Gasi

N-n-not s-s-sick at all," Greg muttered to himself, his voice shaking as violently as the rest of him as he trudged through the snow. "T-t-totally not s-s-sick at all."

He'd been trudging through these woods for who knows how long, searching for anyone that could help him before it actually started getting dark.

Greg glanced up at the gray sky. Darker? He pulled a face. Semantics.

Anyway, he had been walking for what felt like hours now, the adrenaline from his initial awakening in this frozen wasteland having long since worn off. The Celestial Greg Blade, as cool as it was slung across his back — the sword somehow staying stuck there like his name was Dante — could only do so much against the relentless cold. Sure, it gave off this weird, comforting warmth that kept the worst of the chill at bay, but it was like putting a band-aid on a gaping wound.

Long story short, he quickly learned that being a little bit warm wasn't all that good. Helpful as his sword was, it wasn't the best comfort against blizzard conditions.

More like torture, really, Greg thought miserably, his breath puffing out in little clouds of white. Just enough warmth to keep me from going numb, but not enough to actually, y'know, help.

Problem was he stayed warm enough to feel the cold in full, making it hell on earth for him more than anything else. At the very least, the trees managed to buffer some of the wind but the cold was still as sharp as ever. Greg's teeth chatter, and his breath comes out in visible puffs of white air. He wraps his arms around himself, the windbreaker hardly sufficient. He continues walking, complaining to himself and hoping he doesn't die. "I got a cool magic sword soul-bonded to me, I need to save the world or something first." No, no, stay positive. Gotta be something more to this.

The wind continued to howl through the trees as Greg trudged onwards, each step feeling like an effort all its own. His sneakers, already soaked through from the snow, squelched with every movement, sending icy tendrils of discomfort up his legs. He could barely feel his toes anymore, which was probably a bad sign, but what could he do? It wasn't like there was a handy-dandy North Face store out here in the middle of Frostbite Forest. Speaking of, the forest around him felt endless, a sea of snow-laden pines and skeletal deciduous trees that all started to blend together after a while.

He was beginning to think he was really lost out here.

Come on, Greg, don't think like that, he chided himself, trying to muster up some of his usual optimism. You're the hero here, remember? The Chosen One or whatever. There's gotta be more to this than just freezing to death in the middle of nowhere.

But it was getting harder and harder to stay positive as the minutes ticked by and the cold continued to seep into his bones. His teeth chattered so hard he was half-afraid they might shatter, and his fingers were starting to go numb even with his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his windbreaker.

Yeah, some hero I am, Greg thought bitterly. Bet Armsmaster never had to deal with frostbite on his epic quests. Or Dauntless, or any of the other Protectorate bigshots. They probably have, like, built-in heating in their suits or something. Tinker bullshit for the win.

He shook his head, trying to dislodge the negative thoughts. No, no, gotta stay positive. Gotta be more to this than just wandering around until I turn into a Greg-sicle. Maybe there's a village nearby, or a hidden temple or something. Some sort of tutorial zone with a wise old mentor who can explain what the heck is going on.

As if on cue, a flicker of movement caught Greg's eye through the swirling snow. He squinted, heart leaping in his chest as he made out the unmistakable silhouettes of people moving in the distance. Oh man, finally! NPCs! Or other players, maybe? Please let them be friendly, please let them be friendly...

"Hey! Hey, over here!" Greg shouted, his voice cracking a bit as he tried to project over the wind. He waved his arms frantically, the Celestial Greg Blade glinting in the gray light as he did so. "Lost hero in need of assistance! Newbie in way over his head! Friendly neighborhood Greg, here!"

He started trudging towards the figures, his exhaustion momentarily forgotten in the surge of hope and relief. Yes! Okay, play it cool, Greg. Introduce yourself, ask for directions, maybe see if they have any spare coats or healing potions to spare. Easy peasy, JRPG hero stuff.

But as he drew closer, the details became clearer and Greg felt something twist in his gut. The figures were human, sure, but something about them set Greg's nerves on edge. They were bulky, hunched over against the wind, and they moved with a sort of feral grace that reminded Greg more of predators than people.

The Celestial Greg Blade thrummed in Greg's grip, almost seeming to vibrate with a deep, resonant energy. It was a strange sensation, one that Greg felt more than heard, a low hum that seemed to settle in his bones and set his nerves alight.

Whoa, okay, that's new. Greg stared down at the blade, eyes wide. His mind raced, gamer logic kicking into overdrive. What's that about? C'mon, sword, gimme a quest marker or something! I'm flying blind here!

He glanced back up at the figures, now close enough for him to pick out more unsettling details. Ratty furs, patchwork armor, and weapons that looked more savage than civilized. Uh, I don't think these guys are here to welcome me to the neighborhood...

Greg's grip tightened on the sword, a sudden urgency thrumming through him in time with the blade's strange resonance. But beneath that urgency was a thread of caution, of wariness. Like the sword itself wasn't sure what to make of these guys.

