Light filtered through a canopy of emerald leaves, dappling the forest floor in shifting patterns. I blinked rapidly, my vision adjusting after what felt like an eternity of darkness. The crisp scent of pine and loamy soil filled my nostrils—so vivid and real that it momentarily overwhelmed my senses.
That's when I realized I was completely naked.
"What the hell?" I gasped, instinctively covering myself despite being alone. Goosebumps prickled across my skin as a cool breeze whispered through the trees. The forest floor felt damp against my bare feet, tiny twigs and pebbles digging into my soles.
I looked down at my hands. In my right, I clutched what could generously be called a knife—more accurately, it was a crudely chipped piece of stone lashed to a wooden handle with some kind of rough twine. In my left hand was a leather-bound book, its pages blank and pristine, with a simple quill pen tucked into the binding.
[Scholar's Journal acquired. This special item will automatically record significant discoveries and allow manual documentation of your experiences. Scholar's Quill will never run dry of ink.]
The notification appeared in my field of vision, then faded after a few seconds. I flipped through the empty book, its pages surprisingly smooth under my fingertips. The quill seemed to be made from a large feather I didn't recognize—iridescent with blues and greens that shifted in the sunlight.
"Great. I'm naked in the wilderness with a rock tied to a stick and a diary," I muttered, scanning my surroundings. "Scholar was definitely the right choice."
The sarcasm in my voice couldn't mask the growing anxiety in my chest. The forest stretched in all directions, ancient trees towering above me. Some had trunks wider than cars, their bark textured with deep grooves and patches of moss. Underbrush crowded between them—ferns, bushes bearing unfamiliar berries, and flowering plants I couldn't identify.
I focused on a nearby bush with dark purple berries, and something strange happened:
[Analysis skill activated]
[Object: Nightshade Berry]
[Classification: Flora/Fruit]
[Properties: Poisonous to humans. Contains solanine and atropine compounds. Consumption causes severe digestive distress, hallucinations, and potential death. Birds can consume without ill effects.]
[Confidence: 87%]
The information simply appeared in my mind, as if I'd always known it. The sensation was both disconcerting and fascinating—like having a search engine in my brain.
"That's… actually incredibly useful," I breathed, my earlier panic subsiding slightly.
I turned my attention to a different plant—a knee-high growth with broad leaves and small white flowers.
[Analysis skill activated]
[Object: Silverleaf]
[Classification: Flora/Medicinal Herb]
[Properties: Anti-inflammatory, analgesic. Can be applied directly to wounds or brewed into tea. Particularly effective against insect stings and minor burns.]
[Confidence: 92%]
Immediately, I crouched down and harvested several Silverleaf plants, carefully stowing them in my journal. The pages seemed to accommodate the plants without becoming bulky or damaged.
[Item added to Scholar's Journal: Silverleaf (5)]
[Analysis skill has gained experience: 2/100 to next level]
"Okay, first priority is not dying of exposure," I said aloud, trying to organize my thoughts. "That means clothing, shelter, fire, and water."
Water would likely be the easiest—forests this lush typically had streams or springs. Clothing would be more challenging. I examined my stone knife critically, testing its edge against my thumb. It was sharper than it looked, though still primitive compared to modern tools.
[Analysis skill activated]
[Object: Flint Knife]
[Classification: Tool/Weapon]
[Properties: Crude cutting implement. Durability 18/20. Damage: 2-5 physical. Can be used for skinning, woodworking (basic), and self-defense (poor).]
[Confidence: 100%]
Durability? Damage? Those were game mechanics, confirming my suspicion that this world operated on some kind of RPG system. But the physical sensations were undeniably real—the solid weight of the knife, the texture of its rough handle against my palm, the cool morning air raising goosebumps across my naked skin.
I looked up at the sun's position, trying to get my bearings. It appeared to be mid-morning, which gave me most of the day to prepare before nightfall. That was something, at least.
Moving deeper into the forest, I strained my ears for the sound of running water. Instead, I heard something that made me freeze—a rustling in the underbrush about twenty yards ahead. Something was moving through the ferns, something larger than a rabbit.
I crouched, acutely aware of my vulnerability. My fingers tightened around the flint knife, though I harbored no illusions about my combat capabilities. I was a Scholar, not a Warrior—and a naked one at that.
