach rumbled. As Dean made to get closer to the campsite to investigate further, he caught sight of a tumbleweed rolling by. ¡°Well, isn¡¯t that a clich¨¦,¡± he thought before the tumbleweed abruptly stopped in front of him. It was oddly¡­. Threatening. The bush loomed, seeming to grow before his eyes. Similarly to when he had found the 8-point Heavenly herb, and with the Goblin Revolver, his mind was drawn to the shrub, though this time there was little to no pain.
Name: Rumbleweed. | [Your Analytics skill is too low!] | Level: 2.
This is a sentient plant-type creature. This monster, like a scavenger bird, feasts upon the remains it finds in its path. Unlike scavenger birds, it will latch its bristles into the carcass and use it as a root system, moving on once nothing remains. Also, unlike scavenger birds, it will target living creatures as prey.
[Your Analytics skill is too low!].
Dean took a testing step forward and slowly removed his hat. He could somehow tell it was waiting for its change to pounce. If he ran as fast as he could, and did not stop to look back, he might make it to the campsite where he hoped to find help. Aside from the hostile presence emanating from the thing, it looked like a normal, if very large, bush. But it slowly began to roll forward, and Dean took another step back. If it had not been for Dean¡¯s newly heightened senses, he would not have noticed the second bush stalking up behind him ¨C if a bush was capable of stalking. But a bean? A bean could most definitely stalk. Dean dove forward in the same moment the two Rumbleweeds made their move. He kicked up dirt as he rolled, barely skimming beneath the monster as it leapt toward him from the front and collided with its brethren which had attempted the same maneuver from behind. Launching to his feet, he bolted down the hillside to the camp. The bushes appeared to have entangled themselves in their initial attack. As a result, Dean had made some decent headway, but a distant memory of watching a video on the web about tumbleweeds reminded him that they can really belt it when they caught a wind. He had no idea how fast a sentient, potentially magical one could go, but he was not going to risk it all by looking back to see. He really regretted looking back. It was right there, right on his heels. It had combined into a bigger, somehow angrier looking tumbleweed. Once again, he felt a mild twinge behind his eyes as he faced forward again.
Name: Rough-and-Tumbleweed | [Your Analytics skill is too low!] | Level: 5.
This is a sentient plant-type creature. Once a humble Rumbleweed, it has combined its strength with another of its kind, permanently morphing into a whole new monster. This creature will now seek out larger prey to sustain itself.
[Your Analytics skill is too low!].
It had transformed and levelled up. Dean still had no idea how to check his status window or anything like that, so he couldn¡¯t be certain, but he didn''t feel like he was strong enough to take that thing alone. He hasn¡¯t been able to activate [Flow] again, despite trying on several occasions, and didn¡¯t want to waste his precious bullets trying to harm what was, for all intents and purposes, a tangle of thistles. There was no ¡®core¡¯ or any weak point that he could see either. He proposed to use Sheila, his knife, but didn¡¯t want to risk getting too close if he could avoid it. Instead, in a moment of subjective brilliance, he thought to lead the creature to the campfire. If he could set it on fire, it might just burst into flames. With no opportunity for a peer-review, nor any better ideas, Dean took an abrupt turn, zigzagging towards the camp. He leapt across the creek before darting over to the fire, narrowly avoiding a lunge from the Rough-and-Tumbleweed. The monster jolted and squirmed as it passed into the creek, giving Dean time to catch a breath and collect his thoughts. It was then that he noticed the sentient shrub was pulsating, its gangly twigs and boughs growing visibly thicker. Its thistles were now sharper and barbed. It was using the creak to strengthen itself. With a flash of realization, Dean understood. Water nourishes Wood. Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.It shouldn¡¯t have come as a surprise when Dean heard the scream behind him, but he jumped in shock anyway. Stepping cautiously around the firepit, attempting to keep it between himself and the Rough-and-Tumbleweed while it continued to feed off the energies provided by the brook, he managed to catch a glimpse of the one who screamed. It was a young girl, maybe eight or nine, and a young boy next to her, roughly the same age. They had poked their heads out from the partition of the caravan¡¯s canvas covering to see what was going on, and having caught Dean¡¯s gaze, they had sunk back inside with a little yelp. Now Dean had to fight to protect himself and the children. Bringing his full attention back to the humongous bush, the prompt flashed again.
