In the Shadow of Mountains - a litRPG adventure

Al-Sazine, in the Ashkanian tongue known as the ‘many-roots’ or ‘the rooted’, are less of a culture and more of an organisation. Other than the Ashkanian Empire and the Bone Tower, they are the only known group to endure repeated cleansings, with the exception of the gods of course. Perhaps this is due to their close relationship to the World Tree itself, but none could accuse the Al-Sazine of having its favour. They are fanatical in their belief that ‘a better world is possible’ and that the World Tree will be the one to usher it forth. They emulate its example and search all corners of Tsanderos for individuals to raise up. Many attempts have been made to pin down a consistent ideology underpinning the actions of its members, but the Al-Sazine appears to work against its own interests, unknown as they may be, as often as it furthers them.

Indeed, organisation is possibly the wrong way to classify this group. It acts as more of a loose conglomeration of cells with very little formal hierarchy and frequently conflicting goals. The only constant is the desire and ability to train those who need it. Much like the World Tree itself, it is unknown how the Al-Sazine choose who is worthy of their training and attention, although it has been suggested that this is more a case of there not being a consistent standard in the organisation, as opposed to the unknowable will of the ancient tree. In either case, they are secretive, and unlikely to share their purpose and identity with outsiders given their persecution throughout many parts of the continent.

Excerpt from ‘the cleansings – what came before and what endures’ – by Jasmine Carnehal, third speaker of Ortesia

Skill gained – Scrambling. Open skill slots available, skill integrated.

Scrambling – Passive. You are familiar with, and comfortable in, rough terrain. Whether it is trees or boulders, cliff-faces or ridges, you have scrambled up them all. This skill will aid you in assessing varied terrain for hand and foot placements, what can hold your weight, and how to move your centre of gravity to conserve your balance. Further levels improve upon your technique and awareness, and can lead to advanced skills such as General Climbing.

I gratefully accepted the information fed to me, and wondered what would happen once I filled all 8 of my open skill slots. I still didn’t understand how they levelled, but it was clear that danger had something to do with it, as did intention. Simply going through the motions didn’t seem to have much of an effect, otherwise my Running skill would be high in the double digits by now with the amount of time I had spent speeding through the valley.

I wasn’t sure if my skills only levelled when I used them while my life was under threat, or whether I simply focused on them more intently when I was in danger compared to otherwise, but in the end the result was the same – during moments of extreme acute stress, my skills levelled fast.

Current skills:

Sure-footed: Level 4.

Running: Level 5.

Meat preparation: Level 3

Hill foraging: Level 4

Simple Traps: Level 3

Improvised Weapons: Level 3

Scrambling: Level 1

Open skill slot

I pushed the thoughts from my mind the next moment when I heard a few yips from below. I leaned back over the outcropping of rock I was pressed against and looked down at the two wolves in the lakebed below me. They were conversing with one of the smaller wolves and I would swear that I heard what sounded distinctly like a laugh from one of the larger animals.

It was likely I was falling into the trap of anthropomorphising these wild creatures again, but I couldn’t shake the distinct feeling of recognition when they moved in certain ways or made specific sounds. They exuded a palpable feeling of malevolence though, just the way they held themselves screaming arrogance and certainty that nothing in this valley could challenge them.

I turned away and shrugged on my clothes and boots, rearranging everything to sit snugly and tying the thin vines into a belt to shove my horn through. Improvised Weapons came in handy, guiding my fingers through the complicated knots required to turn a simple belt into a solid holster for the thin, ridged horn so it wouldn’t simply slip out the first time I took a step – clearly the storage of a weapon was part of the skill’s remit, as well as its creation and use.

I began hiking along the ridgeline, aiming to find an elevated peak to give myself a good view of the terrain in front of me. I tried to recall what Jorge had told me about Cloven Rock – that it was a sign to move up the valley to avoid getting trapped in marshes and wasting days retracing my steps. I realised then that I had never even made it to the central river in the first place as he had suggested.