The rustling grew louder. My heart hammered against my ribs as I considered my options: climb a tree, run, or try to hide. Before I could decide, the source of the noise emerged into a small clearing.
It was a deer—or something deer-like. About the size of a whitetail, but with a coat of deep russet fur that seemed to shimmer with golden highlights in the dappled sunlight. Most striking were its antlers—not the typical branched pattern, but a sweeping, almost spiral structure that reminded me of a kudu. Four bright eyes—yes, four—blinked curiously in my direction.
[Analysis skill activated]
[Object: Ember Stag]
[Classification: Fauna/Herbivore]
[Properties: Swift forest-dwelling creature. Extra eyes provide enhanced peripheral vision. Non-aggressive unless threatened. Hide valued for its insulating properties and attractive coloration. Meat is edible and nutritious. Antlers contain trace magical elements.]
[Confidence: 78%]
My mouth watered involuntarily at the word "meat," my empty stomach suddenly making itself known with a hollow ache. But the practical part of my brain knew better. I had a crude knife and zero hunting experience. Attacking this creature would likely end with me injured or the stag long gone.
The ember stag and I regarded each other for a long moment. Its nostrils flared, scenting me on the breeze. Then, with a flick of its tufted tail, it bounded away into the forest, moving with supernatural grace.
I exhaled slowly, tension draining from my shoulders. "Note to self: Learn how to hunt properly before tackling the local wildlife."
Speaking of wildlife, I realized the forest around me was alive with sounds—birdsong from high in the canopy, the chittering of small creatures in the underbrush, the drone of insects. This wasn't just a backdrop; it was an ecosystem, one I needed to understand if I was going to survive.
I pulled out my journal and quill, surprised when the pen's tip glistened with ink despite having no inkwell. I began to write:
"Day 1 in Norrath. Location: Unknown forest. Resources identified: Silverleaf (medicinal), Nightshade (poisonous), Ember Stag (potential food source). Immediate needs: clothing, shelter, fire, water source, food."
As I wrote, I noticed my handwriting appeared more elegant than usual—another subtle benefit of my Scholar vocation? The thought was both comforting and concerning. How much of "me" had been changed by that character creation process?
A distant sound caught my attention—the unmistakable gurgle of running water. I closed my journal, tucked it securely under my arm with the Silverleaf, and gripped my flint knife. Water meant life, but it also meant potential danger. In this new world, I couldn't take anything for granted.Finding the stream took longer than I'd anticipated. Turns out that being naked in an alien forest with zero survival training wasn't exactly conducive to efficient navigation. The sounds of running water seemed to bounce off the massive tree trunks, making it impossible to pinpoint the source. Twice I'd changed direction after convincing myself I was heading the wrong way.
My bare feet were already getting torn up from the forest floor. Pine needles, small rocks, and thorny undergrowth had left dozens of tiny cuts and scrapes. I'd need footwear soon or infection would become a serious concern.
[Minor physical damage sustained: Feet (-1 HP)]
[Current Health: 59/60]
The notification confirmed what I was feeling. Even minor damage was being tracked by whatever system governed this world. I made a mental note to record this in my journal later.
As I picked my way through a dense patch of ferns, my Scholar abilities kicked in automatically, flooding my mind with information:
[Analysis skill activated]
[Object: Bluecrest Fern]
[Classification: Flora/Common Plant]
[Properties: Fibrous stems can be woven into rudimentary cordage. Young fiddleheads are edible when cooked. Contains mild natural antiseptic.]
[Confidence: 94%]
I paused to gather a handful of ferns, carefully placing them in my journal. The knowledge that I could make cordage from them might prove useful, especially if I needed to construct any kind of shelter.
[Item added to Scholar's Journal: Bluecrest Fern (7)]
[Analysis skill has gained experience: 3/100 to next level]
Each step I took seemed to trigger new insights about my surroundings. Plant species, soil composition, even the patterns of sunlight through the canopy—all of it fed into my expanding mental database. The Scholar effect was like having a nature encyclopedia downloading directly into my brain. It was exhilarating and disorienting at the same time.
I finally crested a small rise and spotted the gleam of water about fifty yards ahead. The stream cut through the forest floor, creating a natural clearing where fewer trees competed for light.
"About damn time," I muttered, quickening my pace despite my sore feet.
That's when I saw her.
