Periapt [Survival in the world of a Cursed CRPG, Progression, Crafting, LitRPG]

“You know it’s funny,” Hollis said as he unloaded his supplies onto the stump. “When I packed, I wasn’t thinking about pure practicality. I was just worried about getting robbed. In the game, if you stayed at the workhouse, or the hostel, or especially the brothel, your stuff would go missing if it wasn’t concealed. I thought that was going to be a big problem here. Pickpockets and whatnot.”

He spoke to the little firefly on the stump, who stared up at him with great attention.

“Course now I know that’s the least of my worries,” he said.

He surveyed his supplies. He had not done a proper inventory after he lost his real backpack. Luckily, redundancy was one of his strengths.

In fact, his Outfitting skill was his highest-level skill at 7. As far as he understood it, a 10 meant peak human ability, so he must have been pretty organized. Outfitting was the skill that covered logistics and transportation of goods. It may have sounded humdrum, but he knew that abilities like the packrat’s metaphysical storage pouch scaled with Outfitting, so it could have some powerful functions.

He went through his supplies.

He had two guns, a bolt-action rifle and a revolver with a small supply of rounds between them in a pouch that attached to his belt and ran down the inside of his pants. Thieves would have targeted bullets first, so keeping them hidden was necessary. Of course, he wasn’t even sure the guns in this world used compatible ammunition, but he had to be safe.

He had four blades: a hatchet and a full-tang knife on his belt, and a small sheathed blade that hung from his neck. His multitool was in his pants pocket.

He had four ways of making a fire. Ferro rod, flint and steel, and a stormproof lighter were spread around his person, with the flint and steel concealed in his right boot just in case. The lining of his jacket had been supplemented with small waterproof pouches of carbonized cotton to replace some of the padding. They would light easily if needed.

He had flattened spools of tarred twine, snare wire, and paracord for trapping and various uses, as well as ten premade snares. An Altoids tin of fishing supplies was in his breast pocket (hooks and sinkers) next to a hand reel, which was a simple wooden handle with prongs wrapped tight with fishing line. His sling folded nicely into his jacket pocket.

He had a netting needle for making fish nets, though he would try almost any method of hunting before he resorted to using it. His canteen was strapped over his shoulder, but under his jacket.

His leather gloves were in one of the inside pockets of his jacket with his meager medical supplies such as a tourniquet, needle and thread, and tweezers. If he needed real medical supplies, nature could provide in Periapt, assuming it didn’t kill him first. He also brought navigation basics like a compass (which turned out to point to a distant mountain instead of north) and some writing materials just in case.

Most of what he brought, he could replace through crafting, scavenging, or bartering, but it was nice to have a strong start.

As he went through these items, he described them in detail, noting their uses and why he chose them. He found himself trying to impress Willo for reasons he didn’t understand. The little bug was bound to him without a choice in the matter. He felt an innate desire to show his worth and preparation.

But that was just the beginning. It was time to use these supplies to put food on the table, or the stump, as it were. Before he went setting traps, it was best to get a lay of the land.

The fields and woods near shore were practically lifeless. There was no game, and even the edible plants were picked clean in places.

As he searched the wild areas near town for evidence of game trails, animal droppings, or burrows, he came up empty. The fog ate everything. The only signs of life were the seabirds, which seemed to have developed the habit of dropping their breakfast from great heights all over the streets of Beckett’s Sound, only to feast on the remains later.

Dead or dying fish littered the town near shore, but only for a while, as the birds cleaned up after themselves thoroughly.

One sea creature, a crab with a one claw bigger than its body, was squaring off against a seabird near the pier where Hollis was supposed to have been guided in choosing a profession. The crab and the bird both wanted a nearby fish that flopped silently in the street.

[Naturalism lvl. 5] You see a Widowmaker Gull and a Boiler Crab fighting over a Drop Panner.

The inspector was wrong. What Hollis saw was breakfast. He wasn't above collecting an easy meal.

Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.

Willo had not eaten ever since metamorphosing to a flying beetle. He had no mouth, but shared Hollis’ hunger. He flew just behind his human, clearly curious about the whole ordeal.

Hollis had seen these crabs before in the game. The trick was to sneak up on them. The gull was not a threat to him on the ground. He could take it out with minimal effort.

He had a sling, but that wasn’t necessary. He had some experience with these beasts. Instead of going for the kill on the gull, he just threw a rock at it, and it did what Widowmaker Gulls did best when attacked.

It froze solid.

It was quite the defense against the bird’s normal predators. The ice was thick and growing thicker as moisture was wicked from the air. If it used this ability while flying, it could kill someone, thus its moniker.