Name: Thistle-Sage. [Your Analytics skill is too low!]. Level: ??.
This is a sentient plant-type creature. In the rare occasion that a sentient plant-type creature can gather enough life-force to gain sapience, it is no longer driven by an instinctual drive to use the flesh and bones of unwitting creatures as its root system. It will now do so for entertainment.
[Your Analytics skill is too low!].
The Thistle-Sage lashed out at him, its new vine-like appendages undulating with anticipation. Its main body was now about 15 foot tall and the same around, its previously spindly twigs adjoining into branches that were as thick as Dean¡¯s arms, causing them to look like a living baseball bat with that barbed-wire-wrap-around. He dodged back, easily avoiding the cumbersome strike as it fell short, crashing into the fire. It reeled back from the smouldering coalbed, knocking the tripod and sending the pan resting there along with its contents to the ground. Dean would have to mourn the loss of his potential breakfast later. He burst forward, drawing the revolver he kept tucked in his belt, cocking and firing off a shot all in just over a second. He had never fired a gun before a few days ago, but had since spent some of his down time practicing his quick draw and he thought he was getting quite good. He had only practiced dry firing, as he did not want to waste what little ammunition he had. However, he had heard that dry firing was bad for guns, so did it sparingly in case he damaged the apparently tumultuous firearm. The projectile had been some kind of birdshot, causing a cloud of splinters to erupt as a few branches were hit at once. As Dean had suspected, it didn¡¯t cause any real harm. He lurched sideways to avoid another swipe from the monster¡¯s tendril which missed his face but snagged on his revolver, flinging it from his grasp. Rolling back to evade a follow-up from the same extremity, Dean deftly snatched a hatchet that laid by the pile of firewood across from the tent and rose back to his feet. Fear began to rise as he realized he would need to get close. His fear rose further knowing he had no idea how to fight without the assistance of [Flow], but he knew he had to protect those kids so he steeled his resolve. The monster, deciding it would no longer hunker down in the creek, began to heave itself onto the bankside and into the campsite, swatting at Dean as it did so and causing a glancing blow. While Dean¡¯s senses had quite significantly heightened after consuming the 8-point Heavenly herb, his reflexes seem to have only marginally improved. The Thistle-Sage writhed in ecstasy as it finally drew blood. With newfound self-assurance, it attempted a new tactic and launched its elongated barbed mass directly at Dean like a spear. The first stabbed out, and quickly withdrew as it missed by a hair¡¯s breadth. Wary of the new manoeuvre, Dean moved more cautiously after receiving the first hit. As the next attack rocketed out, Dean slipped in the now muddy earth. Quickly rolling over, he felt the rush of wind and thud as he escaped the impending impalement. Rising to his feet once more, he saw the opportunity as it presented itself to him. He lifted the hatchet overhead with a double handed swing, feeling every muscle in his body from his firmly planted legs, up into his tensed core, shoulders, arms and then hands, as he brought the axe down on the grounded limb with a mighty roar. The creature recoiled, letting out a pained sound, like the cracking of a falling tree but filled with emotion. Enraged, its remaining arms whipping around chaotically, it moved in on Dean in an attempt to overwhelm him. Without the reflexes to match his senses, Dean took a strike to the shoulder, knocking him down and dislocating his right shoulder. He screamed as pain coursed through the entire right side of his torso. The sleeve of his jacket was now tattered and blood ran freely, dripping from his fingers. Another blow struck as he attempted to clamber to his feet, sending him face-first in the bloodied mud. A brambled vine wrapped tightly around his ankle as he began to whimper. He felt lightheaded. The last attack struck him across the head and back. His right hand was numb, and his fingers tingled. He thrashed as the Thistle-Sage dragged him in to its body, enveloping him in its wicked embrace. It hurt so much but he was so tired that it felt distant. He felt guilty he couldn¡¯t help those kids, he had tried so hard to protect them. This always seemed to happen; every time he really applied himself to something, really tried, he¡¯d fail. Time and time again. That¡¯s why he was in that shitty job. That''s why he didn¡¯t start his own business. He was afraid he¡¯d fail. That¡¯s why he always said he didn¡¯t want kids. He was afraid he¡¯d fail them. He was so scared to fail that he never even tried any more. There was another scream and then crying. He wasn¡¯t sure if it was coming from him or not. No, he couldn¡¯t fail those kids. No matter what happened, he would not let them face this fate. With every ounce of willpower and strength he could muster; he pushed forward. He could feel the skin on his left arm flay as he pulled Sheila from its sheath. He pushed forward. He forced his eyes open, the barbs terrifyingly close to his eyes, and he saw it. It was a roiling miasma of coalescing putrid energy. It was a monster core. His knife was pressed firmly against it, but Thistle-Sage tightened its embrace and Dean nearly passed out. It was unbearable yet he pushed forward. The knife was so heavy in his hands, but he gripped it tighter. With a final surge of strength, he pushed forward. The blade glowed as it pierced the core. With a wail so loud it reverberated through Dean¡¯s skull, the monster fell apart, leaving Dean on the muddy bank of the creek. Feeling numb and with a smile on his face, Dean fell into unconsciousness. 4 - The Man With The Glowin Sword. Vroma sighed, the ice essence of her demonic-tainted chi causing her breath to fog as she exhaled. She had been tasked with conceiving a plan that would provoke mass panic and disorder, or was it fear and chaos? She confused the two sometimes. She found herself confused often lately, ever since her wicked and terrifying master had bestowed upon her a mere morsel of his vast power. ¡°Misstressss¡­. How goesss the plotting?¡± Her serpentine servant spoke surreptitiously. ¡°It goes well. I have planted several of the divine beasts and magically imbued creatures with our detestable master¡¯s chi. They will no doubt run wild in the surrounding lands causing much panic and disorder!¡± She replied, excitement creeping into her voice as visions of pandemonium formed in her mind. ¡°I¡¯m afraid it¡¯sss actually fear and chaossss, Misstressss¡­¡± the reptilian retainer revised. Vroma¡¯s jaw clenched as she realised her mistake. Icy anger surged through her veins as she lunged at her subordinate, grabbing the humanoid snake-kin by the scruff of its robes, causing it to recoil as the cloth began to freeze on contact. ¡°Do not forget your place, DuanShe. An insult to me is an insult to the great master.¡± She hissed, releasing her loyal attendant. Where did that come from? She was not normally this violent. Ever since receiving her new powers she found herself overcome by bursts of violent hate for anything and everything in her vicinity. There had to be a cause, but no matter how hard she mused on it, she just could not come to any real conclusion. ¡°I apologise, DuanShe,¡± she admonished. ¡°I do not know what overcame me. I appreciate your advice. You have served me well these last few months. Why don¡¯t you join me as I examine the gathered specimen?¡± ¡°Misstresssss! This impuissssant DuanSshe is unworthy of your kindnesss! Allow me to kowtow before you in recompenssse¡­¡±
--Log--
Experience gained: Survival. Survival has gone from level 0 ¨C level 1. (The subskill ¡®Foraging¡¯ has been created from Survival) Experience gained: Foraging. Foraging has gone from level 0 ¨C level 0. Experience gained: Botany. Botany has gone from level 1 ¨C level 1. Experience gained: Foraging. Foraging has gone from level 0 ¨C level 1. Experience gained: Botany. Botany has gone from level 1 ¨C level 1. Experience gained: Analytics has gone from level 1 ¨C level 2. Experience gained: Combat Prowess. Combat Prowess has gone from level 1 ¨C level 1. Experience gained: Firearms: Pistol has gone from level 1 ¨C level 1. (The subskill ¡®Uncanny Dodge¡¯ has been created from Combat Prowess) Experience gained: Uncanny Dodge. Uncanny Dodge has gone from level 0 ¨C level 1. Experience gained: Combat Prowess. Combat Prowess has gone from level 1 ¨C level 2. (The subskill ¡®Mighty Strike has been created from Combat Prowess) Experience gained: Mighty Strike. Mighty Strike has gone from level 0 ¨C level 1. Experience gained: Fortitude. Fortitude has gone from level 1 ¨C level 2. (The subskill ¡®Indomitable Will¡¯ has been created from Fortitude) Experience gained: Indomitable Will. Indomitable Will has gone from level 0 ¨C level 3. Experience gained: Analytics has gone from level 1 ¨C level 2. (Your unique weapon [Sheila] has awoken in response to your will!) (Your unique weapon [Sheila] has gained the attribute [Metal strikes Wood].) You have levelled up! Stat allocation will commence upon entering meditation.
