CWD: OE ~ One

Eli ‘Nacho’ Naches stood at the edge of the forest holding his Skillet of Turtling. Reuben and Brie flanked him, hidden in the trees. The Dinner Party gazed with astonishment at the field of vicious millet, misshapen stalks heavy with monstrous grains of epic proportions. It was a farming nightmare; a bedtime story wild-eyed vegans told about what would happen if people didn’t stop eating meat. “Guess they ended up being right in the end, though, so what do I know?”

Fifteen feet of open field lay between the forest and the first row of the millet monsters, so the cook started moving. It felt good to be out adventuring with his two best friends. Nacho had decided that he needed a break from the kitchen after spending so long working for the benefit of his guild once they had returned triumphantly from the UnderFun. “See the world, kill some monsters, just relax a bit. What better way to unwind than to push our limits?”

“You’re mumbling again.” Reuben called out his friend’s bad habit cheerfully, seemingly not at all worried about the upcoming fight. The mood made sense, as each of them bore the natural confidence that came from long hours of deadly combat against enemies so powerful that none of them had ever expected to walk away. If they played it smart, they would take care of these monsters, process the plants, and wind up with some real flour to use for all sorts of yummy things.

“Don’t sass me… you. I’ve got the right kind of grease for donuts, and I’m not afraid to use it.” Nacho had stowed his Gauntlets of Oven Taming and was trying to hide his blush from his failed comeback against Reuben. Pretending that he needed to inspect his equipment so he could ignore the chuckling at his expense, Nacho ended up actually looking over his gear in earnest.

His Wok of Blocking covered his chest, while the Helm of Boiling protected his head, just as the Pauldrons of Frying protected his shoulders. His feet and legs were guarded by the Gravy Boots, which contained a mysterious ability he had yet to unlock. Sheathed at his sides hung the HungerCry Knives—the Hunger Cleaver and the Cry Chef’s Knife.

They were his steel babies, and he loved them.

He might look silly, but as far as kitchen combat was concerned, he was dressed to the nines. Each article of his equipment was a Tier one item, except for his armored boots. A glance at Reuben gave him a glimpse of a wide, happy smile, along with confirming the fact that it was unlikely that the Healer would ever part with his leather Helmet of Helming. Reuben’s fashion disaster didn’t end with his headgear, but also fully encompassed his wrists, where the Sausage Clips of Striking jingled. The metal bands made his hands indestructible when he attacked and allowed him to clobber monsters with unholy amounts of fisty damage.

In the weeks since they’d won the Sewer Skewers, Reuben had also picked up a sleeveless red leather brigandine reinforced with oblong pieces of metal underneath. It was magical, allowing him to wear it at all times, since it felt like a T-shirt and cleaned itself. The fact that he did wear it at all times made Nacho consider his friend in a completely different light.

Looking the effusive man over more closely, Nacho had to admit that Reuben had taken to their new life in the Juxtaposition rather nicely. He’d slimmed down, bulked up, and when he flexed, it was Bicep City: Population Two. The Tricep Suburbs were easily accessible by train, and too many times, the cook had seen Brie’s fingers trailing along the tracks.

Arguably the most eye-catching item that he had recently acquired was a pair of leather disco pants, which acted as Tier one armor. The metal boots he had looted off a dead Final Victory guild member in the sewers could have belonged to Frankenstein’s monster, or a clown, depending on which one scared an opponent the most. All in all, the Healer looked absolutely terrifying. This was clearly a man that cared only for functionality and would discard a matched set item for a ridiculous piece that offered a one-percent better boost.

Their team’s main damage dealer, resident Berserker Brie McCurdy, had grown increasingly unhappy with the state of her new husband’s wardrobe. The helm was bad, but his sabatons were especially ungainly. The entire team was fairly certain that the Patrons had begun to intentionally harass Brie with magical armor that didn’t match. Her Lacrosse Stick was black and gold, a gorgeous piece of sports-equipment-turned-medieval-weapon. She’d been on the hunt for armor, any kind of armor, that might match it.