I had stayed following the first river I had seen, too preoccupied with fear and hunger and then wrapped up in the beauty of the world and the satisfaction of hunting and running. I had spent almost double the time expected of me to reach this point and I needed to speed up if I wanted to make it to the trade outpost in time.

As great as this valley was, the close brush with death from a few moments earlier was a good reminder that I wasn’t supposed to be here. I wasn’t the predator, the top dog, top of the food chain and unchallengeable in my superiority. I was simply another part of the world out here. A memory of wings blotting out the sun flew into my mind so vividly I half ducked before catching myself.

I’m not supposed to be here.

I hurried on.

*Nathlan*

Nathlan gasped, attempting to recover his breath as he lay pressed tightly to the ground. Another of his wards disintegrated, and he barely got an arm up to his left in time to prevent the strike from killing him.

The shield construct he’d hastily raised was enough to prevent the hammer from splitting his skull into pieces, but the momentum of that first strike still bawled him over and he rolled like a ragdoll across the side of the hill.

No second strike came, as a figure exploded from the floor like an armoured buffalo the same moment he was hit. The momentum of that charge was monstrous and the new figure, along with the red-cloaked mercenary that had been attacking him, disappeared to Nathlan’s senses. An echoing thud split the air almost immediately and he whipped his head around to see the figure – Jorge – extracting himself from a toppled tree. A crumpled corpse was just barely visible impaled on one of the tree’s thick branches, driven so deep by the impact it lay flattened against the trunk.

A corner of the red cloak fluttered in the wind whipped up by the furious movement, and Nathlan once again marvelled at the speed and power of his companions.

He tried not to let the bitterness of his poor life choices intrude upon him at this time. He needed to be completely focused for now, as the red-cloaked mercenary was unlikely to be alone. The Crimson Lions – and what a stupid name that was! – rarely travelled alone, and he was starting to consider himself an expert in their tactics by now. A few weeks of guerrilla warfare waged against the mercenary outfit, and he could guess what was coming.

Vera appeared from further down the valley, giving a grim nod to Jorge as she arrived in a blaze of dust.

“Another 3 fangs at least, coming from further north. I’ve left some obvious tracks, and hopefully they’ll walk into some of the local wildlife I stirred up on my way back.” She said as she clawed at some stray hair sticking to her forehead. Things were looking dire indeed if even Vera was sweating.

She was kitted out with enough enchanted pebbles to make a beach blush, and she had so far managed to stay comfortable in every environment he had seen her in. So no, the slight sheen of sweat on her tanned face was not a good omen.

Jorge nodded in that slow way as he always did, considering before speaking up. “Doesn’t much matter at this point anyhow, we’ve been gone too long already. Led them on a wild hunt alright, but they’ve been on our scent like a fucking Sarhail smelling blood! How many bodies have we put in the mud by this point? A dozen?”

Nathlan spoke up then. “11 – that little one slipped away a couple of days ago, remember?”

“Oh aye, good point. Doubt she got far though – nifty skill of hers I’ll grant, but she’d lost an arm and none of her Fang were left. How’d she end up with a Fang anyway?”

Vera’s steady voice answered Jorge’s question; “Nepotism. No other way a 1st tier would be part of one in normal circumstances otherwise. Guessing her parents are well connected and she was on an experience run with a Fang as a favour to them. Surprised to see them out here though – must mean they were in the area and pulled in on whatever emergency this constituted. Seems foolish though.”

Nathlan agreed, although it was easy for him to say having seen the outcome with his own eyes. “Most we’ve fought have been mages with a few scouts too. Are you sure you saw full fangs Vera?” he asked.

The Fangs of the Crimson Lions were their elite scout units, usually in groups of 3-5 members, and all capable individuals at least above level 50. That didn’t mean much out here when Vera and Jorge were by his side but given that each member was trained for fighting rather than utility, it meant he was outclassed as far as battles went. A familiar feeling at this point.

