Playing God

Rolf was as good as his word.

The following morning, I met with Bjorn, the mayor of Fernwick, who was eager for me to attempt my mission.

“A pack of goblins is no trivial matter,” he warned. “They’re vicious little bastards. Killed three of our men. Skewered right through, they were.”

“Is there anything you can tell me about them? How many there are?”

Bjorn glanced at Rolf. “What did the miners say? I can’t remember, it was a few weeks back. Twenty?”

Rolf nodded. “Yeah.”

“What’s the bounty on twenty goblins?” I said. It didn’t hurt to ask.

The mayor looked uncomfortable. “You have to understand … we’re a poor village, and without the mine …” He shrugged. “What would you be seeking?”

That was a tough question to answer, not knowing the cost of anything in this world. Was a gold piece a lot, or a pittance? Rolf hadn’t paid for their drinks, they’d gone on his tab, giving me no clue. “A fair wage is all I seek.”

The mayor nodded. “Five gold a head, then?”

No doubt they were undercutting me severely, but I had an idea. “How about five gold a head, and a house here in the village? Do you have one that’s not in use?” It was always good to have options and a place to stay.

Bjorn’s eyes glimmered. “Yes, with the loss of some men, we have several. Clean out the mine, and you can take your pick. You can even have one of their widows, if you want.”

I blinked at that, but it wasn’t my place to judge their culture. “Er … thanks, I’ll think about it.”

Thanks to Bjorn and Rolf’s presence, Therin the Fletcher needed little persuasion to part with a short bow and a quiver of twenty arrows. With Rolf’s pot and flint and steel in my pack, I headed off west, toward the mine.

The forest thinned as I travelled, transforming into rolling hills and grasslands dotted with scattered trees, shrubs and the occasional copse.

Therin had mentioned an old hunting hut just a few miles from the mine, but finding it took much of the afternoon. Eventually, I discovered it in a valley nestled between two rolling hills, with a small stream running nearby, just as Therin had said. It was peaceful and quite picturesque. The hut itself was run-down, little more than a shack, but it had a hearth, a rickety table, and even a couple of chairs. The bed was a simple affair, mostly straws and sticks on a palette raised on short wooden legs to deter creepy crawlies, but it was larger than I needed. There were even two or three blankets, and a thin hemp sheet. Luxury after sleeping on the ground.

With a couple of hours of daylight remaining, I had a plan. I had six unspent skill points, but rather than buy the bow skill, I pushed two sticks into the ground and retreated thirty paces.

How difficult could it be to learn to shoot a bow?

Harder than it should be, I had to concede an hour later. My fingers were sore from pulling the string, and few of my arrows had landed near the targets. Some of them hadn’t gone anywhere at all, merely falling off and landing at my feet as the string twanged in derision.

But my perseverance was awarded a short while later with the message I’d hoped to see.

You have gained a new skill: Archery. Archery is now level 1.

I grinned to myself and shot another quiver of arrows, just to see if there was much difference. Only one of them was a misfire, though none landed near the two sticks I was aiming for.

I gathered them up, then spent three skill points leveling my Archery to four. Perhaps I could’ve saved myself an hour by buying the skill instead, but time was one thing I had in abundance.

Now to see if it made any difference.

The first arrow passed directly over my target stick, and the second clipped it.

By the time I’d fired the whole quiver a few more times, the ground around my target was peppered with arrows in a satisfying concentration, and my Archery was up to seven.

I was a long way from challenging Robin Hood, but it was a promising start.

I went to bed content.

The following morning I spent training my Archery. I could now clip my twigs every other shot, and I was sure my speed had improved. But my Archery took a long time to raise to eight, and after another hour or two, it seemed stuck at nine. Perhaps twigs weren’t an aggressive enough foe from which to gain further experience. I had anticipated as much, and switched to my rapier instead.

Killing the wolf had granted me a base point in this weapon skill, and I wondered if it would be possible to see some gains merely practicing against the air. Surely getting a better feel for the weapon and learning the most effective way to lunge would be worth a point or two?

By the end of the day my Weapon (Sword) skill was up to four. It was progress, but it had been hard, slow work. I dumped the last three of my unspent skill points into Sword, and went to bed hungry.

The mine was only an hour or two by foot, but I didn’t want to chance it until I’d practiced my skills a little more. Tracking down a deer or some rabbits would allow me to level both my Archery and my Hunting, and that was my goal the following day.

But by the end of the next day, I’d failed to get close enough to any prey to have a chance of shooting it. Hours spent tracking deer led only to them hearing me and fleeing well before I was in range. I stood no chance on rabbits; the little bastards were way too fast. My Hunting skill hadn’t risen a point, and my only consolation was a rank in Foraging, and an uncomfortable stomach from eating too many berries.

I sighed. If I couldn’t find a deer to shoot, I’d have to practice on goblins instead, but that was higher risk.

The next morning I checked my weapons, slung my quiver on my back, and set off toward the mine.

As I walked, I had time to reflect. The worst that could happen was that I’d get killed and have to explain myself to Lira when I came to. Yet that thought was enough to motivate me to stay alive.

It felt strange to be so desperate to avoid death, even though I was effectively immortal and had already met my end at Drakos’ sword more times than I could count. Apparently, facing Lira’s disappointment was a scarier prospect than death itself.

How to empty a mine of goblins, armed only with a bow I’d spent a single day practicing with and a rapier I’d only used to skewer a wolf that practically fell on it? I’d invested my spare skill points into both weapons, but would that be enough? Just how tough were the gobbos?

I reviewed my stats:

It seemed I now also had too many skills to fit on the first page. I scrolled down, using the ‘more’ function. Yep, Dodge and Etiquette were still there, just too low to make it onto the main sheet.

But the harsh reality was that I was a level four classless human with basic proficiency in Archery and Sword, versus a mine full of vicious goblins.

I’d be lucky to get through this without arriving back on Lira’s table.

Two weeks ago, I’d been lamenting the complete lack of tactics and strategy deployed by my D&D group. Now, here I was, my strategy consisting of entering a dungeon alone and heavily outnumbered, searching for a tactic that might lead to progress and keep me alive, far from Lira.

Had it really been two weeks? It felt like less, though I’d accomplished a lot. I’d gained three levels, and a bunch of skill points. But Drakos had been level eighteen. It felt like a mountain to climb, especially since it was becoming harder to level up, as evidenced by my Archery skill. In games – if this was indeed some sort of game – the first few levels always came faster. Two weeks to reach level four might translate to months to get to eighteen.

And that would only put me on equal footing with Drakos.

I wanted total dominance. I wanted to toy with him like he had toyed with me.

But I could only take one step at a time, and the entrance to the mine was just ahead.

It gaped like a maw in the side of the rock wall, with broken carts lying abandoned outside. There was no sign of movement.

Were goblins nocturnal? Perhaps I could find out…

Show information goblins.

Nothing happened. Maybe I needed a target to get a status page.

I waited, hunched behind a rock as I watched the mine entrance. But after an hour with no activity, my patience began to wear thin. If they weren’t coming out, I’d have to go in.

I crept forward, moving as quietly as my boots would allow over the dirt and loose stones.

What were the chances of sneaking up on the goblins and dispatching them with my dagger? There was likely an ‘Assassination’ skill somewhere, though I couldn’t recall seeing it. ‘Backstab’ would work too.

As I reached the mine entrance, I paused to listen. But it was the stench that hit me first. The mine reeked. There were sewers that smelled better.

Taking a slow breath—through my mouth, not my nose—I edged inside.