Chapter 2.15: From Dog to Bones
Dawn broke over the landscape, the first rays of sunlight filtering through the ruins and casting long, golden shadows across the camp. The rain had finally ceased, leaving the air filled with the scent of wet earth filling Xander's senses as he stirred from sleep. The morning was a stark contrast to the chaos of the night before, the tranquility almost disorienting after the brutal battle they had endured.
Xander shifted beneath his bedroll, wincing slightly as a dull ache flared in his left shoulder. The wound from the gnoll's pistol mostly had healed thanks to Ford's swift intervention, but the muscle was still tender, a lingering reminder of how close he had come to a far worse fate. He gingerly rotated his arm, testing the range of motion. The pain was manageable, but it was a discomfort he would have to bear for the next few days.
The sounds of the awakening camp reached his ears. A low chatter of voices, the clatter of pots and pans as people prepared breakfast, and the rustle of tents being dismantled. Xander pushed himself up, the cool morning air nipping at his skin as he emerged from his bedroll. Around him, the remnants of the camp were already being packed away, the expedition preparing to move out once more.
As Xander dressed and strapped on his gear, his mind drifted back to the previous night's events. The gnoll attack had been vicious, a hard reminder of the dangers in the simulation. They had lost a few good people. Faces he had seen around the campfire, voices that would no longer be part of their journey north. While every loss was significant, he hoped they had lost no one critical to the expedition. Having to turn back to Starlight now would be a disaster.
Harvey's approach interrupted his thoughts. His expression was somber, his eyes tired but alert, as he stepped up beside Xander. The man carried a small bundle wrapped in an oilcloth, which he held with the care of someone handling a precious artifact.
"How's the shoulder?" Harvey asked.
"Sore," Xander replied, flexing the arm. "But I'll manage. Good thing I'm right-handed. I'd hate for people to think I've hurt my arm with other more personal and intimate activities."
Harvey rolled his eyes, his gaze drifting to Xander's shoulder before returning to his face. "I'm glad you pulled through. We needed every able hand out there. Those gnolls…" He trailed off, shaking his head slightly. "They are better organized than I expected. And that pack leader you took down was something else."
Xander grimaced at the memory. The gnoll pack leader had been a formidable opponent, not just because of his size and strength but because of the cold intelligence that had gleamed in his eyes. This wasn't a mindless beast, but a creature that had honed its skills and nearly bested him.
"Gnolls are bad news. They came extremely close to wiping Saint Joseph off the map. Granted, that safe zone is a mess, but it wasn't an easy win, even with a strong group in the mines. I still have nightmares about it," Xander admitted, his tone thoughtful. "The Gunslingers are a bit concerning. It makes the gnolls even more of a nightmare fuel than they were, and it also feels like an escalation of difficulty in the Simulation. Like that's something we needed…"
Harvey's expression darkened as he unwrapped the bundle he was carrying, revealing the very weapons Xander had been thinking about. The gnoll's short sword and the pistol. A brutal-looking weapon, the sword featured a notched and bloodstained blade, its handle wrapped in worn leather. The pistol, on the other hand, was surprisingly well-crafted, its metalwork gleaming even in the dim light of the morning. It was a sleek, deadly instrument, more suited to a duelist than a gnoll.
"I thought you might want to take a look at these," Harvey said, holding out the pistol for Xander to examine. "We found them on the pack leader after the battle. The sword's magical, but this pistol… is something else."
Xander took the pistol in his hand, feeling its weight, the cool metal smooth against his skin. It was a stark contrast to the crude weapons typically wielded by gnolls. The balance was perfect, and the craftsmanship was meticulous. This wasn't some stolen relic or scavenged piece; it was the weapon of someone who understood the art of killing at a distance.
Shadow's Whisper Pistol
Quality: Rare
Enchantments: Cloak of Shadows, Shadow Strike
Description: This elegant ebony pistol features silver inlays that resemble swirling shadows. An unnaturally cold barrel and a light-absorbing black leather handle characterize the pistol. As the first shot in combat, Shadow Strike will deal additional shadow damage to the target when fired. Drawing the weapon and attempting to hide in ambush will trigger Cloak of Shadows and increase the chances of a critical strike on the first shot.
"I mean, the real mystery now is where ammo comes from," Xander wondered aloud, turning the pistol over in his hands.
"That's the question," Harvey replied. "I'm sure a lot of people are going to be happy that guns are still a thing, but right now, it's still a limited-use weapon. Three rounds in it and another twenty in the hostler it had. That's not a great weapon for combat. Either way, it was your kill. You get first right of refusal on the loot."
"Doesn't do my team any good. Why don't you hold on to this one," Xander nodded, the pistol suddenly feeling heavier, as if the weapon itself carried the burden of the unknown threats that lay ahead. He returned it to Harvey, who re-wrapped it with care, tucking it away to keep the mystery it represented out of sight, if not out of mind. The short sword was more interesting and a nasty piece of work.
