Path of Dragons

The morning air held a distinct chill as Elijah leaped over a burbling stream. When he reached the other side, he slowed to a stop before shifting into his human form. With a sigh, he unshouldered his pack, setting his two staves aside as he squatted next to the stream. After dipping his hands into the water, he splashed his face.

How long had it been since he’d killed the group of hunters? Two days? Three? It might’ve even been a week. After he’d slaughtered the leader, who’d been a little more durable than Elijah had expected, he’d taken the time to loot the corpses, coming away with nothing worthwhile besides a few extra Ethereum that he added to the pile at the bottom of his pack. Other than that, he’d also taken the sack of mushroom flesh. Everything else, he’d left behind, as much because he didn’t want to strip the bodies as due to his limited carrying capacity.

However, one thing he did carry with him was the guilt.

Despite the justifications that kept playing through his mind, the fact was that he’d unhesitatingly murdered four people. Certainly, he’d killed before, and far more than he ever could have imagined possible in the years preceding the world’s transformation. But they’d all been gnomes and goblins and elves. Or they had been the pseudo-real people populating the towers. But these last four were humans, just like him. And he wasn’t so far removed from the civilized existence that had once characterized his life that he didn’t find it at least somewhat repulsive.

At the end of the day, he was a murderer. Sure, he had his reasons, and for the most part, he accepted them as just. But most was not all, and Elijah was still trying to deal with the psychological ramifications of his actions.

The worst part was that, given the same set of factors, he would make the same choice every single time. Those men had flippantly killed the bear for no more reason than that they could, and that was something he refused to accept. What that said about him and his place in the new world, Elijah wasn’t certain, but he knew his heart well enough to recognize that he would continue along that path, even if it one day made him a monster.

Perhaps that was why he’d become a Druid in the first place, because he had the capacity to look at the world from that perspective. And because he had the wherewithal to act, even if it meant going places most people would not.

In any case, Elijah felt the stain of guilt – faint though it was – that would require some time to wash away. In the meantime, though, he felt a more immediate need to wash himself of the inevitable filth of more than a week living and hunting in the wilderness. So, without further ado, he quickly undressed, then retrieved the much-diminished bar of homemade soap from his pack before stepping into the frigid stream and taking an impromptu bath.

He even cast Healing Rain to assist in the process. Even as dirt, mud, and congealed blood were washed from his body, so too were fatigue as well as the worst of the guilt clinging to his psyche. It didn’t magically disappear, but the symbolic nature of his wilderness shower gave him both the context as well as the time to come to terms with his actions.

In a vacuum, murder was wrong. He knew that. But he couldn’t bring himself to regret killing the hunters. From what he’d seen, the world was a better place without them.

So, by the time he had finished, he was clean in body, mind, and spirit. In the aftermath, he propped himself against a boulder and let himself relax for the first time since the night he’d rid the world of the hunters’ stain. With the sun warming him, it was only a matter of time before he dozed off.

He didn’t dream, but when he awoke, a sense of contentment enveloped his mind. He also couldn’t help but notice that he’d attracted a small audience. A squirrel the size of a beaver sat on the limb of a nearby oak tree, chittering down at him with mingled annoyance, curiosity, and fear.

Elijah sighed, then pushed himself to his feet. As he dusted himself off, the squirrel’s chittering grew more urgent. Finally, Elijah said, “Fine, fine. I’m getting out of your territory, you little tyrant.”

That didn’t placate the creature, and it didn’t cease its tirade until Elijah retrieved his staves and pack, then took on his draconid form. The moment he did, the squirrel went silent before fleeing through the forest’s canopy. Elijah just shook his scaley head before taking off in the opposite direction.

As the days wore on, the forest thinned, and more evidence of a fallen civilization presented itself. The remnants of old roads bore dozens of abandoned automobiles. Some seemed mostly intact, but others had clearly been ripped apart by powerful beasts. Still others showed signs of salvage, having been dismantled for parts. That was an encouraging sign even if Elijah didn’t see any evidence of current occupation in the area.

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As he kept an easterly heading, he started seeing more and more proof of human habitation. However, he couldn’t ignore one, simple fact – the actual signs he saw were not in English. By virtue of the system’s translation feature, he could still read them, but he still recognized that they were written in a language he shouldn’t have been capable of understanding. He did know enough to recognize that it was Greek, though.

Which made no sense, considering that his island was in the American Pacific Northwest. But then again, the world had been transformed, and its geography had been rearranged. So, with that framing his expectations, it should not have been surprising to suddenly stumble upon a region that had once been located on the other side of the world. In any case, Elijah couldn’t complain with the steadily rising temperatures he’d experienced since descending from the more mountainous region around Norcastle.

