Chapter One - Selection

"John Hicks, you have been chosen," intones a calm voice, possessed of an undeniable certainty. To his ears, it carries all the authority of his own drill sergeant though it certainly lacks the decibels. His eyes snap open and then narrow to slits against the blinding light. After a moment of adjustment, he finds himself seated in a gazebo surrounded on all sides by lush and perfectly manicured garden. It is a far cry from the baking heat of Afghanistan or the crack of gunfire. A figure stands some distance from him, clad in woven robes of shifting tapestry that seem to trail off into the very air itself. Beyond these strange circumstances, however, it's the air of this individual before him that gives him pause. Staring at them gives him the same feeling as standing at the edge of a cliff.

"I got hit," John manages, his mouth suddenly dry. "I didn't make it."

"You did not." The words hang with a finality that offer no room for dissent or rebuttal. His head lowers, turning towards the floor as memories of his final moments play through his mind. "Your death was inevitable." As the weight of his current situation begins to settle on him, he lifts his head, gazing beyond the figure towards the exit of the gazebo and the path stretching out of the garden. The golden rays of sunlight are near blinding, obscuring his vision from what he imagines to be his path to the beyond. He motions in the direction of the path beyond the figure.

"Is that it?"

"No. You were supposed to die. Instead, you have been chosen." Confusion flickers across his face and he stands. "Your fate has been changed because there is a task that you have been selected to see through."

"Am I hallucinating?"

"The moment your Soul departs from this space we will not speak again for some time," responds the figure, ignoring his words. "The System will be your guide." John opens his mouth to rebuff the figure, but the words refuse to leave his throat as the figure slowly begins to fade. "You have been given a dangerous Boon, John Hicks. How you wield it, and the truth you find in it will be yours to decide." He steps forward quickly as the figure disappears completely, only to stagger and clutch at his chest tightly. A burning pain unlike any he has ever experienced radiates out, forcing him to his knees and then his side as he gasps for breath. Clutching at the collar of his combat shirt, he pulls it open to gaze at his chest and the slowly appearing sigil of a shield and the hilt of a sword above.

['Boon of the Warlord' has successfully taken root in your Soul. 'Wayfarer System' has successfully taken root in your Soul. Synchronization between Boon and Soul will take some time. This process is affected by your Will.]

With those words, a small window appears before his eyes as the pain recedes. Dropping his head against the floor of the gazebo with a dull thump, his eyes drift closed as he struggles to collect himself. After several long moments, he pushes himself to his feet and confronts the window in front of him. Green eyes scan the flowing script in silence, the words carrying a meaning behind them more felt than understood; he does not belong to his World anymore. Brow furrowing as he processes the intrusive thought, the window before his eyes shift to display a panel of information.

Name: John Hicks

Boon: Boon of the Warlord. Copper (E)

Race: Wayfarer

Strength: Copper (E)

Agility: Copper (E)

Vitality: Copper (E)

Will: Copper (E)

-- Innate Ability -- 

"Passive Translation". Passive Translation: The Wayfarer is capable of understanding and speaking the myriads of languages encountered in the cosmos.

"Refit." Refit: The Wayfarer understands the importance of a timely resupply. You can scavenge fallen foes for loot.

Scanning the edges of the window for some way to close it, it disappears from his view as if sensing his intentions. Turning his attention to the brightly illuminated path before him he takes a deep breath and squares his shoulders. Whether this is all a hallucination of a dying mind, or in fact something more, John presses forward, nonetheless. He raises a hand to shield his eyes from the bright light, and just as it finally becomes too much to bear it fades to shadow. Lowering his hand and opening his eyes he finds himself confronted with a long hall. Massive pillars support a tall ceiling, adorned with flickering torches and a roughhewn stone floor that scrapes at his boots. A small window appears before him, drawing his attention.