So far, she’d unearthed a pair of reinforced neon green metal boots, a weathered crimson leather skirt that protected her legs, and an eye-searing purple tunic of magical chainmail. A mustard-yellow satchel from the Store held her lacrosse balls, which she could hurl from a distance to effect substantial damage. Her helmet was brass, making those two pieces the only articles that matched in the slightest. The final statement piece hung around her waist; a custom-made belt of Cow Poke leather holding yellow and red tubes of Life Hack Yogurt—an odd-textured combination of plain Greek yogurt, strawberry jelly, and cottage cheese.

All in all, she looked like a lacrosse clown at the epicenter of an atomic fashion disaster. Even so, as her delighted husband was quick to point out, she was protected by the armor, and that was all that mattered at the end of the day.

The three had come an incredible distance from their first days in the Juxtaposition. The summer had flown by, and their one-year anniversary was barely more than a month away.

Nacho shook off the nostalgia as he refocused on the monsters at hand. Reuben had been the one to discover the field of monstrous millet. The grains exhibited no discernible mouths, but the gnarled stalks sent spiked vines crawling across the ground, which was littered with decomposing flesh, which filled the air with a sharp, sweet, and very unpleasant smell.

The top of each plant bore a big cylinder of millet, covered in a layer of silk so fine that it almost looked like spider’s webs. Truthfully, they hadn’t seen any spiders… yet. They couldn’t rule the possibility out, though. Each of the plant monsters ranged from tall—about six feet—to gigantic—a whopping twelve feet above the soil. The heads of grain on the biggest ones were a good two feet in diameter, making Nacho lick his lips in anticipation.

That was going to be a whole lotta flour once they managed to bring the beasties down. Brie, in charge of their combat strategy, voiced a few observations. “I don’t see any fangs. I’m wondering how they eat, and that makes me worried about the vines. Be careful not to get taken down and reduced to nutrients.”

“I don’t know about you guys, but I can’t wait to use my Splatter Millet for the first time.” Nacho patted his pack, where the warhammer-turned-cooking-utensil waited for its first victim.

Reuben rumbled with laughter. “That’s right… I think it was the day after we got here, Brie got the Splatter Mallet, and you got the Splatter Millet. Man, that takes me back.”

About fifty of the silken stalks had risen out of the mess of decay and produced spiked vines. Nacho got a System View on the biggest of the plants, which was a good fifty feet across when all the leaves and tangled roots were taken into account.

Massive Millet Stalker

Effective Level: ???

HP: ?

“Oh, boy,” Nacho breathed, nearly coming to a complete stop. “I’m about ninety percent certain that we have ourselves a Tier two field of dreams here. We need to be careful.”

“Field of nightmares, more like.” Reuben grinned as he attempted to negate Nacho’s worries. “If you build it, they will come… to eat you.”

“Am I missing something?” Brie nimbly spun her lacrosse stick in her fingers. “I get the outdated movie reference, but not all of the monsters are Tier two. Some are also some zeroes and ones—seems like Tier and level depend on how big they are? It doesn’t matter to me, since they can’t move. I’ll Combat Dash within fifteen feet of them, then throw my distance attack into one to see if I can hit it. If I can’t, I Combat Dash away. Too easy.”

Nacho held up a hand to forestall any more conversation, his mind racing. “Hold up. Let’s think about this. We’re about a six hour walk from Armor Mountain, and people from the Chips Guild have come this way before, but no one has reported these monsters. The Millet Stalkers must’ve either sprouted up within a day or two, some faster than others, or they killed anyone that found them previously. My bet is that the entire crop is absorbing a dense concentration of Putrid Mana. The Juxtaposition works like that sometimes—things sprout up, sometimes literally overnight.”

“Sorry, I can’t hear your worry,” Brie calmly stated as she targeted the largest monster in sight. “I’m too busy… staying fresh, cheese bag.”

“Wait, hold on! If we run out there to attack them, we might fall into a hidden pit, and then those vines eat us.” Nacho barely managed to keep her back, literally dragging her almost to the ground through sheer stats in order to inhibit her initial charge. She did not appreciate his interference.

