In the Shadow of Mountains - a litRPG adventure

When training to fight, Jorge had always emphasised that intention was key. Yes; your body needed to go through the movements, and yes; you needed a resisting partner as well at times, but set katas and even visualisation could be important tools in a warrior’s repertoire, because of their ability to sharpen one’s intent.

There was no use training without real intent to execute each move properly. If the mind wasn’t razor-focused on the present, then it was simply exercise rather than training. Nothing wrong with the former, but there are easier and more efficient ways to do that than with weapons in hand. ‘If you pick up a weapon lad, best mean business’ as Jorge was fond of saying.

Despite at least two months of near constant repetition of that lesson, it still took me nearly half a bell after Nathlan had left to try his luck in the kitchens to realise that I was wasting my time. I put my practice weapons down, including the spare spear nestled within the vibrant blue-green leaves of the tree whose branches dominated the courtyard.

Sighing, I began to work through a series of poses designed to stretch out and limber up my muscles before heavy exercise. Then I got down to the business of working out. No intent, no thinking, just pushing my body to the extreme limits that my enhanced attributes allowed.

I moved in the familiar patterns I’d been taught; push-ups, pull-ups, squats, handstands. More advanced movements like front-levers and planches, that I never would have been able to pull off so effortlessly only a few short months ago.

Working the body was of course an important part of any training program for a warrior, but the real benefit was mental. A small, simple task to distract my body so that my mind could wander. Driving at the problem head first wasn’t giving me an answer and was simply causing me to waste time training without my heart in it. So instead, I let the repetitive actions lull my mind into a routine, dwelling on the problem and examining it from every angle.

The big worry for me was that my skills were in conflict. Nathlan had tried to reassure me, but it his words hadn’t fully sunk in yet, and I kept turning the possibility over, despite what he had said. If they were in conflict, which should I trust?

Skirmisher of Antiquity was a rarer skill, based solely on the flavour text, but it had taken longer to acquire it and needed the help of a system-titled expert, so that was a point in its favour. However, Improvised Weapons had been with me longer, ‘knew’ me better for lack of a better term, and was also higher in level.

Inspired by the exhausting series of physical movements I was putting my body through, I decided to implement some mental gymnastics as well. In a classic ‘Lamb’ move when I didn’t know how to make a choice; I simply ignored it. I made the conscious choice to ignore the chance that my skills were conflicting, and instead attacked the problem from a different angle.

A skill built around creating and using weapons was conflicting with a skill built around only using weapons. The problem was clearly not related to the use of the weapons themselves, but their creation.

Perhaps I simply needed to make my own weapons? Jorge had talked about it as a given, after all. If I crafted my own weapons, would both my skills be more in alignment? Maybe, but then that still didn’t really explain why I would get useless hints for a weapon that I hadn’t designed and created myself.

My eyes widened in realisation as I sat panting in the empty courtyard, sweat dripping from my forehead and pattering on the ground. The hints seemed useless because the weapons I was using weren’t designed around them. I had assumed the hints were useless because they didn’t fit with my current equipment, but I needed to flip the thinking.

What was wrong with my current spear and shield that was making the instincts granted by Improvised Weapons not useful? I frantically set up the spare spear in the tree again, readying myself to move through the sequence once more. I had to restart a few times because I was too excited, finally convinced I would get my answer.

*Nathlan*

A few heavy thuds echoed on the door to his room, and Nathlan reluctantly pulled his head from the book he was devouring. He sighed as he rose to his feet and moved to answer the door. He absently rubbed at his hair, trying to hide the evidence of his earlier nap half-heartedly before giving up. The bed was thoroughly rumpled anyway, so there wasn’t much point to the gesture, he thought reluctantly. Besides, what was wrong with the occasional nap? Every scholar of renown was famous for them.

Lamb practically barged through the door the moment Nathlan had unlocked the deadbolt, shining with so much enthusiasm that he looked like he had two bonfires in his head instead of eyes. He seemed poised to vomit whatever plan had got him so worked up all over Nathlan in a cascade of eager words, before he hesitated.

Nathlan watched as Lamb’s eyes darted from his sleep-mussed hair – half of it completely free from its usual restrained pony-tail - to the messy bed and the pillow on the floor, and finally down to Nathlan’s sleeping attire. He grinned conspiratorially, and suddenly it was as if whatever enormous news had him so excited was completely forgotten.

Nathlan felt a sinking sensation in his chest as he heard the forced aloofness in Lamb’s tone as he asked, “Sharmelle mentioned that they were short-staffed in the kitchens this evening…you wouldn’t know anything about that would you?”

He sighed, knowing what was coming and deciding to head off the discussion before Lamb could embarrass him further. “No Lamb, I had nothing to do with that. Kal had to leave early to sort things for the end of the festival tomorrow afternoon.”

