Chapitre 5: Indecent Proposal
[Objectives! Achieve 2 out of 5 possible tutorial objectives before the tutorial time comes to an end to earn a reward.]
Sweat dripped down Mason's brow as he rose to the top. He could see trees in every direction now, tall and huge and stretching beyond sight. The bunker hissed and clicked as the machinery thumped into its final slots, then Mason was on the ground.
All around him, beings were killing each other.
Something like a half man, half jackal creature cackled to his left, its long claws dripping blood.
Mason dropped flat to the ground and hoped he hadn't been seen. To his right, more strange creatures that belonged in that Kings of the Rings movie formed a jagged line. These were maybe half the size of a grown man, green skinned, and carrying a motley assortment of knives, bows, and clubs. Several clashed with the jackal creatures nearby.
"Hey. Psst. Buddy. Over here."
Mason twisted to find a tuft of brown hair hiding amongst the grass. A middle aged man lay flat only a few feet away behind Mason's feet.
"You look strong, yeah? A combat class? I'm just a damn alchemist, and pretty useless at the moment." The man licked his lips. "If you get me out of here, I'll return the favor, I swear to God. When we have some time and supplies, I'll make sure you get…"
A feathered arrow ripped through the man's throat. Blood sprayed over Mason's back, and a green-skinned archer came forward with a grin before he noticed Mason and started reaching for another arrow.
Mason rolled to his feet. Fear tingled his guts and half numbed his limbs, but he knew he couldn't hesitate. There was nowhere to run. He pulled an arrow from his quiver, and nocked it as fast as he could.
They were too close together to need much aim. The creature's eyes widened in obvious surprise, then Mason loosed. His arrow struck directly into the thing's throat. It coughed blood and dropped its bow, reaching for its neck before collapsing to the ground.
[Goblin scout killed. Experience awarded.]
[Title awarded: Killer. You have killed your first enemy! +1 to a related statistic.]
Mason didn't waste time celebrating (or panicking) as the mechanical voice intoned in his mind. He dropped to the dead creature, searching it for weapons before coming up with a jagged knife, and deciding the arrows were too short for his bow. Then he stayed low and ran, straight for the closest gap he could see in the green line, and then hopefully towards the denser trees. He could lose them there, he decided, if he could just get out of this damn clearing. He could hide in the forest and gain a moment to rest and think. He could make it.
"Die, manling!"
Another green half-man appeared as if from nowhere, not two feet from Mason's side. It thrust with one of two wicked looking blades.
Reflexes alone saved Mason's life. He had no time to dodge or think, instead waving his stolen knife in an upward arc which became a successful, if panicked, parry. He even severed the creature's thumb.
It howled and pulled back before deciding to attack again, but Mason grabbed its good arm and held it fast before stabbing wildly with his knife. His size, reach, and adrenaline fueled panic sunk the blade deep into the creature's chest again and again before it weakened and sagged in his grip.
[Goblin ambusher killed. Experience awarded.]
Mason's heart pounded in his chest. He moved slower this time, scanning all around him for more ambushers. Several of the other green warriors were clearly watching him escape now, but seemed either unwilling or unable to interfere. Many others were still joining the fray up from some kind of tunnels, charging against the jackal-men who seemed to lurk mostly in the trees. Mason began to suspect he wouldn't be safe no matter where he went in this place, but the closest trees at least looked currently clear of foes.
He stopped at the clearing edge when he heard the sound of another human voice. A young man with a sword was fighting on the exact same ground Mason had just fled, desperately trying to fight off several of the goblins. Mason thought, perhaps, he could help. But it seemed just as likely he'd get himself killed.
He turned away.
Whatever his next step, he needed a damn sense of things, a few practice shots, and a moment to catch his breath. Then he'd come up with a plan.
He turned and raced into the trees.
* * *
Well, Mason decided, the bow was shit.
He wasn't exactly some bow hunter extraordinaire, but he'd had his license and been out with different enthusiasts many times. Once he'd moved a ways from the clearing and decided the coast was relatively clear, he'd found a decent tree and decided to take some practice shots.
