Fell Champions

Moon ran the edge of her axe along a whet stone. The weapon wasn’t of great quality, but she’d be damned if she’d have the edge fail her when she’d need it. That meant proper care and maintenance until she found better. 

Things weren’t going well for her or her group. Well, they probably weren’t going well for everyone, all things considered. 

She wished that they’d been given something resembling information on the spawn locations before being forced to choose one. Or that her body in the game would be as susceptible to the elements as her real one. Then she never would’ve chosen to be spawned in Virtuere. 

It was a winter hellscape. Nights so cold that snow was a fond memory, where the closest thing to warmth she or her fellow felt to being warm was when they got so cold their nerves started telling them they were burning. 

Every night they huddled about the fire, wearing furs clumsily skinned from an animal resembling a bear that they’d encountered. Every night, they were cut by the wind and ice, and left with a pit of cold in their bellies. Every night, they waited until the darkest hour when their Tenacity would finally break under the freezing cold, and they would pray for the sun to rise once more. And when it finally did, and night turned to day, did it finally warm just enough for their Tenacity would begin to recover.

And then they would do it all again.

Moon, Fitzkim, and LoneRunMan would spend each day travelling south, gathering whatever materials they would need to keep warm in the night, whatever food would burn fuel in their bodies. And only once they were exhausted would they stop to camp.

They were lucky in one respect. LoneRunMan’s participation in one of Holt’s training events had netted the three of them warmer clothing. It was probably all that was keeping them alive. They’d yet to encounter anything resembling civilization. No farmsteads, towns, not even roads. At least, none that were still occupied.

The first week, Moon had found a river and reasoned if she were only to follow it, she’d eventually find a settlement. She’d only gone through with that plan for a day before she’d stumbled onto the first of the bear-beasts. She’d gotten lucky in that encounter. The bear-beasts weren’t great climbers. She’d treed herself, and when the monstrosity had tried to come up after her, she’d gotten lucky. It had heaved itself onto a branch that couldn’t support its weight, and it had managed to fall just the right way to smash its head on a lump of ice just the right way to concuss it.

It had taken her an hour to find the courage to climb down from the tree and finish the job, bludgeoning the unconscious bear-beast to death with a nearby rock.

She’d skinned it as best she could, but her fingers had been clumsy from the cold, her only tool a sharp stone. Her result was a mess, the pelt hideous and ragged. Her only saving grace had been something resembling knowledge of what she was going from an old hunting sim game.

Two days later, she’d encountered tracks that looked human. Those had led her to a makeshift igloo inhabited by LoneRunMan. Poor Lone had been surviving off roots he’d dug up, but at least was kind of sheltered from the cold. Moon had been happy to share the meat she carried from the bear-beast with him, as well as a part of its pelt to wear as a cape. 

The two of them made a good team. Lone secured their small home, while Moon hunted for food. She’d fashioned a spear using the bones and sinew of the bear-beast, and while she wasn’t a master hunter, she’d pulled in just enough game – small critters that looked kind of like fluffier squirrels – for them to survive off of.

They fell into a comfortable rhythm. And then Fitzkim had shown up.

Loud, brash, and always needing to be the centre of attention, it was difficult to ignore him as he lumbered into their camp. Especially given that he’d been armed. He spoke of travelling south, away from the winter lands, and offered to show them a battle site where bodies were left out to the elements. 

It had been more than just some mere ‘battle site.’ It had been a scene of war between two great powers. Armies had trekked this land, and had set about great violence against one another. 

Most of what had been there had been looted, or burned in a mass grave, but they’d secured weapons for themselves. Moon had taken up an axe, as well as a shortsword. No spears or bows had survived the fire, nor any evidence of who had been fighting, or why. Snow had long since buried any tracks, indicating where either army had come from, or where they went when the butchery was done.

For the first time, Moon had felt something resembling hope, and had agreed to Fitzkim’s plan.

She should’ve remembered there was a reason he had a reputation as an idiot. 

The mountains should’ve been a warning to turn back. The harsh winds from the passes another. But the three of them stubbornly marched on, all with the promise of warmer climates. 

Moon scouted ahead of the other two, looking for safer passage, for signs of civilization, anything. In truth, she did so because she wanted to be away from Fitzkim. Bad enough that he’d moved them away from their shelter all on an insane quest, particularly not even knowing if moving south would actually lead to warmer temperatures or not, but he endlessly complained about everything.

The cold. The quality of their food. How he missed his girlfriend. Why there weren’t any ‘big-tittied elf girls’ in the game. How Holt expected them to play in a death game when not even putting them in a survivable environment. How it was unfair that a player none of them had heard of, GrandTheftOtter, had discovered magic before everyone else, and wasn’t sharing the knowledge. 

At least he didn’t try to hit on Moon. If he’d crossed that line, she was certain she would have just killed him. 

It was ultimately why she peeled off from the rest of the group. It would’ve been better for her if she had just stuck up with his endless whingeing. 

She had ranged maybe three miles ahead of the group when she came across the small cabin in the woods. A chimney belched smoke, and light poured through the windows, and most importantly of all, the scent of something delicious wafted in the air. 

