Fell Champions

Otter hit face-first into a particularly wet and slimy pile of mud. It wasn’t the grand entrance she was expecting back to the world of gaming. The impact was jarring, and worse, felt real. She groaned, tried to stand, and her bare feet slipped on even more cold mud, sending her back to the ground. She tried to brace herself with her hands, but of course those slipped as well. 

 

She laid there, the side of her face sunk into the mud, and would have appreciated just how real it felt if not for the fact that it actually felt real. 

 

“Where in Mayheel did you come from?” a voice hissed.

 

Something grabbed the collar of her smock and started to lift her.

 

“Oh no, I live here now,” Otter said. “The mud has embraced me.”

 

“Death is about to embrace you, get the tale up!”

 

Otter struggled between standing and jerking away from what held her as her brain tried to make sense of what the voice had just said. She got her feet under her in a meaningful way and took a step when she heard the shriek. It was low and grumbling, somewhere between a vocalized stampede and branches snapping. She didn’t know if she wanted to turn to see what it was or who was trying to pull her, but her feet answered for her and started stumbling forward in a clumsy jog away from that sound.

 

As she moved, she took in more details. It wasn’t night, but there was no sun. There was some kind of forested canopy blocking the sky, and the ground was wet and swampy. The stranger who’d pulled her up moved beside her, but she couldn’t get a good look at them. It was only when she said something once more, louder than before, that she finally realized it was a woman.

 

“Fables!” It sounded like a swear word, coming from her.

 

“The fuck is that?” Otter said.

 

“Ashborne Cutting.” 

 

The look the stranger shot Otter communicated how stupid she thought the question was. She decided to ask anyway.

 

“What’s an Ashborne Cutting?”

 

“Do you have any…” she trailed off, looking at her, taking her in fully as they loped. “Of course you don’t. Keep moving, this way.”

 

The stranger picked up the pace somehow, and it was all Otter could do to try to trail after without slipping and falling on her face, or rolling an ankle on the uneven ground. Behind her, Otter heard the shrieking of whatever the Ashborne Cutting was, and the only thing that kept her eyes focused on the ground to keep her footing and not look behind her at what was inevitably chasing her was the thought that this was all a game. She was in a Quick Time Event, and she just had to not fuck up and the monster wouldn’t get her. It was that simple. Looking back would be a fuck-up. So she couldn’t do that. This was just an interactive cut scene. She just had to follow the NPC.

 

It shrieked again, closer, so much closer.

 

Yes. A cut scene. A really terrifying one. 

 

She patted at her smock, swearing the entire time, but of course she didn’t have a weapon on her. No starter gear to speak of outside the clothing itself. There were dead branches stuck in the mud, but she wasn’t sure how effective they’d be in a fight, or if she’d even be able to pry them loose from the sunken embrace of the swamp. 

 

“Just ahead!” her savior yelled. “It won’t cross the threshold!”

 

From the splashing sound of footsteps behind her, and how much closer they were sounding by the moment, she didn’t think she’d make it to whatever threshold the NPC was talking about. She wasn’t going to make it. Was she really going to die right at spawn? Was there a running stat or skill? Something she hadn’t invested in right from the beginning that she should have? 

 

The idea hit her, and she yelled, “Magic! How do I do magic!”

 

“What?”

 

“Will! How do I use Will for something!”

 

“You mean Manifest? You don’t know how to Manifest?”

 

“Of course I don’t! I just got here!”

 

There was a pregnant pause, and then the NPC said, “You haven’t made your Pact yet, you can’t Manifest! Just run!”

 

Otter grunted and propelled herself forward as quickly as she could. She hated cardio. So much. But right now she was glad that she’d always forced herself to jog. She’d always done it more out of vanity and to get laid, less about having to outrun monsters in a video game.

 

Wait, did her real world jogging experience even matter here? Or was it all about her stats? What was more important here? Tenacity? Agility? Strength? A mix of all three?

 

She almost tripped on a root thinking about it. Otter had to focus her flitting brain to the task of not getting killed, and just as she was summoning up the necessary attention span, her running companion fell on the ground, panting and laughing at the same time. Otter ran another ten steps before she realized that meant they were safe somehow. 

 

“Just my luck,” the NPC said. “Take a quick trip outside the border, and some Wayfarer barnstorms in and draws the attention of an Ashborn Cutting. Probably alerted the whole root system.”

 

“Sorry,” Otter said. “Didn’t know what I’d be stepping into when I logged in.”