He hadn't shot anything this primitive since he was maybe fifteen. The draw was weak, the wood average, the notch finicky. He was getting used to it, but not for the first time he wished he had a damn gun. And he wasn't picky—he didn't need anything semi-automatic or modern. Just a damn bolt action 30 aught whatever. Hell he'd take a .22. But he was damn thankful he'd always practiced with a bow. Partially just for fun. But partially, OK yes, partially because maybe one day the world might end, Blake, and getting bullets and gunpowder might be a damn problem, Blake. And as it turned out, he wasn't exactly wrong, now was he?
But thinking of Blake and life before all this wasn't useful, and he forced it from his mind.
You're a hunter, he reminded himself, angry that he'd forgotten his powers entirely in the clearing. Your powers are mostly bow related. Stop complaining and make use of what you've got.
So he nocked another basic, bullet arrow from the twelve in his quiver, and aimed.
The trick to shooting was in the form. If you paused and aimed for more than a blink not only would you get shaky with a bow that had any kind of draw, you'd missed the point anyway. A bow was about speed. A good archer with a light bow like his could shoot, reload, and shoot again in seconds. It was the machine gun of ancient man, and if you faced an expert archer without armor or a shield, you were almost certainly dead.
Mason, unfortunately, was not an expert.
His arrow struck the edge of the tree and bounced into the brush. He sighed, and went to collect it. He was used to having a sight. In fact he was used to having a compound bow that helped draw to a much higher weight with about the same amount of work, not to mention helped nock and guide the arrow. Doing it 'old school' was far, far harder, and would take considerable practice. But he would have to adjust.
Six more shots and his arm was getting tired.
[Tutorial note: strenuous activities, particularly when achieved in moments of mortal peril, will earn you progress towards additional statistics. Gains in the tutorial will be kept for the main phase.]
Mason blinked at the ghostly text floating in the air. Great, he thought, whatever the hell that means.
He collected his arrows, which fortunately he hadn't managed to damage, and started to consider his situation. The reality was he didn't know where he was, or what he was supposed to be doing other than 'not dying', so how could he actually make any decisions?
As if summoned, more text floated across his screen.
[Unique Tutorial Objective added: One way or another, end the conflict between the gnoll and goblin tribes; Bonus Objective: Acquire the contract of a civilian.]
Apparently the hyena-men were called 'gnolls', which he'd never heard in his life. At least he'd heard Blake talk about goblins.
"Damnit," he muttered. "I should have let him make me watch those stupid movies."
He stared at the text with more questions than answers. How on earth could he 'end the conflict' of a bunch of monsters? And what the hell was a civilian?
[Tutorial query: a civilian is a human who either chose or was otherwise selected not to be a player in the game. Civilians have different rules, classes, and interact differently with the system. As a player, if you harm a civilian, you will receive a major system penalty, possibly including, but not limited to, immediate death.]
OK, Mason thought, so this thing is reading my mind.
He tried not to think about that while he gathered his arrows. Frankly, he didn't give a damn what roboGod wanted him to do. He'd survive. That was all. And then he'd find Blake and made sure he survived. The only real question was how.
[Re-configuring tutorial.] The voice intoned, and Mason practically told it to shut the hell up. [Incentive added: Complete tutorial objective to receive: brief communication with player Blake Nimitz]
Mason froze as he watched the new text scroll. The damn bastard of a robot not only read his mind, it fed him little pellets of cheese, like a rat. He forced a few deep breaths before he looked at the small bits of sky visible through the forest canopy.
"Give me my brother," he whispered. "Give me Blake and I'll do whatever damn thing you want."
It didn't answer this time. All Mason heard were the sounds of distant growls and fighting, a few chirps and clicks and whistles of the forest fauna, and the beating of his own heart. He wanted to scream, to tell his new God even now he knew his brother was alive, that he wouldn't let it trick him or string him along. But he knew his words and anger were empty, impotent. That whatever this thing was, it wouldn't blink at the anger of some little creature shouting at the clouds.
He turned his gaze back to the forest and more immediate things. Because deep in his heart he began to suspect, no, somehow he knew, the rules of this new world weren't so different than the old. They were just laid bare. Power got you what you wanted, just like this robot told him. And it was time for Mason to find out his.
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone