In the Shadow of Mountains - a litRPG adventure

‘Do few things, but do them well.’ – Solomense, barbarian king and leader of the mountain clans

A cold wetness tickled my neck. I flinched instinctively, my body responding before my mind had processed the sensations. A few crunches of something heavy on stony ground heralded a brief reprieve from the uncomfortable feeling before it returned, moving up to my cheek.

Something wet and slimy caressed my face, poking me harshly in the eyes as I tried to open them. I caught the hazy outline of something grey and huge before a pink blur slapped me full in the face and knocked my head back down.

I groaned, and before I could rise a paw the size of my head pressed down upon my torso, locking me in place. Pinning me. A great maw opened above, teeth the size of my fingers and twice as thick greeted me, and a gust of foul-smelling air rushed over me. The jaws moved to engulf my head before snapping closed, but instead of death, I felt once more the cold ticking sensation as a snout sniffed delicately at me.

My brain had finally caught up to the dangerous state of reality and shouted at my body to wriggle backwards. The paw pinning me to the earth was a vice though, solid and immovable, and all I managed was to do was strain my neck as I jerked my head back.

The snout withdrew and the huge mass before me let out a snorting bellow as it reared up to its full height. I looked on slack jawed. I had never seen a bear in the flesh before, but I knew instinctively that this was no normal bear. The creature before me couldn’t have been much smaller than a rhino.

It towered over me, 3 meters tall at a minimum, and its paws shook the earth as it slammed them down. I was utterly transfixed, and the bellow it loosed as it fell reverberated through my chest. I thought I caught something there in the sound as it shook my blood with its power, some sense of intent it was communicating. A primal instinct screaming ‘back off’ with all the power a 2-ton killing machine could bring to bear. Which was quite a lot as it turned out.

As far as displays of dominance went, that was the most overwhelming one I’d ever seen, by a longshot. The bear seemed to agree with me, as it swung itself around to plod off down the slope.

I quickly shot a look behind me to see if the path was clear. I knew there were certain rules for dealing with bears – run, stand your ground, or play dead etc. but I didn’t know what types of bears those rules corresponded to.

Not to mention that all bets were off in this new world anyway. Wolves would chase you for a hundred miles just for killing one of their own, badgers would fight to the death over an easy meal, and frogs would hide in your hair overnight just to attack you in the morning when you moved. As far as I was concerned, bears could do whatever the fuck they wanted.

Better to make a run for it while its back is turned before it changes its mind, right? Wrong, apparently.

As I craned my neck around, hoping for a view of the comfortingly steep and treacherous canyons of rock making up the ridgeline, I was instead confronted with the no less treacherous but much less comforting view of around a dozen wolves. Two huge creatures paced at the head of the pack, snouts pulled back above their front teeth and snapping at the air. The low snarling was punctuated periodically by the sharp snap of their powerful jaws closing and their teeth clacking together.

I flinched again hearing that noise and backed away without thinking. I glanced in front of me again and saw the massive form of the bear moving off, and as I whipped my head around to the wolves, I saw them start to slink forward, heads lowering and jagged snarls giving way to a lower, more continuous growling as they closed on me.

Sometimes a bad choice is better than no choice at all. One last glance at piercing yellow eyes weaving on top of a sinuous neck was enough to make my choice clear.

I scrabbled to my feet and backed away towards the plodding form of the great bear. Once I confirmed that the wolves were being careful to stay a certain distance back, I turned around and slipped up behind the beast of grey fur. I tried to walk softly, keeping my footfalls light and my form stable. No sudden movements, no loud noises. I activated Stalking to try and keep my presence hidden and immediately the huge head swung around to pin me with its glare.

I froze again, and raised my hands placatingly. “Easy! Easy man, I mean no harm.” I was startled at how calm and low my voice came out, more a growl than individual words, and I was equally startled to realise I was trying to talk to a goddamn massive bear! but I guessed it couldn’t really hurt things so I carried on;

“I’m just trying to not get eaten by those wolves. They’ve been following me for a while now, so I’m just gonna follow along nice and calm, and I’ll pop off as soon as I can survive the attempt, alright?”

The bear genuinely seemed to consider it. I couldn’t tell if it was evaluating my body language, actually understanding my words somehow, just pausing for no reason at all, or had a great sense of comic timing, but either way it did seem to actually consider me for a moment before chuffing and continuing on.

So began the most surreal walk of my life – sticking close to the side of a massive bear, with a pack of weird, spindly wolves trotting along after us. It would almost be comical if it wasn’t for the very real danger to my life hanging over me.

I was wracking my brain for a plan, some method of escape from the situation, but I truly was in a stalemate. The wolves wouldn’t attack the bear, and the bear wouldn’t attack me without reason it seemed. But I wouldn’t be able to just follow along forever surely? I could hope that it would lead me to its den and let me snuggle up inside next to the massive ball of fur, but I didn’t think it was a realistic hope. Besides, sleeping in an enclosed space next to the multi-tonne beast was likely just as dangerous as trying to fight the whole pack naked and without a weapon.

As we passed into the treeline, I started to really struggle with decision paralysis. Every few minutes we’d skirt around the side of a massive stone boulder, and I’d frantically examine it, trying to figure out if it was scalable by the wolves behind me. Before I could be sure though, we’d be passing by and I’d have to choose whether to risk it now, or just keep going.

When I had a bad choice against another bad choice, I found it pretty easy to decide. But when there was the option of avoiding making a choice at all, just following along and letting the universe roll the dice for me, it was almost impossible to convince myself to risk it. So I followed along behind the bear, hoping for a good option, and delaying the inevitable.

I decided to trust my legs to carry me forwards without conscious control – when had that ever ended badly? – and focused internally on my status, to see if my new class could give me an edge.

Ancestry: Human (unevolved)

Level: 15

Class: Blood of the Hills

Titles: God-touched

Attribute allocation:

Strength: 10

Agility: 8

Endurance: 13

Perception: 10

Cognition: 9

Available attributes: 5

Skill merges available:

Simple Traps, Stalking and Improvised Weapons can merge into Guerrilla Warfare. Accept merge?

Guerrilla Warfare – Passive. The low hills and the mountains they protect are known as the graveyard of empires for a reason. You know this land like no other, so lead your enemies into the twisting valleys and bleed them until they break. Strike from every angle, brutal and swift, before melting into the surroundings and denying your enemy the fight they crave.

Hill Foraging, Running and Meat Preparation can merge into Wilderness Endurance Hunter. Accept merge?

Wilderness Endurance Hunter – Passive. To the animals that call the hills their home, you are inexorable death. While they overheat and exhaust themselves fleeing your presence, you follow steadily. At the end of their flight, as their body is failing them, they find only you. Supplement your diet with the foraging skills you have learned and dress your skills with the knowledge gained from experience.

Scrambling and Sure-footed can merge into Cloven-Hooved. Accept merge?

Cloven-Hooved – Passive. The hardy mountain goat comes in many variants; Ibex, Oryx, or Flame-Horn – they all share one defining trait. No animal can navigate such varied terrain with such speed and agility. While you may not be the fastest sprinter or the strongest climber, you will become the jack of all trades on the mountains. Further levels in this skill will allow you to reach beyond what is naturally possible, combining the endurance and power of two legs with the stability of four.

New class skills available:

Heart of the Hills – Active. Through peaks and valleys, canyons and ridges, you have travelled, but the totality of your journey is flat. Calm. This skill grants a measure of certainty and tranquillity even in the most extreme circumstances, for while the hills ever rise and fall, their centre is stationary. You are the heart of the hills, and you will not be moved.

Check-step – Active. Alter your direction in a flash. Control your movement and harness your momentum to spring like the Jackrabbit at a moment’s notice. Further levels grant greater control and faster reflexes when active.

Hill-folk – Passive. You are sturdy, built from sterner stuff than most. The blood of the hills runs through your veins, and your body has been remade by the harsh environment you live in. Further levels improve the increased endurance and toughness provided by this skill.

I’d reviewed my options, and frantically accepted the merges, and then accepted the new skills offered by my class. I assigned two attributes to strength, two in agility and one in cognition, and clenched my teeth against the rush of euphoria to prevent myself from crying out in relief and ecstasy.

Experiencing the changes wrought by so many attributes allocated at once was indescribable and further confirmed my suspicion that the more I spent at once, the more overwhelming it would be. I’m definitely getting addicted to this.

My status now looked more impressive, with all of my attributes finally in the double figures;

Ancestry: Human (unevolved)

Level: 15

Class: Blood of the Hills

Titles: God-touched

Attribute allocation:

Strength: 12

Agility: 10

Endurance: 13

Perception: 10

Cognition: 10

Available attributes: 0

Current skills:

Guerrilla Warfare: Level 3. Passive.

Wilderness Endurance Hunter: Level 4. Passive.

Cloven-Hooved: Level 4. Passive.

Heart of the Hills: Level 1. Active.

Check Step: Level 1. Active.

Hill-Folk: Level 1. Active.

Open Skill Slot

Open Skill Slot

I nearly whooped in delight before holding myself back at the last moment. I was too giddy from the attribute allocation and skill merging, not to mention the recent class up. Add to that ingredient list the dangerous and bizarre situation I was currently in, and the urgent need to make a decision, and I’d made a delightful cocktail of craziness that was impairing my judgement and slurring my thoughts.

I activated Heart of the Hills for the first time in a last-ditch attempt to rein myself in and the results were immediate. It felt as if my whole head had been dumped into icy water and then scrubbed for 10 minutes with warm smooth rocks until dry and raw, except solely focused on my mind.

The world snapped into focus, and I began to instantly take stock of the situation. I couldn’t keep following the bear forever, and waiting until circumstance forced me to respond would not allow me to use my best weapon – the ability to choose the battlefield.

I had a new class focused on keeping me alive and dangerous in the environment I was currently moving through, and skills specifically tailored to baiting out and dealing with larger groups of enemies while alone. I currently had no weapons to hand, but my small eating knife was still in the inner pocket of my cloak, although it was chipped and brittle from my repeated attempts to sharpen it with rounded river stones.

I needed somewhere to hole up and create weapons and traps, and protect myself from immediate death by slavering wolf-jaws. The next boulder I came across that was close enough to trees for me to climb to the top, and large enough to keep the wolves off of me, I would make a run for.

I stopped Heart of the Hills, feeling the strain on my soul vanish abruptly. I hadn’t noticed how hard I was working just to keep it active for a few moments, but my forehead ached like I’d been frowning for an hour nonstop. The heightened state of calm dropped away, and all my doubts and fears came rushing back on a roaring tide of confusion. I held firm to the plan I had formed, and after a few seconds I had somewhat stabilised the panic.

I plodded along beside the enormous bear, watching in awe as it casually brushed past huge trees, setting their branches rattling in the canopy above.

After a long, nerve-racking stretch of walking, I noticed another large mound emerging through the trees as we moved towards it. 6 meters high and shear at the sides, the moss covering the huge rock glistened in the sun. A gap in the canopy a few meters wide allowed a beam of delicate sunlight to illuminate the boulder, as it pushed away trees with its immense bulk.

I took the sign from heaven for what it clearly was and waited until we were alongside the rock before drawing in a breath and bolting towards it. When I reached the base, I leapt at the nearest tree and scrabbled up the low hanging branches. Snapping twigs behind me alerted me to my impending doom and I swung myself around the trunk by the branch above me, flailing my legs to provide more rotation. A shape flew past me, inches from where I had been before, and the sharp snap of teeth echoed in the still forest.

I felt the tree shake as the bear roared in annoyance at the bedlam my quick exit and the wolves following me had caused, and delighted in the high-pitched yelp I heard cut off abruptly. A final parting gift from my massive companion.

My scream soon joined the cacophony though, as I felt jaws clamp on my leg, sliding down my calf and tearing great furrows out of my leg. I jerked my leg back instinctively trying to get away from the pain, and the wolf fell to the floor, my blood dripping from its teeth. I pulled myself up to the branch above and set to climbing, desperate to put as much space between me and the pack as possible.

We panted together, me half-way up the tree and spattering blood from my wounded calf, and the pack below circling and staring in anticipation of a meal long overdue. I whimpered in pain, but grit my teeth against the feeling in reflex, tamping down the growing panic and looking to the injury on my leg.

It wasn’t good, but it wouldn’t kill me. Probably wouldn’t even slow me down after a few days of rest, given my enhanced endurance. It was a flesh wound as far as I could tell, bleeding profusely but putting me in no danger of bleeding out, and seeming to avoid any important tendons or ligaments. I would have trouble flexing my right foot until it healed, so walking and running were both out for a while as well, but I just needed to clean, bind and rest it. Hard to do when you’re stuck in a tree though.

I looked to the mound, gauging the distance before shuffling up a couple more branches. I then leapt over, crumpling as soon as my feet hit the stone in an attempt to cushion and shield my injured leg from the impact.

I rolled onto my back and laughed weakly at the open sky above, trying to find the satisfaction in the successful escape rather than stew on the pain. I wasn’t particularly successful in that endeavour but at least I was trying.

Another brief activation of Heart of the Hills got me through the painful process of binding my right calf with a few strips ripped from my shirt. I had planned to use my knife on the shirt to cut the strips away, but my improved strength was more than a match for the task which was a welcome surprise. Dreams of picking up tree trunks and hauling around boulders were all well and good, but I’d underestimated the difference a bit of extra grip strength made.

Leg bound and items wrapped in my cloak on top of the several meter round summit of the boulder, I spent some time lazing in the golden sun, waiting for my heart to slow its racing. Time passed and I watched the sun crawl across the sky, burning pain turning into a dull throbbing, then a gentle ache. Eventually, my mind turned to my next steps. Time to see if Guerrilla Warfare would live up to the name.

First, I took stock of what I had to work with. The aforementioned knife, a fire-starting runed pebble that I could only power from a few meters away and only got hot enough to spark kindling after a dozen seconds of gradual warming, a partly cannibalised shirt, and a warm cloak.

But then I started to catalogue the scenery, guided by instincts not my own. Small rocks littered the roof of this boulder, ranging from pebbles to a few the size of my head. They appeared to be of the same tough granite that protruded from most of the valley. In their current form the smaller stones were mostly useless, although they might make a good distraction. With a bit of luck and a lot of effort however, I could create something transformative - tools.

Innate knowledge bubbled to the surface of my mind. I had no clue that the mineral composition of granite, mostly feldspar and quartz, allowed for micro traces of water to enter the stone and cause minute fissures that would crack open when direct pressure was applied. Nothing so precise. But I did have a sense that I could create small, sharp slivers from granite stones with a little will. So I set to smacking rocks against one another, continuing an age old tradition dating back millions of years.

Unlike early hominids, I was a bit of an idiot and lacked a lifetime of experience with different materials, and so I wasn’t particularly successful at first. But after a few nasty blisters had formed and the sun had further raced across the sky, I finally had a few acceptable tools.

I slapped the rounded stone against my palm and cupped it, examining the flaked head of my impromptu axe. It wouldn’t do much against a moving target, but luckily my targets weren’t moving. I examined the nearby trees, searching for a branch slightly thinner than my wrist. Climbing onto the tree in full view of most of the pack below me, I began to chip away at the branch I’d selected, where it met the larger branch I sat on.

It was fairly disconcerting to straddle a branch 5 meters above the floor while hammering away at the very branch straddled, knowing a fall would mean certain death. That’s the great thing about death though – its one hell of a motivator.

Long moments passed with only the heavy thud of stone on wood and my breathing filling my ears as I slowly worked my way through the thick branch. Once finished, I was tempted to throw it onto the boulder and search for more, but a blast of Heart of the Hills empowered consideration led me to the conclusion that it was foolish.