Okay, Greggy boy, think! What would Al do in Rune-Saga Online? Or Kirito in SAO? His mind raced, trying to dredge up any relevant gamer knowledge. Negotiate? Bluff? Threaten? 

The figures were still far away but they were close enough for Greg to see eyes beneath shaggy hoods, tense readiness in their postures.

"H-hey there, fellow travelers!" he called out, trying to keep his voice steady. "Nice, uh, nice weather we're having, huh? Perfect for a little stroll through the murder woods!"

The figures didn't respond, continuing their silent, menacing approach. Shit, shit, shit, okay, diplomacy failed, time for plan B! Greg thought frantically. Only I don't have a plan B, unless screaming and running counts as a plan!

The sword pulsed again, almost chidingly, and Greg felt a sudden flash of... something. Not quite a thought, not quite an emotion, but a sense of needing to act, to take control of the situation.

He pulled the weapon from behind his back and raised the blade, trying to project a confidence he definitely didn't feel. "Okay, sword, whatever you're doing, help me out here," he whispered desperately. "Let's not start any fights. Not yet. Let's just... try to get some answers first? Friendly answers, hopefully?"

Greg's heart hammered in his chest as the wild-looking men emerged from the trees, their faces weathered and hard, hair and beards matted with bits of bone and feather. They looked like something straight out of one of those gritty, realistic fantasy games he loved, the kind where every quest was a fight for survival and every NPC had a tragic backstory.

Except this wasn't a game.

This was real, and these guys looked like they meant business.

And by business, they probably meant his corpse roasting over an open fire.

The older men carried weapons that looked like they'd been ripped straight from the concept art of a post-apocalyptic RPG - a jagged axe and a battered sword that had seen better days. Days that probably involved a lot of blood and screaming, if the dark stains on the blade were any indication.

Shit shit shit, okay, don't panic, Greg thought frantically, his mind racing as the men approached. Just stay calm, stay cool, maybe they're friendly? Maybe they're just really dedicated cosplayers or something?

But as they drew closer, their conversation drifted over to Greg, and any hope of a friendly encounter shattered like a critical fail on a persuasion check.

"Oi, look at 'im. dressed like some fool's dream, he is. all bright an' soft-like," the first man said, his voice rough and thick with an accent Greg couldn't place.

"Aye, never seen cloth like that before," the second man agreed, eyeing Greg's hoodie with a predatory gleam. "Rich kneeler's whelp, 'i reckon. Lost, stupid. Don't know where 'e is."

Kneeler? Greg's brow furrowed. What the hell are they talking about? And why do they sound like they're auditioning to be orc extras for Lord of The Rings?

The first man grinned, a vicious, hungry thing that made Greg's blood run cold. "I'd like that cloth on me, I would. Warm as a bloody bear's arse."

"Hah! first t' put 'is guts out gets first pick, eh?" The second man chuckled, a dark, eager sound.

Nope. Nope nope nope, I am NOT getting gutted today, no sir, Greg thought, panic rising in his throat. Time to make like Sonic and get the heck out of dodge!

He spun on his heel, intent on booking it back the way he came, but the deep snow hindered his escape. Each step was a struggle, his feet sinking into the white powder as the men's laughter rang out behind him.

"Scrawny little shit, ain't 'e? reckon 'e'll try runnin'?" one of the younger men called out, his voice filled with cruel amusement.

"Rrun? ha! Bastard don't know 'ow. Legs look like twigs," the other replied, the sound of their pursuit growing closer with each labored step Greg took.

Oh god oh god oh god, this is bad, this is so bad, Greg's mind babbled as he struggled through the snow, his breath coming in panicked gasps. I'm gonna die out here, I'm gonna get stabbed by a bunch of LARPers on steroids, this is NOT how I wanted to go out!

In desperation, he spun back around, nearly stumbling as he raised his hands in a pleading gesture. "W-wait! Hold up, time out, parley, whatever! I'm not- I'm just lost, okay?!" The words spilled out of him in a breathless rush, his voice high and tight with fear. "Like, super duper lost, don't even know where I am, just woke up here, so if we could just talk this out...?"

But the men didn't slow, their grins only widening at Greg's panicked babbling.

"M'be he don't 'ear so good," the second man said, hefting his sword. "Or just thick in the 'ead"

"Don't matter to me none," the younger one replied, a vicious eagerness in his voice. "Bet he's got shiny bits under 'em rags. That coat's ours, da?"

"Enough yap, boy. Gut 'im!"

They closed in, weapons raised, and Greg felt a surge of pure, animalistic terror. This was it. This was how he died, shanked by a bunch of fantasy hillbillies in the middle of nowhere.

Mom, I'm sorry for all the times I forgot to take out the trash, Sparky, you can have my comic collection, tell Taylor from Word Issues class that I l...