His friend’s face crumpled for a moment. “Ah I’m sorry mate, I didn’t think…-never mind. Fuck that guy, right? He doesn’t know what he’s missing.”

Lamb then moved to give him a hearty clap on the back, which he avoided expertly. “Thank you for your kind words, but there’s no need. Kal is a lovely man, and we’ll be going for a drink in a couple of days after the Remembrance has cleared up. It should also be enough time for Vera to confirm if we are safe to wander the city, which is a bonus. He simply had to leave early tonight for work.”

The taller man raised an eyebrow, before indicating the bed. “And all this is…what? The result of a particularly aggressive nap?” Scepticism was clear in his voice.

Nathlan dew himself up to his full height before replying; “A hard sleep is the sign of a working mind” he quoted.

“Oh aye, I can see that your mind must have been racing, mate. No doubt Kal featured prominently in those thoughts…”

Nathlan didn’t dignify that with a response, simply raising an eyebrow to show how completely unphased he was by the implication. “Enough nonsense. What had you so excited to practically broke the door down?”

Lamb still had a self-satisfied smirk, confirming he knew he’d gotten under Nathlan’s skin, but as he settled down on the bed and dug into a half-eaten plate of fruit, the gleam came back into his eye once more.

“I figured it out!” It was hard to grin with a large apple in your mouth, but Lamb almost managed it all the same.

“Go on. Don’t leave me in suspense then” Nathlan encouraged him.

“It’s not a conflict of skills. I know you said that but shut up a moment and let me explain” He hurriedly finished as Nathlan opened his mouth to retort.

“It’s Improvised Weapons giving me hints alright, but I realised I had to assume they were useful and work backwards. What changes would I need to make to my spear and shield for that move I was being led towards to make sense? Lot of hard work later and it turns out I need to build a new shield and spear, but I’ve got some great ideas!”

He bustled over to the desk in the corner of the room as he spoke, clearing away a pile of their clothes, neatly washed and folded so helpfully by the inn earlier today. Nathlan was gratified to see him handle the few scrolls and journals with more care, placing them gently onto the bed where he sat a moment before.

“Here’s what I need them to do, but truthfully I’m not exactly sure how to get these effects….”

Nathlan crowded around the cramped desk and watched the frantic scribbles take shape, Lamb’s fevered speech painting a much better picture than his poorly-trained hands. Still, the idea had merit, they just needed to find the right person to help.

Later, after planning out a rudimentary design for both pieces and asking the innkeeper for advice regarding the best smiths in the area, they shared a conspiratorial glance in their room once more.

“You know that Jorge would advise us to wait for Vera, yes? Nathlan asked.

Lamb nodded. “Aye, but imagine how fun it would be if I could take him by surprise in our next spar?”

They both grinned.

Nathlan and I were standing in the bizarre cluster of shelving units and display cases that somebody had optimistically called a workshop, haggling with Sally the Tinkerer. I say we, but it was mostly Nathlan doing the actual haggling, while I would jump in with my requirements when they both paused to look at me. We had agreed ahead of time that Nathlan would be the one to negotiate on my behalf – assuming they could find a common language – and Sally seemed to pick up on that dynamic pretty quickly, which made things smoother.

I pulled my gaze away from a clockwork contraption of gears and shining chrome tubes that I couldn’t for the life of me figure out the purpose of. It almost looked akin to a complicated brewing mechanism, like the pop-up stands we’d passed in the market earlier selling their coffees, teas, and cacao blends.

As soon as the thought of consuming something from that strange metal contraption entered my head, I felt instincts not my own screaming at me to not, under any circumstances, try that. I assumed my Wilderness Endurance Hunter skill was responsible for the prompt, likely from the Hill Foraging skill which seemed to have a deep emphasis on recognising poisons.

“Huh?” I asked dumbly, as I felt the combines gazes of Sally and Nathlan settle on me like a disappointed blanket. Nathlan rolled his eyes and seemed about to reply when Sally spoke.

“What’s it now? Ya like the look of it?” She gestured at the chrome contraption and continued to speak before I could respond. “I made it on a whim. Well, this here’s version 3 – took me a while to figure out why version 2 kept implodin’, and the prototype wouldn’t even begin the process – but it works now! Ya want it? 75 tarrots. Minimum! And tha’s you twistin’ my arm.”

She turned back to Nathlan as she said the price, as if to begin a new round of haggling, now including the new purchase.

“Hang on, I never said I wanted it!” I was perhaps too hasty, and worried that I’d come across as rude given her affronted look, so I ploughed ahead. “I don’t even know what it does. I thought it might be a coffee press like those in the market, but it looks too complicated for that, and one of my skills seems to be warning me of poison or something….it’s not a drink poisoner is it?”