Sanguine Edge
Quality: Epic
Enchantments: Bleed, Life Stealing
Description: This short sword features a blade forged from darkened steel, with veins of crimson bone running through its length. Intertwined bones, resembling a ribcage, form the crossguard. Wounds caused by Sanguine Edge will continue to bleed as damage over time. Any damage caused by this blade will restore 20% of that damage to the wielder.
Xander turned the blade, its dark steel catching faint light, crimson bone running through the metal like old blood. This weapon was meant to end fights quick and bloody.
"Dang, that is one nasty piece of work," he said, passing it back to Harvey. "Gary's better with close work. He may get better use out of this thing."
Harvey frowned. "With the pistol, that's a lot of coin you're leaving on the table."
"Doesn't matter if we don't survive. I've seen what happens when the wrong person hangs on to the right gear. Saint Joseph went sideways because of hoarding and poorly equipped combatants. We buried two because of that call," Xander said.
"Besides, can't spend gold if we're dead. I'd rather put this in someone's hands that will watch my back than a shopkeeper's window."
"That's a fair point. I'll let you give it to Gary."
"We lost a few good people last night," Harvey continued, changing the subject. "But we managed to hold the line. Ford and the other healers were up all night tending to the wounded. Most will pull through, but we're all feeling it this morning."
Xander sighed, running a hand through his hair as he processed the losses. "We'll need to stay sharp. If the gnolls were this organized, the road between here and there might be even more dangerous than we thought."
"You're right," Harvey agreed, his tone resolute. "But we can't afford to stay here either. The roads may be muddy, but we need to keep moving north. I sent people out this morning, and we've already packed up what we could from your friend's cache: food, weapons, and supplies. Would have liked to have just taken the wagons over there to avoid that much manual work, but it's just too muddy for the wagons."
The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.
Xander looked out over the camp, where people rolled up and stowed the last tents, and stamped out the remnants of the night's fires. The ground was still slick with mud from the rain, and the trip today was going to be exhausting, but Harvey was right. They had to keep moving.
"Alright, let's do this," Xander said. "We knew going into this that it wouldn't be a milk run. We're not about to turn back now."
Harvey clapped him on the back, a gesture of camaraderie that sent a small jolt of pain through Xander's injured shoulder, though he didn't let it show. "That's the spirit."
With that, Harvey turned and strode off to oversee the final preparations for departure, leaving Xander to gather his thoughts. He took a deep breath, pushing aside the lingering pain and exhaustion.
They had faced down gnolls, survived a brutal attack, and even came out with valuable supplies. But he felt the Simulation was far from done trying to hose him over today. As the sun climbed higher, casting its warm light over the now-dispersing camp, Xander slung his pack over his good shoulder and prepared to move out.
Xander fell into step beside Jo, who gave him a nod of understanding.
"You need to be more careful," Jo began.
"Well, I wasn't expecting to get shot. For the record, I'm going to give the experience zero stars. Do not recommend, will not shop again."
"Not funny."
"A little funny," Xander said, smiling.
"Look, I just got you back. Can you try not to get killed for at least a couple of months, please?" Jo responded lightly, punching him in his good shoulder.
"I plan on being around for quite a while, but there is risk involved with being an adventuring team. You know this, right?"
"Yes, probably better than you think. Just try to be a little more careful," Jo said, letting the topic drop and speeding up her steps.
Xander stared after her for a few moments, watching her quickly put some distance between them. He knew she was concerned about him getting shot. Truthfully, he was also a little shaken up about it. Would he have lived if that had been a headshot instead of a shoulder? It was not a question he wanted to dwell on. However, Jo's reaction seemed to go deeper than just being concerned for him.
The wagon train creaked and groaned as it made its way slowly northward, the heavy wheels eating up the miles ahead of them. The sun hung high in the sky, its warmth doing little except driving up the humidity from the previous night's rain.
Xander walked near the front of the column, his gaze sweeping the destroyed cornfields on either side of the road. His left shoulder still ached, a dull throb beneath the bandages that Ford had applied, but he tried to ignore. Since breaking camp that morning, they had fought off two more attacks. Small skirmishes against ragtag groups of undead that had crawled out of shallow graves or stumbled from the remnants of long-forgotten crypts.
But it wasn't the frequency of the attacks that troubled Xander. It was the strength of the foes they faced. Each encounter seemed more difficult than the last. The undead they fought were more resilient and more determined. There was a growing sense that something was driving these creatures, some unseen force pushing them forward.
Jo walked beside him, silent since morning, her jaw set and her gaze fixed on the road ahead. Whatever they had stirred up between them earlier hadn't settled. Xander didn't press. Some wounds needed time, and they both knew how unforgiving the world could be about time.
Behind them, the expedition moved in steady formation as boots slogged through wet earth, wagon wheels groaning through the muck, eyes constantly searching the tree line for motion. Ford rode near the middle of the column, hunched over his healer's kit, his usual jokes absent.