[You have entered the 'Grand Tomb of the Wayfarer Riss']

"Grand Tomb?" echos John, his voice reverberating through the wide hall. Stilted, and staggering scraping draws his attention to his rear, and he rounds on the noise quickly with fists raised. A low droning groan escapes a trio of individuals as they stagger in his direction with blades clutched tightly in hand. Slowly lowering his hands, John opens his mouth to call out only to stop as his heart begins to hammer in his chest. His body leans almost instinctually in the direction of the men, his hands once more balling into tight fists. A thrill of excitement bubbles in his chest as his breathing becomes deeper, and calmer in the face of these three enemies. 

As the thought races through his mind, his brow furrows. In the moment since acknowledging them, he was preparing to throw himself at them head long and barehanded. Reason quickly douses the thrill, and anticipation that had been simmering in his chest and he takes a deep breath. Rapidly scanning his surroundings for a weapon of his own, he finds only the torches mounted to the pillars. With little else in the way of options, he approaches and removes the torch from the sconce before hefting it as though it were a baseball bat. It's a stance that immediately feels wrong, his weight shifted into an unnatural axis. Ignoring the feeling, he focuses on their slow approach.

Leaving the darkness between the pillars, John is treated to his first look at the figures; battered, blackened and rotted flesh clings to frames that appear as little more than bone. Their rusted armor shifts with their staggering steps, accompanied by a growing sloshing sound within as they draw closer. John is no stranger to death having given twelve years of his life to the Ranger Regimen with numerous deployments across that time. But the sight of being confronted by what amounts to little more than walking corpses is more than a little unsettling.

Pushing down his revulsion with an easy that was somewhat concerning to him, he grasps the torch all the tighter as they approach. The first to reach him issues a low growl, emaciated arm struggling to lift the weapon skywards with little thought to defense. Seizing the moment, John steps forward and swings the torch with all his might at its temple.

The impact of his improvised weapon proceeds a dull crack as the creature staggers away and strikes the ground. The clatter of its armor and its weapon is deafening in the otherwise silent hall. A splatter of liquid across the ground releases a fetid stench that sets his eyes to watering and his stomach to churning. Rapidly back-pedaling from the stench, John blinks away the tears gathering in the corners of his stinging eyes.

[You have been afflicted by 'Stench of Death'. You have resisted 'Stench of Death'.]

The creature he'd knocked to its face slowly begins to push itself up, though he little time to acknowledge it's rise as the second and third reach him. With weapons raising, John quickly repositions one of the two between himself and the third. It pays little mind to the presence of its ally as he swings the torch again, battering the second to the ground and rapidly retreating as the third commits to a full-bodied swing that see's it stagger and strike the ground. Once again, the fetid stench of what he can only imagine to be their putrefied flesh contained within their armor assaults his senses.

[You have been afflicted by 'Stench of Death'. You have resisted 'Stench of Death'.]

Unwilling to allow the creature at his feet to rise, his booted foot lands on its wrist and he raises the torch high above his head before bringing it down with all his might. The wet crunch of bone reaches his ears as its skull deforms and its body lies still. A loud groan reaches his ears, and he glances up wide-eyed as a blade from one of the creatures falls upon his shoulder. White hot searing pain radiates through his body, tearing a yell of pain from him as he drops to a knee. A flash of fury both white hot and yet somehow sobering erupts in his chest as he grasps the withered arm. Raising his free hand, he drives it into the creature's jaw with a strength far beyond what his kneeling position should offer.

The pop and rattling hiss from the creature as it staggers away to collapse signals the breaking of something. Clamping a hand tightly over the deep gash in his shoulder, John pushes himself to his feet in a rapid pursuit. With a yell he stamps on its head with all the strength his nearly two-meter frame can manage. The crunch and lack of resistance signals the end of the creature, and he rapidly gives ground to the final one as it approaches, weapon falling and once more seeing it stagger.

Seizing the chance, he surges forward to shoulder tackle it to the roughhewn floor before dispatching it with yet another stomp. Staggering away from the scene, as well as the pungent stench each is releasing John braces himself against the closest pillar, as a small window and a string of text appears before his eyes.

[You have defeated 'Crypt Lurker Warrior'. You have defeated 'Crypt Lurker Warrior'. You have defeated 'Crypt Lurker Warrior'. Would you like to loot 'Crypt Lurker Warriors'? Yes / No]

"Sure?" John hisses through gritted teeth, struggling to place as much pressure on his wound as possible. The creatures begin to hiss and crackle, their already emaciated frames further shrinking in upon themselves as they slowly collapse into little more than piles of fine gray dust.

[You have received two 'Lesser Healing Potions'. You have received one 'Crypt Lurker Heart'. Items have been added to your Inventory.]

"Inventory?" The window changes to display a ten-by-ten grid with two of the spaces occupied by small pictures; one of a small red vial with the number two in the bottom corner and the other a desiccated, purple heart. Reaching his free hand out in the direction of the window, his fingertips graze the surface of and illuminate the picture of the vial.

[Lesser Healing Potion. 'The last dregs in the brewing process. It's efficacy is a matter of some debate.']

"How do I...?" His words trail off as he presses a finger to the picture a second time and the item appears in his hand. It's little more than a palm sized vial containing a dull, redish liquid with a small stopper at one end. In what world could what amounts to little more than a shot glasses worth of what looks like cherry juice treat a laid open shoulder? Yet, as much as he wants to complain or rail against the situation, he's left with little recourse but to trust this 'system'. Turning his attention from the vial to his still bleeding shoulder, he slowly shakes his head before popping the stopper off with his thumb and dumping the contents into his mouth.

He can almost track the liquids descent into his stomach; a soothing warmth that radiates out in all directions before slowly gathering at his aching shoulder. The pain slowly fades, eventually settling in little more than a dull ache. Slowly lifting his palm, he gently probes the area, surprised to find only unblemished skin.

"Doc Robinson would throw me down a flight of stairs for one of these," chuckles John. His laughter slowly trails off his thoughts turning back to the friends he'd left behind. Would they know that he had survived, or was what he'd been told the truth; he'd died, and his Soul had been plucked from the battlefield only to come here? He glances at the vial in his hand and then tosses it across the hall to the opposite wall with little concern for the shattering of glass that follows. Turning, he rests his back fully against the pillar and slowly sinks into a crouch with head bowed.

[Your Boon senses your doubt and your Soul shudders for it.]

John's head snaps up, scanning the text on the window before him. His brow furrows as the window disappears, and he rises to his feet. He'd been told that the 'Boon' and the 'System' had taken root in his Soul but given the shellshock of the situation he hadn't given it much thought. As if sensing his intention, a window displaying the same status appears before him, and he focuses on the information. The status screen offers no further insight into what the 'Boon of the Warlord' is or why he had been warned that it was dangerous. In fact, the whole screen is rather bare bones. 

The shuffling of feet, and the low droning of the creatures reaches his ears, and he closes the window to search out the source of the sound. Some meters down the massive hall, he spots a group of the creatures numbering at least a dozen by his count shambling in his direction. His body moves before his mind can catch up, pushing away from the wall and striding to the center of the hall to confront the creatures directly. His boot strikes a metal object, the clattering of it drawing his attention to the rusted blade and he immediately bends to retrieve it. His fingers wrap around the withered leather of the hilt, and he exhales slowly as a second joins his grip. 

Once more his stance feels wrong, uncomfortable even; his feet are too close together, his weight is too far forward. His feet shuffle, his back straightens, and he squares his shoulders to face the encroaching creatures. The first to reach him issues a low hiss as its arm raises, and he surges forward without a second thought. The blade punches through the skull of the creature with his weight behind it. His left rises out as the creature drops, shoving the creature backwards with his forearm as he backpedals. Blinking in surprise at his own actions, John glances at the blade in his hands and then back at the creatures. He'd reacted before his mind could process what needed to be done. Was this what that person had meant about his Boon being dangerous?