Sally raised one bushy eyebrow at me, her offended look melting into scepticism, as if she couldn’t believe anyone could be that stupid.

“Na, it’s not a drink poisoner. I’m a Tinkerer, not a poison merchant. Scathler!” She muttered the word under her breath, clearly expecting nobody to understand. Context was quite enough, even without my godly given linguistic skills, for me to know she was calling me some manner of moron.

“How would that work? It would be so obvious – ‘excuse me madam, while I run your drink though this elaborate contraption, I promise no harm will be done’. Why not jus’ slip the poison in with a pipette or glass vial? Runts these days! Always trying ta do everythin’ in the most complicated manner…”

She continued to mutter quietly to herself as she zipped around the cramped little shop, shuffling papers and stray leather strips around on the various desks before grabbing something small and cylindrical from a drawer and holding it up in triumph. Nathlan and I shared a look, and I was relieved to see he was equally as baffled as me.

“I am not at all surprised ya didn’t recognise the purpose of this little wizzeau, but I am surprised yer skill warned ya. I assume that drinkin’ anythin’ from it would be dangerous given the version 3 upgrade. I mentioned the version 2 imploded, yes? The pipes needed linin’ with something non-reactive to filter the air, and so I used a coating the city uses for their sewer-system. It leaches over time and the runoff is quite toxic, but it’s very stable for a number of years first. Unless ya heated something through it, I would guess. Sensitive skill ya have there.”

“You would guess? How do you not know that? Why would you use a material you don’t know the properties of!?” I asked, more for the fun of it than with genuine worry.

“Well, it’s not actually a coffee press, is it? Why would I waste time knowin’ how safe my inventions are for every possible hair-brained scheme cooked up by some idiot chevala, eh?”

I looked around at the cramped shop again. Littering every surface and shelf was what could generously be described as a conglomeration of random designs and half-finished prototypes. If Sally’s mind was anything like her shop, it was unlikely that she did much parameter and safety testing. Perhaps I should have realised that as soon as I walked in, but I was too invested in the argument now to give up before I’d had my fun.

Fate had other plans though, as I was prevented from responding by a loud squawk of outrage. It was as if a chicken had been stuffed in a bag and shaken before being released back into the world. A series of crashes and thumps followed, and we all looked at the front window.

The glass was mostly covered by various wooden scraps and boards, and what was left free to allow in light was grimy and discoloured.

“Something wrong?” Nathlan asked casually.

Far too casually in my opinion – perhaps I simply knew him too well, but it seemed painfully obvious that he was very interested in the disturbance and was just feigning his lack of care. Sally luckily didn’t seem to notice, busy as she was sweeping knick-knacks and gadgets from the benches and display cases into drawers, then locking them with a frankly awe-inspiring numbers of different keys.

“Just a bocch from the central district tryin’ to run a protection racket. It’s been goin’ on for a few weeks now but the city enforcers are spread too thin to deal with it, given the large incursion they’re struggling with on the lower levels. It will be solved, and the rich fuckin’ Carhon behind it will likely get caught, but they’ve managed ta rope in some local thugs to make our lives harder in the meantime.”

Nathlan’s hand gripped the hilt of his sword at her words, and he looked over at me. “Has anyone been hurt yet?” He asked Sally.

She hadn’t ceased her whirlwind of activity yet and replied as she bustled to the shutters at the front of her little store. “Only minor injuries so far, but they’ve been gettin’ bolder. Gave all of us along the street a deadline to pay up or there’d be ‘consequences’, and it sounds like tha’s Larden outside havin’ his stall broken up. I’m packin’ up for the day, so come back tomorrow if ya want to discuss those ideas of yers again.” She cast a quick glance at me towards the end, and I nodded gratefully at her.

Nathlan brushed past, walking outside and casting a final, significant glance over his shoulder at me. “These things have a way of escalating. I’ll try and calm it down. Stay in here, Lamb.”

I helped Sally finish closing up the store, keeping an ear open to the sounds of a heated argument outside. I could hear the scholar’s soothing voice, contrasted against the yelling of what must have been Larden, and the excited jabbering of at least a few of the enforcers. I couldn’t make out everything being said, simply from the speed and number of people talking over one another, but the odd word snapped out at me, and the general tone was enough to know it wasn’t going well.

There was a slight lull in conversation, Nathlan’s calm voice rising slightly in warning, and then a meaty thud. A strangled yell cut off from Larden and a deeper voice echoed out, quelling all voices except Nathlan’s. I could hear the tension in it now though, and was considering whether I could really just sit inside and follow Nathlan’s instructions, when I felt a heavy aura descend upon me.

Larden let out another anguished moan, and Nathlan abruptly stopped speaking. I heard a cruel laugh in that deep voice, and then I was at the door. The lock snapped in my hand before I’d even realised that I’d reached it, and the door was flying off its hinges as I was suddenly rushing out the shop.