They'd stopped twice already to sanctify burial sites. The last one had gone sideways. The graveyard had looked like the rest. Cracked headstones, half-collapsed markers, moss climbing everything. Ford had stepped up, focused and steady, casting the blessing as the team fought off the undead. Nothing had seemed off until the moment he finished. Instead of the ground quieting, it rippled. The soil shifted like something exhaled beneath it, and three corpses tore free from the earth before anyone could react.
They weren't standard undead either. These were quick, mean, and fresh enough to still wear the faces they'd died with. It was a little more horrifying than many of the civilian support members of the team were prepared for.
It had taken too long to put them down. One guard got bit before Gary split the corpse's skull. Xander had watched Ford freeze, holy symbol still raised, as the spell fizzled out and backfired like it had opened a door instead of closing one.
Nobody said much after that.
Now, with each new gravesite, they moved faster, sanctifying only when they had the numbers and the terrain to support it. Whatever system the Simulation used to measure success, they were clearly on the wrong side of it.
The landscape had changed, too. The further north they traveled, the more the world seemed to warp around them. Stands of trees that peppered the Midwest grew thicker, their branches twisted as if they had absorbed the dark energy that permeated the land. The air was heavy with the scent of decay, and the occasional gust of wind carried the mournful whispers of long-dead souls.
As midday approached, the wagon train halted briefly to allow the horses to rest and the travelers to take a meal. The air was tense, the silence broken only by the whisper of hushed conversations and the occasional clatter of cookware. Xander stretched his sore muscles while walking to the rear of the lead wagon where Ford, still inspecting his healer's kit, sat.
"Ford," Xander began, "I've been thinking about these attacks. They're getting stronger. We're seeing a higher level of undead and more rare spawns mixed in. I'm wondering if it's tied to the world event."
Ford looked up from his work, his brow furrowed in thought. "I was thinking something similar. Whatever's happening, it's not just the undead. The land itself feels… wrong. The sanctifications are helping, but I can't shake the feeling that we're barely holding back a tide."
Xander nodded grimly. "We'll keep doing what we can, but we need to be ready for anything. If the undead are getting stronger, it's only a matter of time before we face something we're not prepared for."
Before Ford could reply, there was a sudden commotion among the wagons. A figure darted from one to the next, a blur of spectral fur and sharp claws that sent startled cries rippling through the camp. Xander turned just in time to see Cabbot, leap from one wagon to another, her ghostly form flickering in and out of sight as she played her mischievous game.
"No, Cabbot!" one of the caravan guards shouted, nearly dropping his sword as the cat landed silently beside him, only to vanish again a moment later. "Stop scaring the hell out of people!"
Xander couldn't help but chuckle despite the seriousness of the situation. Cabbot had developed a habit of appearing at the most inconvenient times, her antics a mixture of amusement and annoyance for the expedition. But the cat's spectral nature made her an excellent scout and an even better spy. Wherever Cabbot went, she saw everything, and though she often played the part of a trickster, she was invaluable to Xander.
As if sensing Xander's thoughts, Cabbot appeared atop the lead wagon, sitting primly on the edge as she stared down at Xander with eyes that glowed faintly in the daylight. The cat gave a soft meow and a head tilt as if to say, What? You were thinking too hard. Someone needed to liven things up.
But before Xander could respond, another figure approached at a brisk pace. A forward scout, his clothes splattered with mud, his face pale and strained. It was clear he had run back to the caravan as he was gasping for breath. He hurried as he approached Gary and Harvey, who stood nearby.
"Gary, Harvey, we've got trouble," the scout said alarmingly.
Harvey's expression hardened. "What is it?"
The scout swallowed, glancing over his shoulder as if expecting to see something following him. "I spotted another pack of gnolls about two miles to the north. They were running hard, like something was chasing them. A moment later, I saw what it was. Undead, mounted on horseback, closing in fast. These weren't just shambling corpses, either."
Xander's blood ran cold. "Undead on horseback? You're sure?"
"Positive," the scout replied. "I've never seen anything like it. The gnolls didn't stand a chance. They were being driven like cattle. And those undead… they acted like an organized cavalry unit. I don't know what's happening, but it's not normal."
Ford, who had been listening closely, exchanged a troubled glance with Xander. "If what you're saying is true, then this is more than random undead."
Xander nodded slowly, his mind racing. If undead cavalry were hunting gnolls, it could mean one of two things: either the gnolls were being driven by the same dark force animating the dead, or something even more sinister was at work, controlling this undead with a purpose.
"Harvey, this feels like the event zone thing Zoey, Jo, and I stumbled into when we were escorting the refugees," Xander offered after a moment of thought.
"We need to move," Harvey said, his voice steady but filled with urgency. "Get the wagons ready. We'll take the road north, but we need to be prepared for an attack. If those undead are heading west, they might circle and come after us next. We don't have time to get caught in whatever this is."
The scout nodded and hurried off to relay the orders while Xander turned to Ford. "We keep our team together. If we're attacked, I want us ready to fight, and I want the graveyards sanctified as we pass them. We can't afford to let any more of these things rise."