It wasn’t warm, per se. But it was much more temperate.

Along the way, he ran into Voxx from time to time, but none of them were particularly strong. So, even though he killed each one that he found, they only provided a trickle of experience.

He shook his head at that. Hanging out with actual human beings had resulted in him changing some of his terminology. Instead of referring to the influx of Ethera he received upon killing an enemy as kill energy, he had begun to think of it using a gaming term that was popular in Norcastle. Experience. It seemed fitting enough.

In any case, the result was that he hadn’t gained a single level since leaving the tower, and as a result, he found that he was a little irritable at the lack of progress. That was odd, too. He’d gone weeks between levels back on his island, and that hadn’t bothered him. Perhaps he was growing addicted to progression. Or more probably, it was an issue of mindset. Back home, he didn’t feel the need to constantly progress because, well, it was home. But in the wilderness? Things were different.

Regardless, he didn’t intend to go out of his way to hunt powerful monsters just to gain a few levels here and there. If he did, he would be no better than the hunters he’d found so disgusting. But killing Voxx – even the weak versions he kept stumbling upon – was always a nice distraction.

He hoped it would prove profitable, too. He knew that each kill was recorded by the system, so he likely had quite a sizable reward waiting for him to visit a Branch. Not that he had much to spend it on, of course. There were a few things he wouldn’t mind buying back in Ironshore, and he’d foregone purchasing quite a few guides that looked useful because they were incredibly expensive, so there was always something he’d need to buy.

More than anything, though, he wanted to find someone – anyone – to identify the loot he’d taken from the tower. He was still carrying the giant ogre staff, and he had a small arsenal of swords and daggers in his pack. Finally, there was the curious reward he’d gotten upon defeating the Reaver and conquering the tower. The Claws of Gluttony didn’t have an overt purpose, but he was certain that they would be somehow useful. He just needed someone to help him discover what form that usefulness might take.

Those thoughts occupied one facet of Elijah’s mind, while the others were free to focus on his environment. His diligence bore fruit as he hunted his way across the region, and eventually, he came upon a road that led into a moderate sized Greek town. From a distance, Elijah could see people going to and fro, but none of them strayed outside the city’s stone wall without a couple of armed warriors to protect them.

As Elijah drew closer – under the Guise of the Unseen – he couldn’t ignore the fact that the surrounding fields had been left untended. Moreover, there were a handful of empty paddocks that had clearly been used for livestock. And finally, he saw the locals’ furtive glances and hurried gaits. Clearly, they were afraid of something, though Elijah couldn’t figure out what it was.

Because, other than the humans in and around the city, the immediate region was almost entirely deserted. There were birds and a few squirrels chittering and chattering in the trees, but on the ground, there was nothing. No hares. No deer. Elijah picked up the scent of a few Voxx, but after following those trails, he found that the monsters had long since been killed.

As he explored, Elijah saw a couple of signs that declared the town to be Argos, which sounded vaguely familiar. In any case, he quickly exhausted the possibilities of the surrounding wilderness and fields, so he prepared himself to enter the city proper. Though, once he made that decision, he came upon a difficult choice.

Did he want to enter the town as a human and risk something like what had happened back in Norcastle? Or would he prefer to slip in under the Guise of the Unseen, access the Branch – if there was one – then slip back out without any of the residents, aside from whoever manned the Branch itself, being the wiser.

In the end, though, Elijah’s decision came down to two factors. First, he had no intention of slinking around like a thief for the rest of his life. His draconid form was powerful, and he would use it accordingly. However, letting himself fall into the habit of always being unseen was not healthy, and it held little appeal for him. He wanted to talk to actual people. He wanted to socialize. He wanted to drink and eat and do all the things he’d missed during his solitary confinement on his island.

Second, Elijah didn’t think he could accomplish his goals while flying entirely under the radar. The Branch’s attendant – or Envoy of the Cult of the World Tree, he’d learned back in Ironshore – would doubtless know of his presence the moment he came into range of the Branch. But more, he wanted to identify his items – and maybe even sell some of them – resupply, get some information, and, perhaps most importantly of all, sleep in a real bed.

He couldn’t do any of those things while in his draconid form.

So, without any further hesitation, Elijah retreated out of sight of the guards manning the gate, then let his draconid form slide away. After that, he took a deep breath, tried to smooth down his unkempt hair, then set off on a path that would take him to the city’s entrance.

Soon enough, the guards caught sight of him, but they didn’t react with the hostility he might have expected. Instead, they simply watched his approach with grim resignation.

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