Pushing such thoughts to the back of his mind, he focuses his attention once more on the creatures before him. They'd trampled the fallen body of their comrade as though it weren't even there, concerned only with reaching him. Another blade rises and falls in his direction. The clang of metal striking metal rings in his ears as his body parries the blow with ease, and he spots the next opening sweeping the rusted blade through the withered neck of the creature. It's head tumbles to the stone floor, and he rapidly back-pedals, his stance changing as he circles to place one between himself and the others. 

The creatures feel too sluggish, too open, too...weak. Even wielding what amounts to little more than a rusted splinter of metal, they yield to controlled strikes with little concern for allies or positioning until the last has succumbed to him. John stands in confused silence, gazing at the battered weapon in his grip. He'd never so much as lifted a sword on Earth let alone had cause to swing it in the direction of someone or something else. But the moment he'd adjusted his stance to confront the creatures it had felt like an extension of his own body. Glancing down at the fallen creatures, a strange feeling swells within him; pride or perhaps expectation? As though they were always meant to fall.

[Your Will has stabilized the connection between Boon and Soul. Your understanding of your Boon deepens.]

The windows and its text draw his attention, and just as he begins to question the meaning of the words the window changes to reveal his status.

["The Wealth of Experience." The Wealth of Experience: A Warlord has an instinctive grasp of weapons and tactics. Rank: Copper (E)]

["Endless Resolve." Endless Resolve: Grants a potent but fleeting burst of recovery that restores Vitality, Stamina and Mana over time. Cost: None. Cooldown: One-hundred and eighty seconds. Rank: Copper (E)]

"The Wealth of Experience and Endless Resolve," John echos, scanning the text. The latter of the two at least offered more than a blurb for its description but nowhere did it mention how to utilize the ability. No sooner had the thought crossed his mind, however, than a rush of energy began to radiate through him. Small aches and pains he hadn't particularly paid much mind to quickly begin to fade until they disappear, and even the stiffness in his formerly injured shoulder works itself out. Sucking in a breath and exhaling sharply, John rolls his shoulders as he suddenly finds himself jittery and unable to be completely still. "That answers that." 

Inhaling purposefully through his nose, pausing and exhaling just as slowly he attempts to calm his racing heart. Though he feels as if his body has dumped a gallon of adrenalin into his system, and his body is bursting with energy his mind feels calm, and focused. Several long moments pass as he practices his box breathing until the jitters slowly fade, and he's left feeling refreshed. Although the System window does not offer an actual timer to count down, he has an almost instinctual grasp of the remaining time until he can use it again. Closing the window before his eyes, he glances at the fallen creatures.

[Would you like to loot 'Crypt Lurker Warrior'? Yes / No]

"Yes." The dozen bodies surrounding him shrink in upon themselves, hissing and crackling as they collapse into fine gray dust. Watching closely, it seems to be some highly accelerated form of desiccation, although it seems to affect what the armor the creatures-- the Crypt Lurkers are wearing as well. The effect even spreads to the weapons of those that have managed to maintain a hold on them.

[You have received five 'Crypt Lurker Heart's'. You have received four 'Lesser Mana Stones'. You have received three 'Lesser Healing Potions'. You have received one hundred 'Copper Coins'.]

Staring blankly at the text, John once more opens his Inventory to scan the grid; another of the one-hundred slots been occupied by a picture of a small dull gray crystalline stone with a counter of four in the corner. Tapping on the picture, a small window appears above the screen.

[Lesser Mana Stone. 'The lowest Grade of Mana Stone. Most often used for the creation of low-grade magic tools, or as fuel for magic rituals.]