“Did you see anything like this in the Probability Vision?” Reuben questioned in an attempt to save his friend from being mauled by his wife.

Nacho shook his head and let go of Brie’s arm. He had done everything he could to protect her without resorting to fisticuffs. “No, but monsters grow, evolve, and change. Some are repeat offenders, but others are brand new. When I was an Assassin, I wasn’t exactly looking to backstab wheat fields. I only went after people and monsters… sometimes.”

He regretted that last word. Most days, he could forget about what he had needed to do to survive. Other days, it was… harder. Only the fact that all of his sins had been the product of a Patron-induced fever dream let him sleep through the night, otherwise the sheer variety of murder and cannibalism would’ve given him a chronic case of insomnia.

Reuben patted the cook’s back, carefully ignoring Brie preparing to attack, warning or no. “It’s okay, man. Let’s just focus on the moment, like how if you tackle Brie without a really good reason in the future, I’m going to have to side with her and beat you until I’ve achieved blood and cheese.”

“Um,” came Nacho’s eloquent reply. “Pitfall traps aren’t a good reason?”

“It might be. Ooh! Idea!” The incumbent Merchant of Soothing brightened. “Brie, can you toss a ball into one of those things from here and see if you can hit it? If you can’t, then we can plan a new strategy from there. Maybe we can toss some credits against this issue and blow holes in the dirt to check for pits?”

Nacho tapped his own nose, then pointed at Reuben. “There’s my buddy, always thinking with his noggin.”

“Fine. Do you have any ranged attacks?” Brie produced a golden ball—which matched her lacrosse stick perfectly—and dropped it in the net. “These things are not cheap, you know. They run forty credits a shot.”

“Unfortunately, no.” Nacho’s inner skinflint screamed and fell to its knees at the reminder. “It’s gotta be you, Brie. Can you throw that far?”

“Easily. I’m accurate with my stick to about sixty or seventy yards. Even better if I boost real quick.” Brie was already munching an Uncommon pocket pancake, chasing it down with a Rare Life Hack yogurt. By eating quickly, she could replenish a full portion of Hunger Points as well as basically doubling her Fitness.

“Let’s give you some Positive Vibes to help with your damage. If this doesn’t affect them, we absolutely need to run away.” A golden glow covered the trio as the Healer’s main damage-dealing buff was activated.

Reuben—like both Nacho and Brie—had bought his way to level fourteen, but their Skills were all at level nineteen. Leveling Skills was far cheaper than upgrading a Character Class, and thanks to Nacho’s warning, they hadn’t fallen for the trap. Beyond allowing them to be more conservative with their credits, it had enabled them to become a far more effective combat team.

Not that they were being austerely conservative with their finances anymore. With how successful the Chips Guild had become, credits were rolling in all the time. Realistically, the only natural limits to how much cash they could access were Kala the Death Knight and Old Bill.

Kala watched the finances like a vindictive hawk, her black sword and nearly impenetrable armor ready to leap to the defense of the tax revenue, unafraid to fight The Dinner Party to the death if they took too much for themselves. Old Bill was a geezer in a Royals cap who insisted on doing everything for himself, to such a degree that he tried not to spend a single credit at the Store, and he wanted to hold them to that same standard. Even so, both of them were easier to deal with than a new addition to the guild: Zack Puck.

The loud-mouth had joined them from the Final Victory, and he was not someone that Nacho could tolerate for very long without longing to stab him. Brie shared the same class—both were Berserkers—which she felt was an embarrassment. With a herculean effort of will, Nacho put the annoyance out of his mind and focused on the issues at hand just as Brie hurled the lacrosse ball into the nearest plant creature.

The System immediately threw them a message:

Welcome to Active Combat! It’s not very fair to throw stuff at plants, but we understand that you’re not here for fairness. You’re here to kick the ever-lovin’ excrement out of the local foliage. While you commit acts of atrocity on the flora, you cannot access the Store, and your Regens have been paused. May your future be delicious!