Test the concept before spending most of your energy on a plan that might not work. Sensible. Boring. I shook my head free of the thoughts and made it back to my trusty boulder. A few more minutes hammering away with my granite tool had stripped the branch of its own smaller offshoots, and I began to hack at the end, sharpening the stick into a thick javelin. I then propped the fire-starter pebble between a few rocks and activated it, running the sharpened head of my javelin against the pebble to harden it up. More time passed in a blink as I worked, and soon I hefted the finished product with satisfaction.

It was slightly crooked, with a vaguely pointed end and abysmal weight distribution, but it did resemble a primitive throwing spear. It’s a pointy stick, my internal critic tried to snark at me, but I blasted the voice to nothing with another quick application of Heart of the Hills.

It was quickly becoming a new favourite skill of mine, although if Guerrilla Warfare could get me out of this mess then it might be in contention too. I leaned over the side of my rock and looked down at the massed wolves below.

Most had slunk off into the forest, likely in search of other prey to sustain them, but a small cadre of five smaller Tarkenzi’s stuck around, all looking up towards me as I reached the edge. No doubt they were hoping for me to fall off and make their job easier, but alas, I would endeavour to bitterly disappoint them.

I sat on the edge, waiting for them to settle, but every minor adjustment I made to my position created a swift response. They were alert and obviously focused on me, as much as they might have been looking elsewhere. So I fell back onto the arguably most important and least interesting skill that made up the Guerrilla Warfare skill – stalking.

I waited, patiently and without expectation. I moved through some light stretches and then tried to rehearse the best technique for throwing my heavy javelin. I tried to visualise what a perfect throw would look like, leaning on the instincts granted by the old Improvised Weapons skill that now sat neatly within the larger mesh of Guerrilla Warfare.

I wouldn’t have time to pull my arm way back for the perfect extension if I wanted to remain undetected until I threw, especially if I was throwing from a small, covered location. It needed to be a fast, simple falling motion, with my hand high above my shoulder, and my elbow only extending towards the bottom of the arc.

Repetition was the mother of learning after all, and I spent enough time rehearsing the movement for the sun to dip below the ridgeline and withdraw its warmth from my world. I settled down to rest, leaning my back against a tree that itself leaned against the top of the boulder, keeping a view down at the group of wolves below.

They had broken apart by now, two resting by the foot of my rock, and three others roaming and playing through the trees nearby. I eased back to the jumble of rocks by the small pile of all my worldly possessions, and picked up one of the larger ones roughly the size of my head.

It would have been difficult to carry for me a month or two ago, too unwieldy and misshapen for me to grip easily when combined with its weight. But now, my fingers wrapped themselves snugly around the edges, digging into grooves and slight ridges in the granite to find purchase. I shuffled over to my former seat and pressed myself into the wooden backrest.

I allowed myself to doze for a while, shifting every now and then for comfort. Weeks of sleeping in trees had ensured my body would wake before I lost my balance, so I wasn’t concerned about falling. The danger was sleeping through the night and waking up to a new day, hungry and dehydrated, with the clock ticking ever closer to my death. That awareness kept me from sleeping too deeply though, and upon shifting awake the third time, I noticed neither of the wolves resting below me bothered to look up or adjust themselves. Perfect.

Slowly, deliberately, with great care and agonizing precision, I coiled my legs under myself and stood. Reaching down I gripped the large rock and hefted it above my head, controlling my breathing and motions to not alert the creatures below. A brief second of doubt - Let sleeping dogs lie – was purged from my mind with a quick blast of Heart of the Hills. A few more seconds to centre myself and control my anticipation, and I stepped forwards to the edge and released the heavy payload.

It dropped like…well, like a stone. The first sound I heard was a sickening crunch and a plaintive yelp, followed by whining. Startled barking followed an instant later and a frenzy of noise and motion rent the cool night air.

I sat back into my make-shift seat, learning against the tree and watching the reaction of the wolves below. They had gathered together now and were alternately sniffing at the body sprawled on the floor and staring up at me in recrimination. Plaintive whining from the injured wolf was hard to ignore, but I paid no mind whatsoever to the snarling and barking from the others directed at me. I didn’t enjoy inflicting pain on any sentient creature, but they were trying to kill me for defending myself. I would have no pity for the aggressors.

Fuck ‘em, who’s next?