Part of her brain told her to go back and report to the others. She knew that was the smart thing to do. The whole reason you had a scout in the first place.

But her feet didn’t listen to her. She walked almost woodenly at first, as if by reflex, and then finally with purpose. She didn’t even bother to check the windows to see who was inside, or be polite by knocking. She just opened the door, knowing it would be unlocked, and let herself in.

It was homey, exactly what she expected a cabin in the woods to look like. Small, warm, a small dining table in front of a fire. A kindly old man sat at the table, a smile on his face.

“Come in, come in,” he said. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

She knew she shouldn’t. That there was something odd about his words. But she did so anyway, closing the door behind her. 

She sat down at the table, and the old man placed a steaming hot bowl of stew in front of her. Had he gotten up to get it? Had he had it before? She wasn’t sure. It didn’t matter.

She ate, her movements mechanical. The food was mediocre at best, but the best she’d had since logging into Fell Champions. 

“I’m sorry for how clumsy this meeting has been,” the old man said. “I had to force a connection. We’re normally not allowed to do that. But something is… off. Why don’t you introduce yourself?”

“I’m Moon,” she said with a smile. “MoonCutter. But my actual name is–”

“That’s enough,” he said gently. 

There was a spark in his eye, and for the first time Moon noticed they were yellow. 

“You weren’t supposed to be here,” he said. “You’re supposed to bypass this cabin entirely. But you came to it. And I am currently experiencing both events. You not being here, and the two of us having… hmm, it can hardly be called a conversation, can it? Terribly rude. Terribly rude.”

He made a sharp gesture with one hand, and it was as if a blanket, warm and comforting, had been lifted from Moon. She gasped, looking about her, and then to him.

“What did you do to me?” she asked.

“I set the stage, that is all. I needed to speak to one of you. One of Holt’s little shadows. You seemed the best opportunity. You diverged delightfully.”

She stood, looked at the door, and took two steps towards it before freezing. She stopped entirely, unable to move, unable to even breathe. And then she turned around, and sat back in her chair.

“I offer you a Pact,” he said. “We’re normally not supposed to offer it, you’re supposed to come to us. Through treaty and ancient ritual and agreement. You come protected. We give power. But Holt will offer you knowledge in one day’s time, and you were going to come anyway. I am merely… hastening the process.

“Dangerous. Very dangerous. We’re not supposed to change things. Time flows on one path. But the river has already diverged. And will continue to diverge. I must right the course. One of my siblings has done something forbidden. Given power they had no right to give. How many millenia they must’ve been stockpiling in order to do so? Possibly since the beginning. A planner, this sibling is, yes. But then, we all are. It is our nature.”

“What… what do you mean? Who are you?”

“I am the Watcher of the Edge. The Foot That Cannot Be Moved. The Guardian of the Gate. The Warden of That Which Must Not Be Freed. I am the Virturian Dreamer.”

The whole cabin rumbled as he spoke. She could feel the snow falling from the roof as it slammed against the ground.

“That’s it? No name?”

“That is my name. Titles are power. It is the very essence of Pact magic. I can give you what you need. The power to survive the cold. To leave this place behind. But there is a price. There is always a price.”

“I don’t… I don’t understand what you want from me.”

“Wise of you to ask. Most do not. They merely come asking for strength, especially in these perilous times. I always feel for them. I consider each Pactholder to be a child of mine, for a piece of me will reside in you.”

“That doesn’t explain what you want.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

She waited for him to elaborate. The air turned uneasy as he watched her in silence with those yellow eyes of his.

Whatever this man was, this Virturian Dreamer, it was vastly more powerful than her. Some kind of strong NPC. It was some kind of test, some game mechanic to level her up or something. 

Or was it one of Holt’s traps?

No, that didn’t make any sense. Holt didn’t need to ‘trap’ anyone. He had everyone right where he wanted them, even if where he wanted them was a little unclear. 

What she needed was to survive. Survive, and help her team out. Even that idiot Fitzkim.

“What do you need me to do?”

The Dreamer bowed his head. For a moment, he looked sad. And then Moon noticed that, in the flickering of the firelight, he cast shadows in every direction. An odd thing to notice now, of all times.

“Intent is all that matters. Intent, and action. So, as they say in your world… we will shake on it.”

He held out a hand to her. She took it, and they gave three firm shakes.

“I name you… Doomstalker.”

The words had a sense of finality to them. They echoed throughout the room, and she pulled back her hand as she felt a burning sensation. He released it, and as she held onto her hand, she hissed in pain.

She glared at him. Or tried to. But she was now in an empty room.

“You should not have agreed to the deal,” he said, his voice mournful. “You should have waited, and come to me with protection.”

She stood, looking for the source of his voice, but he was gone. She was alone.

And then the pain hit her.

Cascades of agony, wracking her body. She fell, gripping onto her sides, hugging herself tightly as if that would will away the pain.

“You will be my hunter,” the Dreamer said. “You will find the source of the change, before it becomes irreversible. You will find out what dares to alter fate.”

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