Brie’s ball struck the thing’s silken stalk with a dull *thwack*. The plant shuddered, but not a single grain of millet fell to the ground. The monstrosity flung up its leafy fronds and lashed out blindly with its spiky vines—sending the whole field into a frenzy, fluttering their papery blades and shaking their cylinder heads. The trio collectively held their breath, but Brie shook her head after squinting in annoyance at the System View. “No damage done. They have four hundred and twenty Health Points. I can’t deal permanent damage without using Combat Dash.”

“I could try using the Sewer Skewers again,” Nacho suggested easily, practically itching to take out the long lances that were currently filling one of his Storage Slots. After a few rounds of testing in combat, the team had determined that the skewers were far more effective as a ‘finisher’, unless he had the opportunity to use them as a surprise weapon. His knife blades were more effective by far in general combat, mainly thanks to his Skills and the experience he had in using them.

“Look, you have so many good qualities… maybe one of them that you could work on is your skewer use,” Reuben stated in a mild tone, as though he were trying hard not to hurt his friend’s feelings. “Even when they make sense, they aren’t great weapons.”

Brie agreed readily. “The fact that you can use them even decently well in combat is a testament to your skill, and I think you use them the best way that you can, but the things you can do with a knife versus the things you can do with the little pokey sticks? I agree that they’re closer to punch daggers than anything else. Too bad only S-classers can wield ‘em, or they’d be really useful.”

“Fair enough.” Nacho didn’t bother to correct her terminology. For some reason, some random guild member had decided that saying ‘Satiation player’ was too much of a mouthful, and had opted to call them ‘S-classers’ instead. The concept had spread like a wildfire, with Body and Mind players soon becoming ‘B-classers’ and ‘M-classers’ respectively. Nacho had tried to point out that it was inefficient, since each class of player branched into seven different starting choices, but it was far too late to stop it at that point.

Beyond the newfangled slang that he wasn’t sure he liked, he was actually fairly decent at using the Sewer Skewers. He tended to hold off, since they always put him in a bad position during combat. Because he was used to flowing from one move to another and attempting to deal death via a thousand cuts, switching over to a straightforward attacking style of ‘insert rod into enemy, now do it again’ was not in his future. “Wanna try again, Brie?”

“I think we just go for some of the smaller ones.” Reuben shrugged his shoulders, getting a nod of approval from Brie. “We’re not going to walk away from a field of easy credits. Credits that grow on vines? Awesome. Turning your back on them? Not a chance. It's in their name; these are Stalkers. Can’t just walk away from stalkers. They’ll stay on your mind and show up when you least expect it.”

Nacho quickly ate a quarter portion of his own food and chose to boost his Fitness. Finding that he was sitting at fifty-eight points, thanks to his bonuses—just a touch less than what a level sixty version of himself would be able to muster naturally—he grinned and started some completely unnecessary stretching. “How much damage are you doing with your adjusted strength?”

Brie’s eyes skimmed across her internal calculator before she answered. “Both the pancake and yogurt together increase my Fitness by about forty Points. I’m hitting with a Fitness of sixty-one, so when it’s combined with Reuben’s Positive Vibes, I’m dealing fifty-five damage with the ranged attack. If I use my Combat Dash, that increases to seventy-five. You guys ready? I’m going.”

Reuben, like Nacho, clearly wanted her to be careful, but he was also better equipped not to put his foot in his mouth due to how he went about it. “There’s something rotten here, Brie. I don’t mean the corpses, and I think we should proceed with caution.”

“I would, I really would, but I’m far too busy…”

“No. Brie. Brie!” With a sinking feeling in his gut, Reuben knew what was coming.

“...Staying fresh, cheese bags!” Brie burst from the grass, laughing maniacally.

Nacho shook his head and patted his crestfallen friend on the arm. “You were the one that was pushy about her deciding on a catchphrase.”

“Be quiet and help me help her!” the disgruntled Healer demanded as they started chasing after her.