In the Shadow of Mountains - a litRPG adventure

Everyone has their own muse. I have read of those who love the forests, the mountains, the sky. Some stare into the stars at night and dream of what may lurk out there in the darkness. I draw inspiration from a different well.

It is the depths that call to me. They beckon me in with twisted whispers and jagged voices. Songs of the deep.

I have explored the empty fields of the Bone Tower’s domain after the cycle is complete. I have journeyed through the many twisted passages of the Iona Chasm and traversed the deep roads beneath the Copper Canyons. I have even spent time in the root-tunnels of the World-Tree.

Each experience has marked me, but none more so than the depths of the Dragon-Spine Mountains. Ancient halls lie below those colossal peaks, and I hear them calling to me in my sleep. The Great Bears slumber there, undisturbed for centuries uncounted, and for the first time in a thousand years, a human will walk those halls of power once more.

- Excerpt from ‘What comes from the deep - by Bravesh T’Kala’

The warm light of an early dawn woke me from my slumber, and I stretched and rolled around in the bed for a while just enjoying the feeling of comfort before my bladder protested. As I returned from the out-house I saw Nathlan standing still as a statue, eyes closed and holding out a hand, palm open to the sky beneath an apple tree. I watched for a few moments in silence before feeling as if I were intruding on some strange ritual and decided to head back inside.

Vera and Jorge were seated in the tavern with a map stretched out on the table between them, conducting a conversation in hushed tones over a massive platter of food. As rugged as they had looked when they first met me, they seemed to enjoy the presence of civilisation as much as I did.

I smiled as I walked over, and they returned my greeting with friendly words of their own, and a proffered seat.

“Morning lad. Tuck in.” Jorge gestured at the pile of still-steaming sausages and crusty-looking bread rolls on the table. I filled a plate casually while I replied.

“You said you had a proposition for me.”

He hesitated, and then looked over at Vera meaningfully. She drew a set of 3 pebbles out of a pouch strapped to her chest, and placed them together in the centre of the table. A moment later I felt the hair on my forearms prickle slightly in response to the skill she had used.

“Privacy ward” he explained for my sake. “Listen Runt, you’re in a more delicate position than I think we let on last night. You’re an unregistered combat classer in the Wandering States, and there ain’t a populated town nearby that will abide by that. Smaller villages and outposts won’t be a problem, as they won’t have anyone with the required class, skills and training to reliably identify you, but the bigger towns sure as hells will sniff you out soon as you enter. It’s worse for any of the nomadic groups that control the region, as you would be nothing but trouble to them. Best case scenario, they avoid you. The Tusk-born Reavers might be interested in you, but I promise you lad; you won’t be interested in them.”

Jorge left no room for doubt that he was being deadly serious. A hard line creased his forehead, and he gripped my arm hard while looking directly into my eyes. “I need you to understand that you’re in trouble here. It’s not your fault, it ain’t right, but it is what it is.” He relaxed the grip on my arm and leaned back, gesturing to Vera with one hand and pointing in the direction of Nathlan outside with the other.

“Now to my proposition; come with us. I’ve spoken to Vera, and we agree this is the best chance you have. Sure, you could strike out on your own, but as I just said, there are more threats out there than you realise, and there’s precious little you can do about any of them from where you are right now.”

“Why?” I asked simply.

“We can help you. I train people for a living lad, it’s what I do. Vera here is also incredibly experienced, and Nathlan – as much as we love to give him grief – is incredibly knowledgeable. A few months with us will make up for your lacking educa-“.

I cut him off mid-sentence. “Not why should I join you. Why would you let me?”

I was focused on Jorge now with the same intensity that he had pinned me with before, and I saw out of the corner of my eye Vera’s face soften from the expressionless stone mask she seemed to wear, outside of certain moments. She reached out and laid a hand on Jorge’s arm, stopping him from replying, then leaned forward herself to speak to me directly.

“Because we don’t want you to die. Because despite what Jorge said yesterday about this world being built on cyclical conflict, it’s still relatively peaceful. There’s death and violence sure, but for the most part the world works as it should, and we don’t want to see you get churned up and spat out by the few bad bits of this world when we can help.”

“But you don’t know anything about me.”

As soon as the thought came to me, I spoke it into being. And as soon as I’d spoken the words aloud, I realised how true they were, and how ridiculous that was.

“We’ve spent half the night talking yesterday, and none of you asked me a single question about my life. You don’t know a damned thing about me!”

Jorge gave Vera a recriminating look as I started talking, and she showed her hands and winced apologetically.

“You’ve not asked about my life before I got here, about who I am, you haven’t even asked my name! You’ve just been calling me ‘runt’ and ‘lad’ and I’ve been lapping it all up cus I’m just so sick of being alone out there, but that’s really fucking weird!”

I hadn’t realised how much my voice had risen in volume or how stressed I was becoming as I talked but suddenly, I was out of my seat and pacing side to side behind my chair, staring at both of them with wide eyes.

Vera was a little taken aback by my rant judging by her body language, but Jorge was not. He sat there, still as a rock and completely calm, his eyes boring into mine. There was no apology there in that face, no surprise either, as if he had expected the cavalcade of emotions I was now expressing to come out at some point. Instead, I saw a slight creasing of his eyes that suggested compassion, or perhaps pity.

That hint stole the thunder from my sails, and I deflated. Pressing my forehead to the back of my hands from where they gripped the chair before me, I asked in a quiet voice, “Why haven’t you asked?”

“I think you know.” He said softly, and I shook at the understanding within those few words. I lifted my head and gazed into the eyes of the bald man before me.

“Who am I?” My voice was barely more than a whisper, and I cringed internally at how feeble it sounded. Like a wounded animal, hoping for solace in the arms of a hunter.

Jorge sighed again and closed his eyes for a few moments before speaking, clearly choosing his words carefully. “You’re God-Touched. Nobody knows what that means really. Just that sometimes, people show up places. Just like you, usually ill-equipped to handle whatever situation they appear in, and never with an explanation of what happened to them. Some get lucky and land in the middle of a town, some don’t and die in the wilderness. You straddled that line pretty evenly, and it’s to your credit that you managed to survive this far. But the point is there are a few things that all reports agree on when it comes to the God-Touched; they all at some point early on lose their memories. Sometimes its straight away upon being questioned by people, other times its only after a few bells of conversation.”

I thought back to the haze, the distance I had felt for the last few months when thinking about my previous life. It had been easy to ignore, more pressing issues and all that, but it was still shocking I hadn’t spent more time wondering what was going on. I hadn’t thought about my parents since…my parents…I’d had parents, I knew that. I had a biographical narrative of my life. I grew up…somewhere…and went to school. I watched TV, played sports, had friends and studied…things. I dated, maybe, and hadn’t I been married? Probably even ended up with a dog. I’d always liked dogs.

I could recall my last moments, running freely down a mountain path and whooping at the top of my lungs, feeling my soul soar down the valley alongside my body. But everything else was so indistinct and murky. I knew, intimately and deep within myself that I had lived a life, but I couldn’t seem to recall any of the details. The broad strokes were there but nothing to flesh out the vague feelings. My memories were like a calm pond filled with little fish swimming around. I could see the fish from above, see the evidence of the life I had lived moving about below, but if I tried to reach in and grab one, it would slip through my fingers before I could even understand its shape.

“You knew. That’s why you never asked my name before you left.” He only nodded, not taking his eyes from me.

“I knew. That’s also why we didn’t ask you anything yesterday that might make you aware of your fading memory.”

“But why? If I’d known, I could’ve fought it! I could have written down everything, could have preserved something of my life before!”

Again his tone was gentle, calming. I felt his aura brush against my awareness, damping down the panic raging at the edges of my consciousness. “Because it wouldn’t have helped, lad. In every case, its irreversible and permanent. Let’s pretend you had; you could have written down the names of your friends and family, maybe some core details or even a sketch of their face if you’re quick and talented...it won’t mean anything to you. Words on a page. There would be no context to them, and you’d torture yourself trying to remember, running ‘what if’s over and over but getting nothing new.”

“Why didn’t I realise?” I asked again, feeble and weak. I was trembling now, and I hung onto the back of the chair as if it was all that was holding me up.

“You’re God-Touched, lad. Whatever god brought you here, for whatever purpose, stopped you from dwelling on it. I don’t know how – the magic the gods wield doesn’t obey the same rules as ours. They are not governed by the system – In fact if you believe some people, they created it themselves – and if their power is bound by any rules at all, they are rules we don’t understand. Personal accounts by God-Touched are pretty sparse and I’ve never had the personal interest to track ‘em down, but I did speak to a scholar on the subject once. He said it’s likely that divine magic is at play at all times, nudging the God-Touched away from dwelling on their previous lives. Once that thin veneer of attention-warding is not enough, something is triggered which rapidly wipes the memory, and that’s that.”

I shakily took my seat again, sitting down and resting my head against the table as I considered the loss of everything I had ever known and loved. I felt guilt for spending months barely thinking of my old life, self-loathing that I was feeling sad at all about losing something I currently didn’t care about. A bizarre mix of conflicting emotions that fought for primacy within me, none making me feel anything good.

I knew who I was, what I liked and hated, what I would abide by and could overlook – I just couldn’t remember why I held any of those opinions. A palpable feeling of loss was ripping through me, and I was almost convinced that I could feel my memories being dragged away. I tried to pay attention to them, to experience each memory one last time – to relive my life before it was stolen again, but it was no use.

Tears rolled down my cheeks as I sat there, and Jorge and Vera sat in silence with me. I couldn’t say how long I sat there, but by the time I pulled myself together enough to raise my head, the sun was higher in the sky and the man I had been before was gone.

“What do I do?” I asked hopelessly, looking at the two of them for guidance, for help, for some way out of the dark maze my thoughts had become.

Jorge pushed a plate of cold sausages and bread towards me. What had once been a sizzling pile of delectable meat with a heady aroma piled atop golden fluffy bread lathered in butter, was now cold and still. The desire from this morning to gorge myself with food was gone, replaced by a mechanical need for sustenance and a cold plate of disappointment. I let out a choked laugh at the poetic imagery of it but didn’t have the will to explain myself at Vera’s questioning glance. I ate, and Jorge talked.

“We want to take you with us. We’re heading out West to Storm’s Harbour, and the journey should give us ample opportunity to train you up, teach what you need to know. If you want to leave once you get there, that’s your choice. Man called Demetrios owes us money for a job well done, and also owes us some answers for why the Crimson Lions were poking around in such force here too. I’m sure he’d be keen to meet you anyway, and who knows? He might give you a better offer than we could.”

“As for why we want you with us?” He sped up at that, as if anticipating me interrupting before he could finish, but I just sat there listlessly, munching on cold sausage. “I will tell you if you want, but I’d prefer not to until we’ve established a level of trust. I have a good reason, and it’s in your best interest too, but telling you now will probably change some things that I don’t want to risk yet.”

He seemed inclined to say more but cut himself off, simply waiting for my answer. I looked at them both for a few long breaths before responding. “Yeah, sounds good. Thanks.”

I wanted to explain myself, or rage at them about the unfairness of it all, or leave them alone and try to figure things out myself, but there was just so much I didn’t know. I was in a new world, and my old one was now just as mysterious and alien too.

“As sad as it is to say, you three are the only people I know.”

The weight of that truth settled on me, and I felt my shoulders shaking again, so I quickly excused myself and stumbled away towards my room.

*Vera*

Vera watched the boy climb the stairs and winced as he moved out of sight. She was probably no more than a decade or two older than him, but it was hard to think of him as anything other than a boy in this moment. The imposing frame of a wild-bitten warrior had been entirely overcome by the desperate look in his eyes.

“That was worse than I thought” she said.

Jorge looked at her and nodded. “Aye, coulda’ been a fair bit worse mind. We’re lucky he had a good few weeks to come to terms with this place before he lost everything else. Most of ‘em are killed on sight.”

Vera looked shocked at that revelation. “But why? Didn’t you say most of the survivors appear in cities and towns?”

“Aye, but what do you think happens when a stranger turns up somewhere they shouldn’t be, and when asked who they are and what they’re doing, start having a breakdown? Lotta itchy fingers in those environments. Not to mention the fact that they have a habit of appearing in places with high mana concentrations…”

Vera finished the thought for him “…which are often owned by wealthy or powerful people who don’t take kindly to strangers and are more suspicious of anyone who looks to have snuck past whatever security arrangements they’ve put in place. Yeah, I can see that being a problem.” She considered for a few moments before asking, “Do you think he’ll accept?”

