Libriohexer ~ 2

Chapter Two

By the time Sam and his crew got back to the Wolfman outpost of Narvik, the sun was lingering just above the horizon, threatening to disappear at any moment. Not that Sam had to worry about the setting sun the way the rest of the human-aligned players did. Sure, the threats that roamed the land after sunset were serious business, but the biggest threat of all was the Wolfmen themselves. That, at least, was one enemy Sam and company didn’t have to fret over. Still, it was nice to be back.

They’d been out since the crack of dawn, grinding through low-level bunnies and foxes along with the rest of the pledges, and Sam was feeling exhausted and ready for something hot to fill his belly. His team could’ve headed back to Ardania after TPKing the Inquisitor party, but it was far easier to operate out here on the edge of civilization; well away from the prying eyes of guards and bounty hunters looking to take down a couple of Rogue Mage’s like Sam and Finn.

More than just the convenience, Sam had honestly come to enjoy the Wolfman encampment and the creatures that called it home. Narvik was far more rustic than Ardania, that much was true, and it lacked the sprawling houses and winding cobblestone streets, but it had other charms. The outpost was about the size of a small town and was entirely encased in a tribal-style wooden palisade, twenty-five feet tall—the poles sharpened at the top.

There was no door or gateway, since the Wolfmen didn’t need them. Sphinx had taught Sam and the rest of the party how to scale the walls using simple ropes. Having to climb in and out of the outpost certainly was quirky, but still better than getting grilled by city guards every time they wanted to go grind some mobs. Inside the intimidating walls was like another world. A lush landscape with ancient trees intact, reaching their stately branches skyward. There were gardens and brooks, vegetable patches, and nooks filled with greenery and flowers.

Enormous tree boughs supported a variety of wooden huts, all connected by a series of narrow walkways and precarious-looking rope bridges. Just navigating the area had earned Sam more than a few points of dexterity—and also one dislocated shoulder, though a Wolfman Shaman had been kind enough to casually pop it back into place. More huts lined the ground. Those contained shops or other communal spaces.

*Clanging* resounding in the early evening air as Wolfman blacksmiths worked steel recovered from guards they’d taken down, while others baked bread, fletched arrows, or mended armor. Packs of young wolves roamed about, play fighting—though drawing very real blood in the process. In many respects, Sam and his friends were a lot like those pups, learning to navigate the complexities of Wolfman society. How tall to stand, when to genuflect, when to bare the throat or snarl in defiance.

In the two weeks they’d spent with the Redmane Tribe, Sam had leveled up his Wolfman Language ability to seven of ten proficiency, making him… well, not fluent, but close enough for government work. Even that wouldn’t have been enough if not for Velkan, who’d taken to them like flies to stink. Velkan had decided that he had a blood-debt to Sam and Bill for saving him from the Mages, and he had adopted them like wayward pups. The Wolfman was determined to teach them the ways of The People.

So, maybe it was a little backward in Narvik, but it was also peaceful. It felt far more like a community than the every-man-for-himself attitude that permeated the human capital. Sam grunted, barked, and nodded to a few of the friendly faces he knew on sight as they carved their way through the twisting dirt streets and toward the south side of the encampment, where their Clan tent was pitched. Even as a Wolfman Noble—a title bestowed on Sam by the O’Baba herself—and the first human Clan with a charter, nothing was given in Wolfman society. No one was just given a house or even food. Everyone contributed, everyone hunted, everyone gave to the pack. Among the Wolfmen you earned every honor through blood and sweat.

This meant that they didn’t have a proper HQ yet. Just a rough tent and bed rolls, but it was still nicer than his time at the College. Out here, he got to sleep under the stars and hang out with his friends. He would meditate in the morning, then grind through mobs or sabotage humanity whenever he had the chance. Not a bad life, all things considered.

It wasn’t long before they were back at their modest encampment, which butted up against the palisade wall. The tent was less lean-to and more of an octagonal yurt, made of rough leather which they’d harvested from the countless rabbits and foxes they’d killed since entering Eternium. Sam had done the bulk of the stitch work, since binding books and sewing leather had a surprising amount of overlap. There was a little stone firepit with banked coals at the bottom, along with five rough oak chairs that Finn had battered off a Wolfman woodworker named Ravi Treesplitter.