Closing the window, he carefully scans the remaining grid for any sign of the 'copper coins' he'd looted. Upon finding nothing he scans the entire window, finally locating a counter above the grid in the top corner of the top right-hand corner. A simple copper circle displaying the number '100' stands beside the picture, and once more reaching out he touches a finger to the number. A faintly warm metal coin appears in his palm, its glossy surface covered with symbols that he assumes mean something to someone but as it stands it means nothing to him. Turning the coin over, his eyes widen when he finds himself staring at a picture of his Ranger Scroll and the Unit Insignia just below it.

Turning the coin over several times in his hand, he eventually returns it to his Inventory, watching the counter rise from ninety-nine to one hundred once more. His head turns before the groaning reaches his ears, spotting the shambling creatures as they stumble in his direction. They seem to number in the dozens, their bodies a withered and putrid clog in the hall that blots out the torches they pass. This Tomb offers no chance of reminiscing, no time to rest beyond what he creates for himself. 

Clutching the rusted sword tighter in his palm, he calmly strides in their direction. He has no food, no water and no rescue coming for him. He needs to find his way out of this Tomb, and if that means stepping over the fallen creatures to achieve that then so be it. His pulse does not leap as he draws closer as it once had, and his body falls into movements that should feel unfamiliar but now feel natural. The creatures feel slower than before as he cuts a swath of destruction through their ranks. Even as they fall like dominos their numbers show no sign of thinning, and as the minutes begin to tick by, he realizes that the danger is not in the Crypt Lurkers themselves but the numbers in which they swarm.

Retreating from an errant swipe of a rusted sword, John realizes exactly the mistake he has made. The first two encounters were probing attacks meant to do little more than suss out his capabilities. Of course, John realizes that that would imply that perhaps the Tomb itself is possessed of a mind of its own, and one that was capable of tactical thought. Discarding such thoughts for the time being, he concludes that the more logical assumption is that the Crypt Lurkers are commanded by a creature he has yet to encounter. If these are the Warrior caste of the Crypt Lurkers as identified by the System, then there must be a commander further in. 

Working with that in mind, he concludes that his presence has been detected by the commander in one of two ways; firstly, he has been under some form of surveillance since he'd arrived in the cave. He'd not spotted any form of surveillance equipment he was familiar with but in a world where the dead roam the halls of a tomb that means very little. Secondly, he is overthinking the entire scenario. The first three creatures he'd eliminated could have been a patrol of sorts, or even a detachment sent to reconnoiter the area. Failure to be seen along a timeline he is unaware of could have triggered a search, and the further elimination of the search party resulted in the full force descending upon his position.

Of course, John realizes that he would still be applying logic and tactics he was familiar with to an enemy force he is also wholly unfamiliar with. As the creatures continue to fall, and John continues to give ground his arms and lungs begin to burn. Whatever instinctual force seems to be guiding his body seems to have its limits, or perhaps it's simply the limits of his own body. His training tells him to break contact; execute a fighting retreat to conserve his remaining strength. But instinct pushes him forward regardless. A rush of energy lightens the sword in his hands, and his breathing begins to grow steadier as he fights.

[Endless Resolve has been activated. Your health, mana and stamina are being restored. You have been afflicted by 'Stench of Death'. You have resisted 'Stench of Death'. You have been--]

He tunes out the messages, throwing himself back into the fight with a renewed vigor as the creatures continue to swarm. They fall one after another, carelessly strewn about a hall quickly being choked by the scent of death and rotten flesh. Minutes tick by slowly as the bodies of the creatures pile up until only John is left standing once more. His breath comes in ragged gasps, sweat drenching his body and arms hanging limply at his side. He tilts his head to the ceiling, his thoughts dull and slowed yet somehow coming apart at the very seams.

[Would you like to--]

"Yes," John interrupts, wanting nothing more than silence for a few more blissful moments. The hiss and crackle of the creatures' bodies drawing in upon themselves fills the air as they turn to dust one after another. Closing his eyes, he struggles to focus his scattered thoughts.

"Hey! Hey, there's a person there...!"