 

She made her way to the NPC, and helped her to her feet. They locked eyes for a second, and Otter had to quickly remind herself that she was in a video game, and that this was a video game character, and that she wasn’t here for any type of entanglements.

 

But even through the mud, grime, and sweat, this NPC was pretty. Like, really pretty.

 

A messy bob of black hair, a cutthroat pixie type of face, and heterochromatic eyes, one green, one blue, with epicanthal folds, with a skin tone that made her look like a porcelain doll, it was all doing it for Otter. Something was definitely stirring in her lower regions, something both weird and aroused, and she had to mentally kick herself.

 

“What’re you looking at?” the NPC asked.

 

She didn’t just look real, real in a way that other VR games hadn’t managed to pull off yet. She sounded real, too. This was no AI-generated performance that she’d ever seen before. 

 

Otter must’ve been staring, because the NPC leaned forward and flicked her nose. 

 

“Ow.” She rubbed at her nose. That had smarted. A lot, actually. 

 

“Who are you?”

 

“Otter.”

 

The NPC, who Otter decided from that moment on was The Mean Pretty Lady, flicked her across the nose again. “Lie.”

 

“Ow, fuck, it’s not a lie. That’s what I go by.”

 

The Mean Pretty Lady seemed to appraise her, and then did not flick her again, instead asking, “And why are you here?”

 

“Because I thought the Silayan Islands or whatever the fuck this place is called sounded pleasant! I wasn’t expecting a Slavic horror nightmare swamp! I didn’t pick where I spawned.”

 

“Who sent you Wayfaring, with that little control?”

 

Wayfaring? What did she mean by that? Some kind of in-game transportation? “An asshole named Ingram Holt, who I will stab right in the testicles if I ever see. Sharp piece of wood in one ball, right through the next, like a fucking kebab.”

 

“And where did this… Ingram Holt… send you from?”

 

“Canada. Well, that’s where I’m from, he’s from some shit part of Europe, I think, but bases out of the US.”

 

A frown. The Mean Pretty Lady had a cute way of frowning. Otter looked around, trying to get an idea of where they were, and why they were safe if they were able to just stand around and chat. 

 

“Why isn’t that Cutting thing trying to kill us anymore?” she asked.

 

“We passed the Tiding,” Mean Pretty Lady said, as if that was the most obvious thing in the world. 

 

“What’s a Tiding?” Mean Pretty Lady flicked her again. “Quit that.”

 

“Where is this ‘Canada’ that you are this ignorant?”

 

“Hey, our education system isn’t nearly as gutted as America’s.” She saw the flick coming and immediately added, “Yet.”

 

There was another sound of something that sounded like a scream mixed with branches breaking, and Otter flinched at it. She scanned the way they’d come from, but didn’t see anything.

 

“The Flow is moving,” Mean Pretty Lady said. “It’s getting dark.”

 

“Great. We have somewhere to go?”

 

“I have a place to go. You can pick any direction that’s not the way I’m going.”

 

“Oh, c’mon. Really? As you’ve established, I am very stupid. I’m liable to walk face first into a nightmare chainsaw monster with a barbed wire-wrapped dick.”

 

“Lie,” and this time, just took the flick to the nose without even flinching. She was even getting used to it. Maybe this was how Mean Pretty Lady flirted. “You are not stupid. Just an ignorant Wayfarer. Or at least, you don’t believe you are stupid.”

 

Otter narrowed her eyes at that. How was Mean Pretty Lady doing that? Was she reading her mind? She tried to imagine Mean Pretty Lady naked, which was hard to do. She was wearing a poncho that was covering most of her bits. Mean Pretty Lady gave no reaction, at least that Otter could see. So, probably not a mind reader. 

 

“I also believe I am harmless to you, and can help with, uh, camp chores? Or household stuff? What’re we working with here in terms of shelter? I can be your hench monkey. I just need to get my bearings, and then I’ll be on my way.”

 

Mean Pretty Lady cocked her head at that. Probably her first time hearing the term ‘hench monkey.’ Someone hadn’t programmed her with a modern vocabulary. 

 

“I don’t like chopping firewood,” she said, and then turned to walk away.

 

“So, is that a yes? I can come along?” 

 

“It’s a ‘we’ll see how much you complain while chopping my firewood and use that to determine if I put you up for the night.’”

 

“Great! You won’t regret it!” When the Mean Pretty Lady whirled on her, Otter gave her an impish grin and flicked her own nose. “Lie.”