Everyone made friendly chit-chat while Arrow got the fire roaring and Finn passed out wooden skewers lined with lean chunks of fresh rabbit meat. Sam eased himself into his customary seat, glad to have the weight off his tired feet, then opened a small pouch at his belt filled with a variety of seasonings he’d picked up either in town or out in the wilds. He rubbed down the leg and loin meat with some coarse salt and a splash of black pepper, then added a little crushed orkia root, a pale zixie berry paste, and a dash of dried moonseed… then he was ready to cook.

Sam had pilfered a basic Herbalism tome from the College before making his grand exit with Bill, and it had proven to be one of the most useful books he’d ever read. He couldn’t blow anything up with those skills—at least, not yet—but when you had to cook ninety percent of your meals, knowing what was seasoning and what was poison was an invaluable tool. The delicious aroma of cooking meat quickly filled his nose, his belly rumbling and his mouth watering in anticipation.

“I think this was our most epic hit yet. Like, for real. The look on that kid’s face when Sam shanked him in the kidney?” Kai leaned back in his own chair, already munching on succulent rabbit, He grinned with grease decorating his clean-shaven face. “Totally priceless.”

Sphinx snorted and shook her head. “Maybe it was the biggest party we’ve taken out, but the best was when we burned down their headquarters.”

“Well, you would say that,” Arrow replied, swirling a ram’s horn filled with a type of Wolfman mead called Sima.

Sam wasn’t a big one for drinking, and it didn’t mix well with magical classes, which was good because that stuff tasted more or less like paint thinner. The Wolfmen said that even your drinks should cause at least a little bit of pain, ‘In order to properly harden your in as well as out’. Frankly, most of the Wolfman food was spicy enough to melt skin, just another reason Sam was forced to do so much of his own cooking. They were strange folk, the Wolfmen, but they were also strangely endearing. Certainly nothing like the monsters the humans had painted them to be.

“That’s only because you and Sam were the ones to get all the experience from that little infiltration op,” Arrow continued petulantly. “The explosion was neat and all, but we just stood around in those shoddy guard uniforms while you two got to have all the fun.”

“Hey, woah now,” Bill interjected, his eyes shifting to lock onto Arrow. “I was there too, ya know. I mean, Sam is basically my sidekick—not the other way around. Let’s not forget it, either.”

“Deepest apologies, Sir book,” Arrow replied with an exaggerated dip of his head.

“Naw. Today was the best,” Kai refused to acknowledge Sphinx’s statement. “That Rory guy hit like a sledgehammer, but our fearless leader Dizzy put him in his place. Sam. Dude. That was a wicked KO against the assassin. She never should’ve gotten past me and Sphinx, but she was faster than a riptide. But you smashed, bro. Your bladework is really paying off, my dude.”

“Thanks.” Sam pulled his rabbit from the fire. Golden brown and charred in all the right places, the seasonings caramelized against the skin.

“Phft. Please,” Bill was fully indignant. “Once again, I feel the need to point out I did most of the heavy lifting. If it weren’t for my spectacular casting, those goons would’ve swarmed us in a second. Also, and I mean absolutely no offense, but I’ve seen drunk squirrels with better footwork than Sam. The Bravi in me is absolutely mortified. I’m thinking we’ll have to add to the morning practice roster.”

Dizzy snorted and rolled her eyes. “Bill, I have literally never heard you compliment any swordsmen. Ever. Not even when we went up against that level eight Sword Singer a week back. They’re always ‘clumsy cows’ or ‘half-witted walnuts’ or ‘all thumbs’.”

Bill shouted with righteous anger, “Hey now, in my defense… that fighter literally had all thumbs. Musta been some sort of genetic condition.”

“No, he didn’t,” Dizzy shot back around a mouthful of food. “The point is, no one is ever going to be as good as you remember yourself being.”

“It’s not my fault you all are so green that you’ve never actually seen a decent swordsman! Remember, I have three-hundred-years’ worth of experience under my belt. But if I can get two-left feet McGee here,” the book flapped his pages at Sam, “to finally pick a specialization, I might be able to make some real progress!”

“Wait.” Dizzy froze and looked at Sam expectantly. “Does that mean you finally did it? You hit level ten?”