A figure was slumped against a boulder at the stream's edge. Humanoid, female, and clearly in distress. She clutched a crude spear—little more than a branch with one end sharpened to a wicked point. Her breathing was labored, and even from this distance, I could see dark stains on her clothing that could only be blood.
I froze, instinctively ducking behind a tree trunk. My mind raced through possibilities. Another player? Had to be. But she'd arrived before me? That suggested the system was staggering our entries into this world, which made a certain kind of sense—dumping nine billion humans into Norrath simultaneously would be catastrophic.
She hadn't spotted me yet, giving me time to observe and think. Her clothing was makeshift—what looked like animal hide fashioned into a rough tunic. That suggested she'd been here long enough to hunt and create basic garments. Hours? Days? Impossible to tell.
The spear showed signs of recent use. The sharpened end was darkened with something that wasn't mud. She'd fought something, and judging by her condition, it hadn't gone entirely in her favor.
[Observation skill unlocked]
[Observation has reached Level 1]
[Passive skill: Increases detail retention and environmental awareness]
A new skill notification flashed briefly. Apparently, careful examination of my surroundings was developing additional Scholar abilities. Useful.
I weighed my options carefully. Approach her? She was injured and potentially dangerous—cornered animals are the most unpredictable, and humans were no exception. Leave her? That seemed unnecessarily callous, and besides, she represented a potential source of critical information about this world.
Strategic thinking won out. Whatever had injured her could still be nearby. She'd survived in this environment longer than I had. Two humans working together would have better odds than either of us alone. And if I was being completely honest, the prospect of getting my hands on that spear and whatever knowledge she possessed was too valuable to pass up.
Decision made, I emerged from my hiding spot and approached cautiously, hands visible to show I wasn't a threat.
I'd closed half the distance when her head snapped up, eyes locking onto me with startling intensity. Despite her weakened state, she raised the spear with surprising steadiness, its point aimed directly at my chest.
"D-Don't come any closer, you damn green bastard…" Her voice was raspy but determined. Blood had dried on one side of her face, matting her dark hair.
Green bastard? The implication was clear—she'd encountered hostile non-humans. Goblins, most likely, assuming this world followed standard fantasy tropes.
I stopped immediately, keeping my hands raised. "My name is Kale Lucas, and for your knowledge, no, I am not a goblin. Or green bastard."
Her eyes narrowed, taking in my appearance—specifically, my complete lack of clothing. The spear didn't waver.
"You expect me to believe that?" she asked, coughing slightly. "Naked man appears out of nowhere, right after I barely escape those little monsters?" Her grip on the spear tightened. "How stupid do you think I am?"
"Look at me," I said calmly, though my heart was hammering. "Do I look green to you? Do I look like I have fangs or pointed ears?"
She studied me for a long moment, suspicion slowly giving way to confusion, then realization.
"You're… new," she finally said, lowering the spear slightly. "Fresh transfer."
I nodded, taking a careful step forward. "Arrived maybe an hour ago. Scholar vocation. I'm guessing you've been here longer?"
The woman let out a bitter laugh that transformed into another cough. "Three days. Long enough to learn that everything in this world wants to kill you." She gestured to a nasty-looking gash on her thigh. "Got this from a goblin ambush upstream. Four of them. Small, but vicious."
[Analysis skill activated]
[Object: Puncture Wound]
[Classification: Injury/Moderate]
[Properties: Risk of infection high. Requires cleaning and proper dressing. Subject shows signs of blood loss and early infection.]
[Confidence: 89%]
I glanced at my journal where I'd stored the Silverleaf. "I might be able to help with that. I've collected some medicinal herbs."
Her eyebrows rose. "Scholar, huh? Figures." She hesitated, then finally lowered the spear completely. "I'm Elara. Ranger vocation. Or I was, before those little bastards got the drop on me."
I approached slowly, kneeling beside the stream first to quickly wash my hands. The water was cold and crystal clear, providing a perfect reflection of my face—still recognizably me, but somehow enhanced, like all my best features had been subtly emphasized.
"How bad is it?" I asked, moving carefully to her side.
"Bad enough," Elara admitted. "I've been trying to clean it, but…" She gestured helplessly at the crude bandage she'd fashioned from leaves.
I removed the Silverleaf from my journal. "This has anti-inflammatory properties. It should help with the infection, at least."
She eyed the plants skeptically. "And you know this how?"
"Scholar ability," I explained, beginning to crush the leaves between my fingers. "Automatic analysis of plants, animals, objects. Useful for not accidentally poisoning yourself."
"Huh," she said, watching me work. "Maybe I should have picked Scholar instead of Ranger. Fat lot of good my tracking skills did when those goblins were tracking me."
As I prepared the herbal poultice, a notification appeared:
[New skill unlocked: Basic Medicine]
[Basic Medicine has reached Level 1]
[Active skill: Allows treatment of minor wounds and ailments]
I smiled slightly. Every action was building my capabilities, making me more equipped to survive. Maybe being a Scholar wasn't such a bad choice after all.
"This might sting," I warned as I gently applied the crushed Silverleaf to her wound.
Elara hissed through clenched teeth but didn't pull away. "So," she said after a moment, clearly trying to distract herself from the pain, "you're new. Naked. Probably confused as hell. Let me guess—you've got questions?"
"About a million," I admitted, carefully wrapping the wound with fresh leaves. "Starting with: what exactly are we dealing with in this world? And how many others like us are there?"She winced at the fresh sting of the Silverleaf against her wound, her jaw clenching so hard I could see the muscles jumping beneath her skin. But those dark eyes never wavered from mine—a steady, unflinching stare that spoke of someone who'd learned to gauge threats quickly. This was definitely a woman who'd struggled back on Earth, someone who'd been forged in fires I could only imagine. The kind of person who could become either your most valuable ally or your most dangerous enemy, depending on how you handled the next few minutes.
"To answer both of your questions at once," she said, her voice gaining strength despite the obvious pain radiating from her wounded leg, "you're the first person that I've encountered since arriving here. I've been in this green hell for around seventy-two hours now, arrived during the night cycle. Barely survived even that first evening."
Her admission confirmed my earlier hypothesis. The system was indeed staggering arrivals, probably to prevent the complete collapse of whatever ecosystem this world maintained. It didn't really matter if I was among the first wave or had arrived fashionably late to this dimensional party—the outcome would have been the same regardless. I considered myself fortunate to have materialized during daylight hours, far enough from immediate threats to get my bearings without instantly becoming something's lunch.
"That's about what I expected," I replied, securing the makeshift bandage around her thigh with strips torn from broad leaves. "So given that you've survived three full days in what you accurately describe as a hostile environment, you must have developed some type of abilities or skills that allowed you to make it this far."
Elara's expression shifted, a mixture of pride and bewilderment crossing her features. She flexed her fingers around the spear shaft, muscle memory clearly at work. "The strangest thing happened when I first arrived—I knew instinctively how to do things I'd never done before, almost as if the knowledge had always been there, just waiting to surface. Creating this spear out of raw wood felt like muscle memory, like I'd been crafting weapons my entire life instead of working retail in Portland."
She paused, testing her weight against the wounded leg and grimacing. "Besides that baseline knowledge, I've noticed significant physical enhancements. My hearing has improved dramatically—I can pick up sounds from distances that would have been impossible before. I can maintain a full sprint for extended periods without the crushing fatigue I'd have experienced in my old body. My eyesight has sharpened to the point where I can distinguish individual leaves on trees a hundred yards away. For those first few hours, I felt like I was nearly unstoppable, like I'd been upgraded into some kind of superhuman version of myself."
Her expression darkened considerably as she gestured toward her various visible injuries. "That feeling lasted right up until I got blindsided by a territorial deer after making the mistake of killing what I thought was just another forest animal but turned out to be her offspring. That mother was built like a linebacker and had hooves like sledgehammers. Then, while I was still reeling from that encounter, a goblin patrol found my trail. One of those little green psychopaths managed to drive his crude blade deep into my thigh before I could put him down permanently."
I studied her more carefully as she spoke, noting the way she unconsciously scanned our surroundings even while conversating, how her grip on that makeshift spear never fully relaxed, the controlled breathing that suggested someone managing significant pain through sheer willpower. This woman had adapted to life-or-death situations with remarkable speed.
"Barely survived the night in this place," she continued, her voice dropping to a near whisper as if the forest itself might be listening. "You have no idea what comes out when the sun goes down, Kale. Things that make those goblins look like annoying children in comparison."