“Aye, he’s got no other choice V. He needs help, and we’re the only ones who will give it.”

“Makes us sound quite bad when you say that, Jorge.”

“Aye it does, but picking up desperate people and offering them a way out is something of a specialty for me, ain’t it?” He smirked over at her as he said it. Rather than returning the smile though, she frowned and looked away.

“You know as well as I do that not everyone takes the way out when it’s offered though.” She didn’t hear his reply, lost in memories as she was. It wasn’t until he gripped her shoulder with enough strength to break a table – still trivial for her to resist if she wanted – that she returned back to the room.

“You made it in the end lass, and that’s all there is to it." He said, clapping her shoulder before withdrawing his hand. “Now, as much as I want to pretend to the Runt that we’ve got money to burn – this food ain’t cheap and I’m not up wasting it. Help me, or get out of my way.” He said with a smile, before gripping a fork like a weapon. In his hands, she supposed, anything could be.

By the time I returned to the tavern below, I was calmer. I had spent longer dwelling on my past today than I had for two months, but no amount of introspection or brooding seemed to help. I almost had to give whatever god stole my memories from me credit, because you could make a pretty convincing argument that they weren’t very useful in this new world. Case in point, early morning had given way to midday by the time I remembered that I had a skill that could help me work through some of the emotional turmoil.

Heart of the Hills washed over me, and as it did so, my mind cleared. I analysed my options, found that they were extremely lacking, and settled on the ‘too good to be true’ option that had been dangled in front of me. After long uncounted breaths spent trying to get myself in order, and another few momentsafter deactivating the skill to ensure I wouldn’t break down again immediately, I headed downstairs.

My stomach lurched as I looked around and didn’t see anyone, but I calmed myself and headed to the bar.

Jacklin looked up at my arrival and nodded to me, gesturing to the door while she said “Small fella said you’d be down. They’re apparently out back – head half a mile directly that way and you’ll bump into them.”

I thanked her for the information and headed out the door. It felt good to break into the easy loping run again, feeling the cool breeze on my skin, and I gloried at the almost endless expanse of grassland before me. There was more of a haze in the air than when I’d arrived the day before, and I couldn’t make out the shapes of the hills in the distance, but I knew they were there all the same.

It didn't take long before I was cresting the mound of a rise so slight that I hadn’t even seen it - only noticed the incline as I ran. In the depression below I found the three figures I was looking for. Jorge was watching the other two spar, and I was surprised to see how natural Nathlan looked with his sword out.

The thin, bookish and acerbic man seemed to have fallen away – at least the bookish aspect. He was still thin, but seemed to move with a litheness that I knew had to come with a core of strength behind it – you didn’t find weak dancers, after all – and he certainly still seemed to maintain an air of sharpness behind all his movements. The tall man was advancing on Vera and sending out careful, precise strikes with his blade while she shuffled about at the edge of his range, slapping off-target any strikes that she couldn’t weave away from.

Jorge called out a phrase, that I missed from my position a few dozen meters out, and Nathlan instantly sped up, his probing strikes giving way to an onslaught of lunges and cuts, chained together to drive Vera back without giving her time to move sideways. When her foot passed a seemingly arbitrary point, a purple light flared and a trumpeting noise blared out, causing both fighters to stop. Vera let out a laugh and Nathlan had an easy grin of his face – perhaps the most relaxed and content expression I’d seen on him since I’d met him.

Jorge turned to look at me and waved me over, before turning back to Nathlan and presumably giving him feedback. As I wandered over, I caught the tail end of the conversation, “…Not far off now, lad. Keep that fire banked a little longer and we’ll see you burning true soon enough.”

He turned to me with an inscrutable look on his face and asked “You got an answer for me Runt? Or perhaps a few more questions first?”

“I’m in.” I said simply, eliciting a smile, and before I could question my choice the shorter man strode over and clasped me by the wrist in a welcoming gesture.

“Welcome to our merry band of adventurers then, lad.”