Suddenly, the sword in Greg's hand seemed to thrum with energy, a tingle racing up his arm. It was the same odd feeling from before, that strange sense of connection, but stronger now. Insistent.

Almost a command.

Fight.

Greg blinked, startled out of his mental goodbyes. What the...?

But he had no time to question it. The first man was upon him, axe swinging in a vicious arc aimed right at Greg's head.

Reflex took over.

Instinct.

Greg's arm moved almost of its own accord, the sword flashing up to meet the axe in a ringing clash of metal on metal. There was a moment of resistance, a shuddering jolt up Greg's arm...

And then the axe shattered, the blade snapping clean in two.

The man had a split second to register shocked surprise before the sword continued its arc, biting deep into the meat of his shoulder and cleaving down through his chest in a spray of red.

He crumpled, bisected, blood steaming as it hit the snow.

Greg stared, uncomprehending, his brain struggling to process what had just happened. Did I just... Did he just...

"Da!" The anguished cry snapped Greg back to reality as the younger man charged, stone dagger raised high. His face was twisted in grief and rage, tears cutting tracks through the grime on his cheeks.

Again, Greg moved without thought, the sword leaping to meet the attack. It sliced through the boy's wrist, sending the hand and dagger flying, then whipped back around in a backhanded slash that opened the boy's throat in a crimson gush.

He fell, choking, drowning in his own blood as it pooled around him, shockingly red against the white of the snow.

The remaining wildlings, their faces pale with sudden fear, turned and fled, disappearing back into the trees as quickly as they had come.

And then... silence.

No sound but the wind in the branches and the pounding of Greg's own heart in his ears. He felt the connection reach out again, sword humming in his grasp as his soul ballooned out twice just slightly in rapid succession.

It settled and Greg stood there, shaking, sword hanging limp at his side. The surge of energy, of purpose, adrenaline, all three faded as quickly as they had come, leaving him hollow. Numb.

I killed them. I killed them, oh god, I killed them, they're dead, I killed them...

His stomach lurched, bile rising in his throat.

He dropped to his knees, barely registering the cold wetness seeping into his jeans, and retched into the snow. Vomit steamed as it splattered, pinkish and foul on top of red blood

"...Fuck."

– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –​

Achievement: Meet Interesting People! (Wildling) - 100 GP 

Achievement: First Kill - 250 GP

Achievement: End A Bloodline! (Wildling) - 150 GP

Roll: Psychic Abilities - Precognition (Intuition) (100 GP) - In the World of Darkness, psychic abilities and mythic sorcery are, at first glance, completely different. However, both manipulate the same powers, albeit in very different ways, and are both considered forms of linear magic. While a sorcerer utilizes numerous tools and ceremonies to harness supernatural powers, a psychic makes do with lots, and lots, of willpower. Furthermore, the majority of psychic powers are innate, and can be improved, but not gained, without outside interference, in stark contrast to sorcery.

One of the rarer abilities in the psychic community, this one grants insights into events yet to come, but often leads its users to forget, in the World of Darkness, the future is never entirely certain...

[1] Intuition - not true foresight, not yet, but the budding precog often seems "luckier" than a normal person. Predictions about random events (like say, the lottery, or roulette numbers) can be eerily accurate, and guess about other situations can be quite correct, such as knowing the fastest ride to work, or that one person is "right" for another. However, as with all things, predictions are rarely perfect.

Roll: Psychic Abilities - Biokinesis (Self-Control) (100 GP) - In the World of Darkness, psychic abilities and mythic sorcery are, at first glance, completely different. However, both manipulate the same powers, albeit in very different ways, and are both considered forms of linear magic. While a sorcerer utilizes numerous tools and ceremonies to harness supernatural powers, a psychic makes do with lots, and lots, of willpower. Furthermore, the majority of psychic powers are innate, and can be improved, but not gained, without outside interference, in stark contrast to sorcery.

The psychic ability to manipulate their own biology. While this ability cannot replicate the powers of the Paths of Shapeshifting and Healing, its flexibility is more akin to that of the Life Sphere known to true mages.

[1] Self-Control - the biokinetic can manipulate their own body on a low level. Minor cuts stop bleeding, small amounts of pain are ignored, and breath can be held for several extra minutes. To do any of this, the biokinetic must enter a trance.

Roll: Swordsman Scrolls (200 GP) - You'd think that these would be only mildly useful to an engineer due to them being, you know, and engineer, but you've managed to get your hands on them anyways. These two scrolls detail the usages of two sword techniques that are incredibly hard to find teachers for. The first is sword beams, the ability to shoot 'cutting wind' type attacks from the edge of your blade. Sadly, an ordinary blade won't be enough - there needs to be a level of magic to it in order to power the beam. The second scroll details the great spin attack, a much easier technique to use. 

We're rolling every time he gains an achievement. 

He gains 100 points every 10000 words.

If he doesn't have the points to buy a roll, it will be discarded or saved for later.