I helped her shift position against the boulder, surprised by how light she seemed—another effect of our enhanced physical statistics, perhaps. "Seems like you accomplished quite a lot for your first seventy-two hours in an alien world," I observed with genuine admiration. "And I'm willing to bet you didn't get much rest during that entire period."
A bitter laugh escaped her lips. "Rest? What's that? I think I managed maybe four hours of unconsciousness total across three days, and that was more from blood loss than actual sleep. Every time I tried to close my eyes, something would start rustling in the undergrowth or I'd hear those damn goblin voices in the distance."
She was a monster—not in the literal sense, but in terms of pure survival instinct and endurance. Most people would have curled up in a ball and waited to die after the first goblin encounter. Elara had apparently turned it into a learning experience and kept pushing forward.
"The worst part," she continued, absently testing the flexibility of her bandaged wound, "isn't the constant threat of violence or even the lack of modern conveniences. It's the isolation. Three days might not sound like much, but when every moment is spent in hypervigilant survival mode, when every shadow could be hiding something that wants to eat your face off, time becomes… elastic. I was starting to wonder if I'd imagined human civilization entirely."
I settled into a crouch beside the stream, using the opportunity to finally satisfy my thirst while keeping one eye on our surroundings. The water was impossibly clean and cold, carrying subtle mineral flavors that my enhanced Scholar senses could almost identify. "So what's your assessment of the immediate area? Threat levels, resources, territorial boundaries?"
"The stream here seems relatively safe during daylight hours," she replied, pointing upstream with her spear tip. "I've seen various animals come to drink, but nothing that immediately tried to murder me. The real problems start about a quarter-mile in that direction—" she indicated northeast with a slight head movement "—where there's what appears to be a semi-permanent goblin encampment. Maybe fifteen to twenty individuals, based on the voices I've heard."
My Scholar abilities were already processing this information, cross-referencing it with fantasy literature and gaming knowledge to fill in probable details. Goblins typically operated in tribal structures, were opportunistic omnivores, possessed crude but effective weapons, and had excellent night vision. Bad news for humans trying to establish a foothold in their territory.
"Downstream looks more promising," Elara continued, "though I haven't had the luxury of extensive exploration. The terrain gets rockier, which might provide better defensive positions or cave systems for shelter. But it also gets darker under the canopy, which means plenty of places for nasty surprises to hide."
I pulled my journal from where I'd tucked it under my arm, causing Elara to raise an eyebrow at the pristine leather binding and ornate quill. "Scholar equipment," I explained briefly. "Never runs out of ink, automatically preserves anything stored inside."
"Handy," she admitted with a hint of envy. "My Ranger kit was supposed to include basic survival gear, but apparently 'basic' means a sharp stick and whatever I can cobble together from forest debris."
As I made notes about her tactical assessment, my Analysis skill triggered automatically on several elements of our conversation:
[Information cataloged: Goblin encampment location, estimated population]
[Information cataloged: Local water source characteristics]
[Information cataloged: Terrain variations and strategic considerations]
[Analysis skill has gained experience: 15/100 to next level]
"You mentioned enhanced physical abilities," I said while writing. "Have you noticed any kind of progression system? Experience points, skill development, anything that suggests we're operating under game mechanics?"
Elara's eyes lit up with recognition. "Absolutely. Every time I successfully track something, or craft an improvement to my gear, or survive a combat encounter, I get these little notifications about gaining experience in specific skills. My Stealth ability has reached Level 3, Spear Combat is at Level 2, and something called Wilderness Survival hit Level 4 yesterday after I figured out how to create a smokeless fire."
She demonstrated by showing me her hands, which bore numerous small scars and calluses that definitely hadn't been there when she'd arrived. "It's like this world is actively rewarding competence and adaptation. The more you practice something, the better you become at an accelerated rate."
I looked down at my own hands, noting changes I hadn't consciously registered before. My fingers seemed more dexterous, my grip stronger, even my handwriting had improved since I'd started using the Scholar's journal. The character creation process had been just the beginning—we were continuing to evolve based on our actions and choices.
"The question is," I mused, "whether this progression system has any upper limits, and what happens when we start encountering challenges that outpace our current development curve."
Elara's expression grew grim. "I've been thinking about that too. Those goblins I fought weren't exactly high-level threats, but they still managed to tag me pretty good. And based on the sounds I've heard in the distance—roars, crashes, things that shake the trees—there are definitely bigger monsters out there waiting for us to venture into their territories."
A rustling in the underbrush about thirty yards downstream made us both freeze instantly. Elara's spear came up in a practiced motion while I gripped my pathetic flint knife, suddenly very aware of how exposed we were in this small clearing.
The rustling stopped as abruptly as it began. Silence descended, thick and heavy, broken only by the gurgle of the stream and the frantic hammering of my own heart. Elara held her spear rigid, every muscle coiled like a spring. Her eyes, wide and unnervingly sharp, scanned the dense foliage downstream, probing the shadows beneath a massive, moss-draped oak.
Predator assessing prey, the thought surfaced with chilling clarity. Or predator assessing competition.
"Whatever it is," Elara breathed, her voice barely a whisper that somehow cut through the tension, "it knows we're here. And it's deciding."
My knuckles were white on the flint knife's rough handle. Useless. Against whatever was lurking in that green murk, it felt like bringing a toothpick to a sword fight. Elara's spear, crude as it was, suddenly looked like a bastion of security.
"Options?" I whispered back, forcing my Scholar mind to override the primal fear screaming run.
"Downstream is the unknown threat," she murmured, her gaze never leaving the suspect area. "Upstream… goblins. But known goblins. Mostly diurnal, hate fire, predictable in their nastiness." She shifted her weight slightly, testing her injured leg. A flicker of pain crossed her face, quickly masked. "This feels… bigger. Heavier. Not goblin."
A low, guttural chuff echoed from the direction of the rustling. It wasn't loud, but it vibrated in my chest, a sound that spoke of size and a deep, primal irritation. Something massive shifted unseen, snapping a branch with a dry crack that made us both flinch.
[Perception Check: Passed (DEX 6 + Environment Awareness)]
[Observation Skill Activated: Level 1]
[Detail: Heavy footfalls displacing loose soil. Estimated weight: 400-600 lbs. Vegetation disturbance pattern suggests quadrupedal movement.]
The analytical data flowed into my mind, cold and detached, a stark counterpoint to the adrenaline flooding my system. It didn't lessen the fear; it weaponized it. We weren't just scared; we were informedly terrified.
"Bear analogue?" I hazarded, recalling the Ember Stag's description. "Or something worse?"
"Doesn't matter," Elara stated flatly. "We can't fight it here. Not with me like this. Not with you…" Her eyes flicked down my bare form for a split second. "…unarmored. Retreat. Upstream. Now."
She didn't wait for agreement. Moving with surprising speed despite her injury, she pushed off the boulder, using her spear as a staff. "Stay close. Move fast, move quiet. Follow my path exactly."
The command was absolute. I didn't argue. Survival instinct, honed by three days of hell for her and sharpened by my Scholar's sudden understanding of the threat magnitude, kicked in. I scooped up my journal and quill, tucking them securely, and fell in behind her as she limped quickly but silently along the stream bank, heading away from the unseen menace and towards the known danger of the goblins.
The forest seemed to close in around us as we moved. Every rustle of a squirrel, every snap of a twig under our own hurried feet, felt amplified, a potential death knell. Elara moved with the ingrained caution of the hunted, her head constantly swiveling, her ears seemingly twitching like a deer's. She avoided patches of dry leaves, stepped over fallen logs rather than on them, and angled us slightly away from the water's edge where the ground was softer and quieter.
[Observation Skill Progress: Noted subtle variations in terrain noise potential. +2 Exp]
[Observation: 4/100]
I mimicked her movements as best I could, my bare feet protesting against the rough ground but finding purchase more easily than I expected. My enhanced Dexterity, modest as it was, translated into better balance and quieter steps than my pre-transfer self could have managed. Still, every scrape against a root, every unavoidable squelch in damp earth, sent jolts of anxiety through me.
We covered perhaps two hundred yards, the stream bending sharply to the left. The sounds behind us had faded, but the oppressive sense of being watched hadn't entirely lifted. Elara paused behind the thick trunk of an ancient cedar, pressing her back against it and peering back the way we came. I leaned against the rough bark beside her, trying to control my breathing.
"Think we lost it?" I whispered, my throat dry.
"Maybe," she conceded, still scanning. "Or maybe it wasn't that interested. Or maybe it's circling." She shook her head, a grim set to her mouth. "Doesn't matter. We need shelter before nightfall. Actual shelter. That boulder was barely cover."
She pushed off the tree, her gaze now sweeping the forest ahead, upstream. "The goblin camp is maybe another half-mile that way," she pointed with her chin, "near a cluster of rocky outcrops. But there's a spot before it… a tangle of deadfall against a cliff face. I scouted it briefly yesterday. Defensible, if we can clear the back enough to crawl in. Might be a den, but it felt empty."
"Lead on," I said. The thought of a defensible position, however crude, was intoxicating.
The pace she set was punishing, driven by the lengthening shadows and the ever-present threat. My feet were a mess of scratches and embedded debris. My Health ticked down another point. Elara's limp became more pronounced, her face pale beneath the streaks of dirt and dried blood. Yet, she didn't slow.
[Analysis Skill Activated: Elara Vance]
[Classification: Human/Ranger (Level 3)]
[Condition: Moderate Leg Injury (Infection Risk: Medium), Severe Fatigue, Mild Dehydration.]
[Attributes (Estimated): STR 7, DEX 8, VIT 7, INT 5, WIL 6, LCK 4]
[Skills: Stealth (Lvl 3), Spear Combat (Lvl 2), Wilderness Survival (Lvl 4), Tracking (Lvl 2)]
[Confidence: 72%]
The information dump was intrusive yet invaluable. She was tougher than me, faster, more experienced in practical survival, but she was running on fumes and fighting an injury. Our combined vulnerability was stark.
Finally, after what felt like an hour but was probably only twenty minutes, Elara slowed. Ahead, the forest floor rose steeply into a jagged, moss-covered cliff face, perhaps thirty feet high. Piled against its base was a chaotic jumble of massive, long-dead trees – victims of a past rockfall or storm. Vines and thick ferns wove through the skeletal branches, creating a dense, shadowed thicket.
"There," Elara pointed to a darker area within the tangle, a gap barely visible beneath a leaning trunk. "Entrance is tight. Need to crawl."
Approaching cautiously, spear ready, Elara paused at the entrance. She crouched, sniffing the air, listening intently. After a tense minute, she nodded. "Still empty. Smells old. Probably wasn't occupied this season." She gestured for me to wait, then dropped to her belly and slithered into the dark opening.
A moment later, her voice echoed faintly from within. "Clear. Come on. Bring some of those thicker branches we passed – the straight ones about wrist-thick. We can barricade from inside."
I gathered an armful of the indicated branches, my Scholar mind automatically classifying them as hardwood suitable for crude construction, and followed her into the gloom. Crawling through the narrow tunnel of wood and vine felt like entering a tomb, the air cool and damp, smelling of loam and decay. After about eight feet, the space opened up slightly into a low-ceilinged cavity formed by the cliff wall and the interlocked deadfall. It was cramped – maybe five feet wide and seven feet deep, with a ceiling high enough to sit hunched over – but it was concealed and had only one small entrance.
[Location Discovered: Deadfall Den]
[Classification: Natural Shelter]
[Security: Moderate (Single chokepoint, concealed entrance)]
[Resources: None immediately available]
[Analysis Skill Exp: +3]
[Analysis: 18/100]
Elara was already wedging branches vertically into the entrance tunnel from the inside, creating a crude but effective barrier. "Not stopping a determined bear," she grunted, securing a final branch, "but it'll slow anything down and make a lot of noise. Goblins won't bother trying if they don't know we're here." She sank back against the cool rock wall with a groan, finally allowing her exhaustion to show.
The dim light filtering through the chinks in the deadfall highlighted the lines of pain and fatigue etched on her face. The temporary relief of reaching shelter was quickly replaced by the overwhelming reality of our situation: injured, exhausted, exposed, and surrounded by threats.
I settled opposite her, my back against the rough wood, the flint knife held loosely in my lap. The silence stretched, heavy with unspoken fears and the vast unknown pressing in from all sides.
"So," Elara finally broke the silence, her voice rough. "Scholar. What does that book of yours say about surviving the first night when you're naked, weaponless, and sharing a hole with a crippled Ranger who smells like goblin filth?"
A weak chuckle escaped me, surprising myself. The bleak absurdity of it all was almost overwhelming. "Chapter One: Find Shelter. Check." I pulled out the journal and the iridescent quill. The pen glowed faintly in the gloom. "Chapter Two: Secure Water. We have the stream, but it needs purification. Chapter Three: Fire. For warmth, light, purification… and keeping the aforementioned goblins at bay."
"Fire's tricky," Elara muttered, closing her eyes. "Smoke draws attention. Need a deep pit, good ventilation… and dry tinder, which is scarce after last night's dew." She cracked an eye open. "Your magic analysis tell you which rocks spark best?"
"Not yet," I admitted, starting to write. The act was calming, organizing the chaos. "But it tells me Silverleaf can help with your leg, and Bluecrest Fern stems can be twisted into cord. Maybe we can make a better binding for your wound, or a sling for that spear." I noted our location, the encounter with the unseen creature, Elara's assessment of the goblin camp proximity. "Chapter Four: Allies. Seems we've started on that one."
Elara watched me write, a flicker of something – respect? curiosity? – in her tired eyes. "You really lean into that Scholar thing, don't you?"
"What else do I have?" I asked, gesturing at my bare skin, the pathetic flint knife. "I can't fight like you. I can't track or build a smokeless fire. But I can learn. I can understand. Maybe that understanding is the only weapon I've got." I paused, meeting her gaze in the dimness. "You said knowledge was power here. I'm trying to arm myself."
She held my look for a long moment, then gave a slow nod. "Fair enough. Just make sure you learn how to run fast too, Scholar. Understanding a bear won't stop it from eating you." She shifted, wincing. "Alright. First practical lesson of Norrath nights. We sleep in shifts. Two hours each. You take first watch. Wake me at the slightest sound – a snapped twig, an odd bird call, anything. Don't try to be brave. Don't investigate. Just wake me."
The responsibility settled on my shoulders like a physical weight. Guard duty. With my life, and hers, depending on my vigilance. My 6 Dexterity and fledgling Observation skill suddenly felt utterly inadequate.
"What do I listen for?" I asked, trying to keep the tremor from my voice.
"Everything," she said simply, already curling onto her side, favoring her injured leg. "The forest gets louder at night. And the things making the noise… they aren't all deer." She pulled her hide tunic tighter. "Remember the drums."
"Drums?"
But her breathing had already deepened, falling into the shallow, alert rhythm of someone sleeping lightly, ready to snap awake. She was out, trusting me to stand guard against the encroaching dark of an alien world.
I edged closer to the barricaded entrance, peering through a small gap between branches. Outside, the light was fading rapidly, painting the forest in long, sinister shadows. The cheerful birdsong had ceased, replaced by the rising chorus of insects and the occasional, unsettling hoot or screech from deeper in the woods.
Drums? The word echoed in my mind, adding a new layer of dread.
I gripped the flint knife tighter, the rough stone biting into my palm. My ears strained, filtering the night sounds – the rustle of leaves (rodent? wind?), the gurgle of the distant stream, the creak of ancient trees. My Observation skill felt hyperactive, noting every shift in the wind's direction, every subtle change in the insect hum.
[Perception Check: Ongoing (Passive)]
[Observation: Focus maintained. +1 Exp]
[Observation: 5/100]
The minutes crawled by. The darkness deepened, thick and velvety beyond our meagre shelter. The temperature dropped noticeably. My naked skin prickled with goosebumps, but I barely registered the cold, every sense laser-focused on the unseen world outside.
Then, faint at first, almost lost beneath the insect drone, it came. Not from downstream, where the heavy creature had been. Not from directly upstream towards the goblins.
From the east. A low, rhythmic thump… thump… thump-thump.
Deep. Resonant. Carrying further than any natural sound should. It wasn't loud, but it vibrated in the pit of my stomach. Primal. Purposeful.
Drums.
Elara hadn't been imagining things. Something out there in the deepening night of Norrath was beating a rhythm onto the darkness. A rhythm that spoke of gathering, of ritual, or perhaps, of a hunt beginning.
The first watch stretched before me, interminable and terrifying, underscored by that distant, ominous pulse. The Scholar had found shelter and an ally. But as Act 1, Chapter 2 closed, the true test of Norrath, and the value of knowledge against primal fear, was just beginning. The drums were a reminder: this world had its own rules, its own ancient powers, and they were awakening with the night.