“Definitely. I’d recognise that uniform anywhere.” Nathlan winced and ducked his head at her dark look and chill tone. It wasn’t directed at him, he knew, but it was unnerving nevertheless. A palpable sense of anger and disgust billowed in the air around her for a few more moments before she wrestled down her emotions. Jorge watched the scene and gave her a proud smile.

“You’re getting better at that lass. I’d almost believe you if I hadn’t felt the real thing.” For a second, Nathlan was confused at the words before he saw Vera smile back. He still wasn’t used to their dynamic, and Vera in particular was hard to read for him. She was doing that ‘fake anger’ thing again, and Jorge had spoken to him about it being a part of her training. ‘Emotional regulation’ he’d said.

Growing up surrounded by deceit and lies made it hard for him to accept the genuine friendship shared by the two, and that was only further complicated by whatever ‘training’ Vera was doing. He understood it on an abstract level, but his mind constantly held something in reserve, waiting for one of them to go too far and the act to drop. It hadn’t happened yet in the year he’d been with them but that just meant it would hurt more when it did.

A big hand clapped him on the back, dragging him out of his dark thoughts and pushing him forwards once again. “I want to be at the trading post by nightfall tomorrow, that runt is only going to wait for so long.”

“If he even lives.” Nathlan muttered in response. At the hard look he received from Jorge he quickly went on. “I hope he does, of course I do! But I wouldn’t have made it to Cloven Rock on my own even with my first class, and he’s got nothing! Barely seemed to understand what was going on to be honest, far too relaxed and docile. And you can’t convince me he knows how to handle himself. He might have the frame of a bigger man, but he looked more like a bureaucrat from back home than a fighter. I don’t like it Jorge, but I just don’t understand how you expect him to make it.” He got quieter towards the end, his nasally voice taking on a whiny tone as if he expected to be cut off at any moment.

The shorter man just nodded at him. “I know lad, but he’s not lived your life, and I might know a few things you don’t. I reckon we’ll find out in a couple of days anyhow. As long as he hasn’t been sitting around for a week twiddling his thumbs and decided to run off with somebody else before we get there!” He laughed to himself at that, but Nathlan didn’t share his optimism. No way would somebody survive for a few weeks out here without a class. He’d heard of Titan Rooks in the area, and they were notoriously territorial.

Looking back at the gently spoken man, keeping pace easily at his side as if Nathlan’s run was nothing but a stroll, he asked a final question. “You did at least warn him to stay off the ridgeline, right?”

He received a smile in response “Of course! I told him to stick to the central river and only head up the valley when he reaches Cloven Rock”.

“Yes, but you did specify that he shouldn’t actually go all the way to Cloven Rock? That it would be dangerous to stride the ridgeline, and he should just stay on the upper slopes?”

“Well…not in as many words, but I think the implication was clear.” Jorge scratched the back of his head and shrugged. “He’ll be fine, the Titan Rooks should be hibernating for another few years so there’s not much to worry about.”

Nathlan blinked at that. “Wind sprites, the half dozen variants of mountain cats they have here, Unguent Toads in the marshes…even a Tarkenzi could finish him!”

“Too high, wrong season and the hunting is too poor that low in the hills, he’ll be avoiding the marshes, and a single Tarkenzi is no worry for a capable warrior.” Jorge countered, ticking the points off on his fingers as he did so.

“Yes, but he’s not a capable warrior yet, is he? Besides if he kills one then that’s a whole pack after him, you know how they hold a grudge.”

“True, but he can always hide in the higher reaches of the ridgeline. Maned-Wolves aren’t known for their climbing.”

“Right…So he leads a pack of Tarkenzi’s to the ridgeline, then what happens? He waits them out? With what provisions? How will he slip past them?”

Jorge looked concerned for a moment before brightening, “What are the chances of that happening? Its at least a week or two’s march from his starting point to Cloven Rock, and he can’t outrun a pack for more than an hour or two – how likely is it that he leads them right there?”

