Illegal Alien in a MMO World

 

It was still early morning when the rain finally petered out and we could emerge from our shelter stiff and sore from yesterday’s leg of the journey. 

Being able to stand upright and stretch was almost too satisfying as I worked out the knots in my muscles, loudly cracking and popping almost every joint in my body with almost mischievous glee. Glee that quickly turned to confusion at the flushed expressions my companions had and not the looks of horror or disgust I’d expected.

“Holy fuck,” Roxi blushed. “I feel like I should be offering you a cigarette.”

“What?” Offer me a cigarette? 

“How did you not hear yourself? Those sounds!” she blurted out, staring at me with what looked to be amused disbelief. As if in agreement Gael snorted as she held back laughter.

“Cracking my joints?”

“Oh my god. You… You really don’t realise what sounds you were making! Do you? You… You were gasping and letting out little moans as you stretched,” she stammered as her cheeks flared red again.

What…

What?

What!

Falling into a crouch I buried my face in my arms as my temperature went into meltdown with a full body blush. I found myself praying to Ruin, to Creation, to Ceres, to May and the Dev SAI, praying that the ground below me would become a sinkhole and swallow me whole.

Salvation came in the form of the loud snap of a twig breaking underfoot and I found myself experiencing flashbacks to the meadow and circumstances in which I first met Roxi. 

Grazing the next swamp island over was a trio of winged, horse-sized rabbits that reminded me of the [Giant Lagomorphs] I’d encountered on my first day in the game. Activating the AR UI, I read the winged rabbit’s name plates and description. 

It listed them as [Adult Wetlands Skvader] and described them as a species of herbivorous rabbit-birds that make use of their flight to freely traverse wetlands easily  avoiding predators of both land and water while grazing. Starting off life at a similar size to the common rabbit, skvader have the ability to slowly grow with age until they reach a size matching their airborne Blaiddwyven predators.

Hand sliding into mine, Roxi stopped beside me to watch them. “They move in herds,” I heard her whisper under her breath. 

“Look,” she said pointing towards the pegasusian rabbits. “See how they are all facing outwards in different directions and taking turns eating? The herd is cooperating to keep watch for any predators or other dangers. Aren’t they cute? Will I need to lend you a handkerchief? Aisling? Aisling…”

Ignoring Roxi’s teasing, I made my way back to the burrow and shouldered my pack before joining Gael where she was standing, waiting to move on.

“It seems Roxi is a horse girl? No… Rabbit girl? Bun babe?”

Still facing away, Gael’s head jerked forward as she snorted with laughter. “Maybe she just likes all furry animals great and small. Talking about small and furry,” Gael teased, turning to give me a pointed look as my face flared with warmth. “Oh, Hey Roxi!”

Jumping suddenly, I twisting around midair to look behind me. 

The thump of wings forcing air downwards sounded as the skvader startled and took off into the sky. “You scared them,” called Roxi from back where we had been standing watching the flying rabbits.

Turning back round, I shot Gael my most withering glare only for her to break into a cackle than had her bending over wheezing.

Walking over and standing beside me, Roxi joined me in watching Gale as the mercenary continued to snicker and rub tears from her eyes. 

“So…What did I miss?”

 

* * *

 

My kingdom for a pair of dry socks.

Gael’s route through the transitory fringe was maddeningly meandering as she wove to and fro, following some path only she could see across grassy and sometimes forested islands between swamp and forest. One moment we would be heading towards the marsh proper, then the next sharply veering or gently drifting back towards the forest as we slowly but steadily made our way north.

Except when we were not. Not going north that is.

Yep, that’s right. Occasionally our guide led us back south for an island or two before returning northward. 

Why?

Part of it was keeping us to as firm and dry ground as possible, my sodden socks could attest our success at that. Another part was avoiding the steep and rocky edges of the Haverhills that thrust out into the transitory zone where they’d been stripped of soil and vegetation to land subsidence. Then there was Gael’s insistence of keeping at least a sparse line of trees or hilly islands between us and the rest of the swamp, obscuring us from sight.

Maybe planetary alignments, magnetic fields or ley lines also factored into her chosen path. Who knows?

All I can say is that between the many small streams, murky still water that smelled of rotting vegetation, islands of grass, islands of sparse forest and pockets of marsh that had invaded the forest and turned the trees to moss covered rotting stumps that resembled an strange amphibious graveyard, I was done.

Like I said, my socks were soaked and my boots covered in foul smelling mud, resulting in a squelching sound with every step, wet grit between my toes. Wet grit rubbing at my mind. Raw irritation. 

Even good leather boots weren’t entirely impervious to wet mud or swamp water and once in water stayed, sloshing and squelching inside. 

Then there were the cuffs of my pant legs, also soaked and coated with gritty bog dirt. Ever been splashed with muddy water and had it soak into the cuffs of your jeans, then have those wet and gritty cuffs clinging to and rubbing against your calves and ankles. My own inner hell. 

Part of the reason why I used to wear that faded holey pair of women’s skinny jeans I’d pinched from where they had been drying on a third floor fire escape. They fitted surprisingly well, better than any of the jeans I’d grown up with before running away. Not to mention being skin tight and clinging they at least eliminated the rubbing part.

I was honestly longing for them right now.

Left foot, right foot. Left foot, right foot. Left foot, Right foot. Pull my right foot free of sticky stinking sinking mud. Left foot, right foot. 

Next stop… Next stop, I am pausing to empty the water from my boots.

 

* * *

 

Falling to my knees, I kissed dry sun warmed grass. We were finally north of the forest, the swamp and the transitory fringe. No more dense forest, no more thick undergrowth. No more steep rocky hills. No more wet boggy ground. No more foul smelling swamp muck.

Just sweet, firm, dry, flat, ground. And no trip hazards in sight.

Only grass and a few trees here and there. Then to the north farms, paddocks and crops, and in the distance to the east the ocean, just visible on the horizon with the sun slowly sinking to meet it. Civilization. We might even make it to Port Marchnad before nightfall. The exhausting tribulations of our last two days and two nights were finally over. 

And Tonight? A hot meal and warm, a bath and soft clean bed in an inn in the city.

“No,” came the one word refusal of our guide.

“What do you mean no, Gael?” 

“We’re not entering the city tonight,” she replied, shattering my hopes and dreams of rest, warmth and cleanliness.

“Why the hell not?” I snapped, claws coming out.

“Okay… I’ll admit we are only about two hours away on foot and we do have a bit longer than that before nightfall,” she agreed. “But… Considering that by road the distance we traveled can be covered in about a half maybe even a third of the time it took us, faster still if by horse, it is probably safe to assume they already have our descriptions at the city gates and amongst the soldiers and guards there.” 

Ok, she had a point. A point at the end of a battering ram smashing down my objections.

“So if we just walk up without a plan, well… We. Are. fucked,” she cursed, emphasizing each word. “Well… I’m fucked, you Blessed can come back from a painful death if they don’t just throw you in a cell. We need to make a plan on how to enter the city, plan what we are going to do once we are there and plan how to do all that and leave as quickly as possible before we are detected.”

“My bath…”

“And to do that,” she continued, bulldozing over my feeble protest. “To do that we need rest or we won’t be at our best. Not to plan, not to avoid detection and not to investigate. We’ll find a nice copse of trees to camp in and I’ll even let you waste water to wash your socks and a nice warm fire to dry them over.”

“Okay…” 

I… I’ll settle for clean socks.