Dean woke, blinking his eyes several times before the screen was dismissed. ¡°Pa! Pa! He¡¯s awake!¡± a voice shouted out, childlike and full of awe. Dean tried to sit up, but pain racked his body, causing a gasp to escape his lips. Peering down, he saw his upper body was bare except for a swathe of bandages covering almost every inch of bare skin. ¡°Yer best stayin¡¯ laid down, mister¡­¡± another childish voice advised, this one less flowery than the last. Blinking several more times in attempt to focus his vision, Dean rolled his head in the direction of the speaker. It was a young boy of nine, maybe ten years of age. He was dressed in brown corduroy trousers, and a tightly buttoned homespun shirt with the sleeves rolled up. His skin was pale and marginally bronzed from time spent under an open sky. His hair was dusty brown, sun-bleached and wavy, but cut reasonably short. His face had a light dusting of freckles and was just a bit gaunt. His amber eyes were caught in the sun. ¡°Here, drink this. Pa says it¡¯s important that I help you take water once you wake,¡± the boy explained, tilting down with a wooden bowl half-filled with sloshing water. Dean looked around the best he could as he leaned over from the cot he lay in. He realized he was in a moving wagon. The owner of the other voice hopped down from behind the boy. A girl, about the same age, but perhaps a bit younger. She closely resembled the boy, but her face was rounder, her was longer than her brother¡¯s and tied up in two tidy pink bows. Unlike her brother, her eyes were a dazzling jade green. She wore a pale-yellow blouse and a matching skirt, a white pinafore over the top. She looked at Dean with wide eyes and a wider smile. She was missing a tooth. Comprehension hit Dean like a truck with aspirations to create the next big isekai. These were the kids from the wagon at the campsite. He had fought a giant sentient bush monster called a ¡°Thistle-Sage¡± to protect them. He just barely managed to strike the creature a killing blow, destroying its Monster Core before losing consciousness. He was certain he would die then, bleeding out from the numerous wounds he sustained during the confrontation. ¡°Wha¡­ Whas happened¡­.? Yaknow, after I¡­¡± Dean led, trying to remember the events after he was pulled into the beasts bristling maw. The young girl¡¯s eyes widened with glee as she began to relate the story ¡°Me and Bobby saw you gets eated! And then we heard you scream like a gi¨C¡° If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. ¡°Don¡¯t say that, Mary! That¡¯s rude!¡± the boy cut in. Mary, the young girl, stared pointedly at her brother for interrupting her before continuing. ¡°It was real scary cuz we thought you was dead. But that¡¯s when the monster ¡®sploded and you were right there with yer magic glowin¡¯ sword! Then we saw Pa running down the hill real fast like. Y¡¯know he was gunna shoot you before we told him you killed the monster. Ain¡¯t that right Bobby!?¡± ¡°Um¡­ yeah¡­. Sorry., bout that, mister..¡± The boy said sheepishly. The wagon lurched to a stop before they could continue, and Dean made another attempt to sit in order to see what was going on as a shock jolted through his shoulder. He managed to stay upright, leaning his left side against the wall of the wagon with a wince. The silhouette of a man came into view from the rear of the vehicle. He was of an average height but stocky with muscle. ¡°Bobby, Mary, come here, now,¡± the man spoke, with a ¡°please¡± that he added in an afterthought. Dean caught sight of the man¡¯s hand resting on his waist band, adjacent to his pistol-laden holster. He could feel the other man¡¯s stare bearing down on him, just daring him to try anything. The two children, shied by their father¡¯s words, made their way over with a mutual, ¡°yes, Pa¡­¡±. Still keeping his eyes on Dean, the man spoke to his children. ¡°We¡¯re gonna set up camp for the night. I know it¡¯s a little earlier than we planned but there¡¯s a creek down by the treeline that looks right for fishin¡¯. Bobby, why don¡¯t you grab the rods from my things under the driver¡¯s box and take yer sister down so you can catch us all some dinner.¡± With an opportunity to help, the children happily clambered from the wagon and out of sight. Dean could hear them squabble over who would catch the biggest fish as they walked away towards the front of the coach and then off toward the stream. After a short while, the man clambered into the carriage, the whole thing creaked and leaned under the man¡¯s lean mass. He sat opposite Dean with a large, callused hand resting atop his still holstered weapon. Dean could now see the man clearly. Like his children, he had pale skin that was sun kissed, but where his children had light brown hair, his was a much darker shade, and sparsely flecked with grey. His deep green eyes judged Dean while they sat. He too wore a shirt and trousers that were dishevelled from use. Dean noted a small scar that cut across the man¡¯s stubbled jaw. There was a pregnant pause as the man contemplated his words. ¡°I appreciate what you did for my young¡¯ns,¡± the man began. ¡°Yous coulda just ran off and left ¡®em to that thing. But you didn¡¯t. For that you have my undy¡¯n respect,¡± his hands clenching and unclenching as he spoke. ¡°But I need you to be Gond honest wi¡¯ me.¡± The intimidating man¡¯s presence seemed to loom over Dean as he let the weight of the request grow, ¡°yous a Cultivator?¡± ¡°Ah, a wot now?¡± Dean asked, confusion on his face. ¡°A Cultivator,¡± the man repeated. ¡°Like a farmer?¡± Dean asked again. ¡°Am not really from arounds here, but I wouldnaw mind if I could work tha lan-¡° ¡°No. No. A Cultivator!¡± the man says exasperated, ¡°like one a¡¯ them ascend¡¯nts from the Storm shrouded mount¡¯n that been runnin¡¯ round these parts. Are you with them people¡­?¡± ¡°Am rite sorry pal, but I have naw a fuckin¡¯ clue what you¡¯re on about,¡± Dean replied, frustration rising in his own voice. ¡°I have naw a clue where I am, I have naw a clue what t¡¯fuck is goin¡¯ on and I really don¡¯t have time t¡¯ be peltered by some bloke I dunny know. No offence.¡± ¡°My apologies,¡± the man began again, taking a big sigh. ¡°Think we started off on the wrong foot. I¡¯m Jeb. Th¡¯ boy¡¯s Bobby, and my little girl¡¯s Mary. I¡¯m hunter by trade ¨C that¡¯s why we was all the ways out here. Normally I can make do in the wood near town but somethin¡¯ has been driving the game away, see? Meaning I gots t¡¯ go farther out. And after my sweet Beth passed, it¡¯s just me and the kids, so I just take em with me if I leave town. Ain¡¯t no one wantin¡¯ to take someone else¡¯s sprats in when they can hardly afford to feed em selfs, even if only fer a few days. ¡®n I love ¡®em madly, even if they do drive me mad half the time,¡± the man opened to Dean, overwhelming him with the complete change in character. ¡°Steady on, pal. That¡¯s a lot to take in at once,¡± Dean spoke as the man seemed to finish. ¡°Yous can call me Dean, and I¡­ woke up a few days ago in the middle of bloody nowhere, and like I said, I have naw a clue about where I am or what¡¯s goin¡¯ on. I appreciate yer help keepin¡¯ me alive. So, I say we¡¯re even. he finished, sticking out his good arm, hand extended. Jeb shook it with a smile. ¡°Nice t¡¯ meechya Dean. I really am sorry for earlier, and about the cultivator thang,¡± Jeb said, scratching the back of his head in an awkward plea. ¡°It¡¯s best for us regular folks to not get involved with them of we can help it. Can get awful dangerous if you do. It¡¯s like a whole other world.¡±