I barely had time to take in the view; three men stood on the street outside, standing over the remains of a wooden cart formerly filled with fruit and leather buckles and harnesses. These were now strewn about the carved rock of the street, its red hue smeared with yellows and greens from goods crushed without a care. An older man, grey-haired and whimpering, lay prone on the floor behind Nathlan, who stood rigidly before two well-dressed and thickset men bearing a cudgels and a longstaff respectively, weapons in hand and outraged expressions on their faces. Another one was on the floor, clutching at his throat and curled into a ball

My eyes were drawn to the fourth and final figure though, directly in front of Nathlan; a tall man with an arrogant tilt to his mouth and a spear strapped across his back, much like my own but far more ornate and decorated with a red tassel at the top of the haft. He stood far too close to Nathlan, clearly inside his personal space. I could see every muscle in my friend taught, his body actively fighting the instinct to cower in the presence of the aura that blanketed the street.

My body moved without my conscious input, responding in the only way I had learned how to when faced with imminent death. For that is what the weighty aura promised – blood, pain, and death for anyone who got in the way of this pale man. He flicked his eyes at me as I burst from the shop and the pressure of his regard nearly buckled me. Had I control of myself I likely would have hesitated or even turned tail and fled.

Unfortunately for all of us though, my rational mind was pushed far from the levers of control, and a more primal drive was holding the reins. My stride didn’t falter, and in a blink I was between him and Nathlan.

The three vultures behind the man flinched back at my presence and cringed away. The man before me seemed only amused however, and met my eyes with his own. Up close he looked older than I’d originally thought, closer to the latter half of his life than the former, with grey creeping in at the edges of his close-cropped hair, and a weathered and lined look to his skin, such that he looked like an aged papyrus scroll stretched over a skeleton.

His frame was wiry and thin, but his back was ramrod straight, utterly assured even as he stared me down. I felt again the weight of his aura, seeking to crush me and force me down. To make me beg and plead for mercy, to lie weeping at his feet in the hopes of avoiding his ire, much as Larden was currently doing.

But while that desire tried to take root in my soul, something pushed back. Indomitable Prey had activated instinctively the moment I felt his aura descend, and it roared back from within my soul, covering me with a cloak of unassailable defiance and intent. The insidious, probing fear couldn’t find purchase, and simply slipped away like water from a duck’s back.

I stared into grey eyes, taking a final step forward to push my face into his. I looked down at the arrogant little man before me, thrilling in the feeling of energy. That rushing in my blood, the song of violence in the air; hovering at the precipice. I could feel the air thrumming between us as my forehead hovered an inch from his.

I heard a voice growl something, low and threatening, and it took me a moment to realise it was my own. He looked back at me impassively, curling his lip and spitting at the floor beside me.

“Out of my way, dog.”

His voice was soft, filled with the same quiet confidence as his stance. I growled back again, the link between my brain and mouth not yet fully established. No words as far as I could tell, just an animalistic noise of warning.

One of the other men behind him stepped forwards to tap the old man on the shoulder and lean in, but he cringed away again when my gaze fell on him. My thoughts were coming back to me, and I was beginning to realise the situation I was in, but the presence of Nathlan behind me forced away most of the hesitation. The man’s next words sealed the deal.

“Move boy. The man behind you struck one of my men, and now owes me a debt. I will be collecting that debt today.” A brief pause to let his words be digested, before he spoke once more, “I won’t ask again.”

The challenge inherent in his statement ignited a fire within me, burning away any chance at a peaceful solution. Nathlan was far better a mediator than I anyway, and he’d been ignored and now attacked. If words had failed, then violence was the next step.

My lessons with Jorge had taught me how to fight, and while the focus was on using a spear and shield, the fundamentals of human movement were easily transferable. He had also made sure not to neglect my ability to fight unarmed if needed.

However, it wasn’t the lessons from Jorge that I drew on to answer this man’s challenge, but instead my discussions and occasional bouts with Vera. She brought an intensity to sparring that was electric – a feeling of danger than thrilled down the spine. As if facing a friendly tiger; mostly tame, and normally predictable, but with an edge that left you flinching even so.

She had a way of dispensing with the niceties and polite rituals that we lived with, so ingrained that we never noticed their presence until they were missing. Discussing our philosophies on life and the world around us was similarly dangerous. She did not mince words, and an offhanded comment could easily conceal a deadly trap of argument just waiting for me to fall into.

Vera’s contribution in this moment was simple; When violence is inevitable, strike first.

Only a few heartbeats had passed since the man had aired his challenge, and I could see his mouth open once more to draw breath, whether to speak or simply fuel his body I couldn’t tell. Didn’t matter either way though.

I drove my forehead into his nose.