The bird had insane durability. It wasn’t going to shatter. These things could freeze in the air and hit their mark with stunning accuracy, only to defrost and wake up later to eat the spoils of their kill.

That wasn’t going to work on Hollis.

The crab ignored the rock and the frozen bird. It was only interested in the fish, but before it could wrap its chunky claw over the thing, Hollis had put his gloves on and jumped on it, carefully putting all his strength into keeping the large claw closed. [Brawling lvl. 4]

It didn’t take long for the crab to employ its best defense and shoot a molten hot stream of steam out of its big claw. Unfortunately, that claw was being forced shut, so the steam had to go somewhere. It coursed throughout the crab’s system and cooked it from the inside out.

In the game, meat had to be cooked. The boiler crab had been an early lesson in that.

Its blue shell turned bright orange right in Hollis’ hands. He had wondered if that would work in real life. None of the crab’s natural enemies could have exploited that weakness, except, perhaps, other crabs.

All that was left to secure was the fish, and it was easy enough to catch. It was a flatfish that could squeeze its blobby mass into the tightest cracks for safety, but the cobblestones were not the best place to hide. It was impervious to blunt attacks and pliable enough to stretch between some predators' teeth as they tried to bite down on it.

Hollis strung it up with the crab and frozen gull to haul back to the west side of town, where he planned on making camp. He knew he wasn’t going to get lucky enough to run into familiar prey all the time, especially once he left these haunted shores. He had to appreciate it while he had it.

When people left, they took what they could carry. They took things they would not be able to find on the road. That meant their firewood was mostly left untouched. He found stacks of it under rainproof structures throughout the town and in the outer areas where farms had sprouted up.

He wasn’t going to turn down a good thing. While he was capable of building a cooking fire anywhere, a faint memory from his time in the game triggered, and he started travelling toward the trailhead with a bundle of firewood tied up and hoisted on his shoulders.

There was an adventurers’ camp at the trailhead where a large bonfire was lit every night, and elders would come out to tell stories their ancestors had told them about Periapt back before the exodus. If he could find that place, he knew there were several huts.

It was a short detour into the woods with a canyon to the west and thick forest to the north. Old trees stood there, some with wooden towers built in them like treehouses.

If it had been abandoned and the fog had not reached it, it might have rewilded and ended up as the best place to stay anywhere near Beckett’s Sound.

He walked to the trailhead, which was marked by a structure with a roof and a message board, just as trailheads often were back on Earth. The messages were still there, and they were dire.

“Walk no further. The sea takes her revenge,” one said.

“The dead rise with the fog,” another said. “All who see the fog will die.”

Hollis squinted. “Wish someone had put these signs in the actual town, huh?”

But then, maybe no one had thought to warn people coming from the Cat’s Eye.

He looked to Willo, who hovered in front of the message board, lighting it with his glow despite the forest cover. The bug was staring intently at a small message at the bottom of the board marked with a heart.

“Can you read?” Hollis asked.

It made enough sense. Hollis could read, and he had shared his Mind with Willo.

“What do we have there?” he asked, staring down at the message. Even though it was written in small letters, Hollis could see it just fine thanks to Willo’s Spotlight ability.

Howard,

I have awaited your return these two years. I hope that when you rally rescuers, you will find this note and follow it to me and Paul. The fog creeps further every night. Soon, it will take the farm and all land east of Turpentine Canyon. Folks look to me for help, but we’re running low on everything. Something ate the cows in Radford’s field last night. Dragged them up into the sky and let their blood pour down like rain. Heard them screaming all night long. Nothing but blood left in the morning.

I’ve taken those under my care to the old square well down south. We will climb down and try to stay safe for as long as our supplies last. If you do not find this letter by midwinter, you might best choose to journey no further. I will not let starvation take us, but I told you that when we got off the boat.

All my pernicious love,

Tawny Bellhews

24^th of Harvest, 11 o’ 5 o’ 4

Hollis took the letter off the bulletin board and felt the paper between his fingers.

[Archaeology lvl. 1] You feel the thin paper against your skin. It is sun-bleached and weather-worn. It has been here for several years at least.

How disappointing it was to find that all his interest in the History Channel had not resulted in a higher Archaeology skill level. He would have to start improving his skills soon, and with no one to teach him anything, that would mean choosing the right Temper, something he had put off until he understood his situation better.

A Temper allowed a player to grow their levels through certain methods. In most video games, that would usually be through experience gained from battle. There were more options than that in Periapt.

That was a concern for later. He folded up the note and pocketed it.

Was it worth checking out? Surely those people had gotten help or else fled. However, he could never be satisfied until he knew for sure. After breakfast, he would need to make a journey south to find out.

He had sworn an oath to help the people of Periapt. Might as well start there.