Sam grinned and nodded. “Yep. Taking out that assassin put me over the edge. Ding.”

There was a ruckus round of hoots and cheers. Kai and Arrow both raised their flagons of mead in salute.

“Level ten, and after only three weeks in this world? Well, that’s absolutely brilliant, isn’t it?” Finn clapped Sam on the shoulder and pulled a rabbit skewer from the flames. He shook his head, lips pursed into a thin line. “It’s an impressive feat, Sam. One you should be proud of. Have you given any thought about your specialization? Or your secondary profession? You get to choose another one of those at tenth level, you know.”

“Are you kidding me?” Bill broke in. “That's all we’ve been talking about. The kid’s as wishy-washy as a wet mop. Gaining a specialization as a Bibliomancer ain’t easy, but we definitely have options. Loads of ’em. If he wants to actually become formidable with a blade, I can incorporate my Bravi training and we can walk the path of the Biblioblade and eventually ascend to Paper Samurai. Or, if he wants to stick to AoE and support casting, we can choose Bibliognost and eventually end up as a Curator Paragon. Or we can go Jack of all Trades route, and shoot for Libriohexer before advancing to Archivist Summoner. Like I said, we have options out the wazoo.”

“That’s the actual problem,” Sam admitted with a shrug. “It feels so permanent, and I don’t want to lock into a specialization that I’ll be unhappy with in a month. My gut reaction is that Biblioblade sounds amazing, but that would really only make me a hybrid fighter. Long term, that doesn’t seem like the best choice.”

He sighed and bowed his head. “Honestly, it’s more than just picking a specialization. All this stuff brought back the fact that my family is expecting me to pick a specialization of sorts in the real world as soon as my time in Eternium is over. My parents are pushing me toward a law degree, which I just don’t want.”

“I just want to focus on the fun. Choosing a secondary profession is the same deal,” Sam continued after a moment, rubbing a boot toe through the dirt. “Thanks to Bill’s encyclopedic knowledge of this class, I know about every possible Secondary Profession that might benefit me, but there are just so many options. Translator, Scholar, Inscriptionist, Duelist, Pagesmith, Navigator, Publisher, even a Chicken Keeper for reasons I can’t quite figure out. This feels like a huge choice, and I really don’t want to mess it up.”

“Yeah, but you have to make a choice sooner or later,” Dizzy shrugged off his concerns. “The longer you put it off, the more damage you’ll do in the end. You need to start focusing on your training.”

“That’s what I keep tellin’ him,” Bill sighed with overdramatized exasperation. “It’s not like there’s a bad pick. Being a Bibliomancer is amazing and all of those specializations are gonna put us in the top one percent no matter what we do. It’s a no-lose situation.”

“I’m not going to put it off forever,” Sam defensively raised his hands in mock surrender. “I’m on a characteristic threshold.”

There was a collective gasp, and conversation died around the firepit.

“Oh, gosh,” Sphinx’s normally easy-going demeanor slipped and her face grew strangely serious. “Which stat is it? I managed to get my dexterity up past the first threshold by level eight and it was…”

She faltered and gulped. “It was terrible. Painful. Worth it, but holy cow it was unpleasant.”

“Yeah,” Sam muttered while thinking back to his own experience. He’d started off the game with a subpar perception stat. When he pushed over the threshold for normalcy, he’d blacked out from the pain. When he’d finally awoken, he’d been covered in rancid black goo and every sensation was amplified tenfold. That was the normalcy threshold. Sam was sure this one would be ten times worse.

“It’s the Intelligence Threshold,” he offered uneasily. “I know it’s going to be unpleasant, but I’m hoping I’ll be able to understand what the best options are once I recover. I’m at forty-nine right now, and I saved one point from after leveling to nine. I plan to advance before bed. Hope that it will give me a little clarity when I get up in the morning.”

“It’s not a bad plan,” Finn agreed as he rubbed at his chin, “but maybe consider sleeping outside the tent tonight? Purification always smells so atrocious.”

“Consider it d-” The words died on Sam’s tongue as a pair of Wolfmen materialized out of the darkness, stepping into the firelight like menacing specters.

The first was Velkan, no surprise there, but the second was a Shaman and their primary handler: Yurij BrightBlood. If he was here at this hour, it could only mean trouble.