Nathlan stared in horror at his teacher. “Am I really hearing this from you? Do I need to repeat the mantra? Is this a test?”

He laughed at that. “No, you’re right, ‘reality is the worst case scenario’, I know. But that’s for when we’re making plans, not predictions of things out of our control. I still don’t think it’s likely, and while I don’t wanna jinx it, I reckon the only way he’s not making it out is if he rouses a cave bear.” Nathlan opened his mouth but Jorge beat him to it. “And no, he’s not gonna wake one of those giants without spilling a lot of blood right on their doorstep.”

The stocky man finished his thought, slowing down as he reached his conclusion. Nathlan raised an eyebrow at him in question, and Jorge just shook his head in response. “I get your point lad, but there’s nothing we can do about it from here. If the gods truly hate him that much, there’s no point worrying. And hey – one of them cared enough to bring him here, I’m sure they planned for something like this. If they can do anything well, it's scheme.”

“Ain’t that the truth.” Nathlan agreed, trying to imitate the older man’s gruff tone without making it too obvious. He thought he’d done a good job as he continued running, failing to see the smirk on Vera’s face as she looked back at Jorge teasingly.

I trudged along the ridgeline, occasionally having to backtrack and loop around particularly difficult sections to climb. I gained a level in Sure-footed and two in Scrambling within only a few hours, which told me I was being far too cavalier with my life.

I slowed my pace and tried to take more care with my movements, unwilling to end my new existence as a smudge on the rocks below. I occasionally caught glimpses of wolves running back and forth along the animal tracks and open scree slopes below the ridge on either side, searching for a section they could ascend safely.

I had been working on the problem since I made it to the relative safety of the ridge, turning it over and over in mind. I couldn’t just keep going and hope they’d get bored of the chase and leave for easier prey. They had followed me for weeks if this was the same pack I’d heard on my second day here. And if it was a different group, perhaps they claimed this whole area as their territory? Either way, I was being far too passive, hiding meekly and hoping to be left alone.

It wasn’t that I thought myself an enterprising hunter able to challenge the pack. It was that if I allowed them to dictate my actions, they would herd me to my death. I needed to seize the initiative, act before I stumbled upon whatever route up to the ridge they were looking for.

They could have members of the pack hunt for food and keep watch while they slept – I didn’t have that luxury. While I could drink from the occasional pools of rain water up here, hunger would drive me into their jaws within a matter of days.

What could I do against a pack of dangerous animals that had every advantage on me? The memory of Jorge’s last words again lingered in my mind ‘work on your skills, and don’t fucking die.’. I ignored the second part, since that was perhaps the most useless advice I had ever been given, if it could even be classified as such, but the focusing on my skills part was solid.

I didn’t fancy fighting more than one at a time, and even one on one each confrontation would be a gamble, but it would net me some experience and more importantly, some food. Catching one alone would be difficult though, and my usual tactic of baiting a larger, dumber animal into chasing me straight into a pre-set trap wouldn’t likely work here.

I could try an ambush from higher up, take a couple down if I got lucky and hope that netted enough experience to hit level 15, and hope that there was a dramatic enough turning point to see me through the battle with the rest of the pack…Hope was acting as the main ingredient in that recipe though, and it wasn’t a great base for a cake.

I tried to catalogue what I had at my disposal, and what my Simple Traps skill could help me to create with it. No wood, but plenty of heavy boulders and sharp rocks. The horn could act as a lever in a pinch, as I had yet to find something that could break the damn thing. I would have been more surprised by how hardy the Mountain Oryx’s horn was if I hadn’t seen the creature itself survive a fall from such a great height, however temporarily.

So I’ve got rocks, boulders, stones and more rocks. Great. Why not just chuck the bloody ridge down at them while I’m at it since I can do whatever-. I cut myself off with that thought, instantly silencing the internal monologue before it could really gain steam. I latched onto the only useful thing my internal critic had said so far this week - Why didn’t I just hit them with the ridge itself?