Name: Fyn
Race: Human
Age:12
Class: Explorer
Level: 0
Experience: 47/100
Strength: .5
Agility: .5
Spirit: .5
(Display Skills)
Fyn studied the small changes in his status, running his tongue over his teeth. He had earned one white improvement point and one yellow. Running through the forest had put him halfway to level one with 47 experience. This confirmed to Fyn that he was correct about how one leveled up, and he considered that his biggest gain of the day.
Tomorrow he would find out what leveling up brought. It was something to look forward to. Standing up straight, and stretching his arms over his head, Fyn tilted left and right, stretching sore muscles. It had been another long day.
Looking up, Fyn judged the time by the position of the sun. Early evening, maybe four or five o'clock? This early in the spring, that meant only an hour or two of daylight left. Fyn glanced at the section of cliff where he had left his pile of edible flowers and plants.
He had intended to build a shelter there, using dirt, rocks, and the branches he had gathered. Fyn had a design in his head. He had been excited to see if he could make his ideas a reality.
That was unlikely to happen now. The branches he had collected were on the south end of the clearing, the cliff on the north. The distance between the two points wasn't terribly far, yet, there was no way Fyn could carry everything he needed back and forth while still having time to set up his shelter.
He could build something rough, capable of keeping the wind off at least. That wasn't enough though. Once night came, the forest would come alive with the calls of predators. Within a mile of the clearing, near enough that Fyn could run the distance without collapsing, were the remains of a meal for those predators. Fyn wanted more than a stack of sticks between him and them if he was going to sleep.
That meant the ledge again. Fyn kicked a stone in disgust, watching as it plopped into the river. He should have managed his time better. Fyn's stomach growled as he rubbed his left eye with the heel of his hand.
It would be roots and stems for dinner again. It had been roots and stems for breakfast. Fyn had mixed things up by having stems and roots for lunch. The meals were keeping him alive, but it wasn't an ideal diet for an active, growing young man. He would need something more substantial soon, or he would start to lose the little weight he had.
There was a problem he had never expected to encounter. Fyn had discovered the ultimate weight loss program. Eat as much as you want while losing weight, results guaranteed, or your money back! Fyn's all-natural forest fitness program, sign up now for quick results.
Staring at his lonely ledge, Fyn brewed and served dandelion tea to grateful customers in his imagination. As a horde of satisfied phantom dieters thanked him for his miracle cures, Fyn's gaze slowly drifted to the left.
The waterfall at the center of the clearing would be the biggest selling point of his camp. Come, lose all that troublesome holiday weight while living at one with nature! The scenery will cleanse your souls, while Fyn's vegan delight diet detoxifies your body.
Fyn's feet began to carry him north. He hadn't come within fifty feet of the waterfall during his exploration. The heavy curtain of water obscured the cliff behind it. A constant spray of mist filled the air whether the waterfall landed.
The river was widest where the water fell, from the looks of things it was deepest here as well. The cold mist cooled Fyn's skin as he approached, his clothes, already damp from sweat and humidity, grew heavy with moisture, clinging to his body.
Fyn began to shiver. His teeth clattered as he wrapped his arms around his body, trying to hold in the little warmth he had left. The light spray from the waterfall sucked the heat out of the air, but Fyn pressed on, thinking to gain the last three experience points he needed to officially be halfway to level one.
Reaching the cliff, Fyn put one hand on it to steady himself as he looked at the waterfall crashing down mere feet away. Despite the cold and wet, Fyn's mouth spread in an uneven smile. From a distance, you would never see it, but up close, it was apparent that there was a hollow behind the waterfall, and a narrow strip of stone jutted out from the base of the cliff, wide enough for a small person to walk on easily.
Quite possibly he had found his way to cross from the east of the clearing to the west!
Holding on to the rock face, Fyn inched his way behind the torrent of water. Step by step, he went, testing his footing before trusting his weight to the slick stones. Fyn's left hand constantly wiped his face to clear the water from it. He was uneasily aware that a slip would see him plunging into the river to be pressed down by the weight of the water falling from up above.
He could swim, or at least he could before this body swapping trip to another world, but Fyn had no desire to test that ability in the strong current of the freezing river. Tired and cold as he already was, the only way Fyn would leave the river once he entered it, would be if the water spit him out again.
The path widened as it turned to the left and entered the hollow behind the waterfall. Better footing eased Fyn's worries and, lifting his gaze from his feet, those worries fell away altogether. Rather than a cave, the space Fyn found himself in could better be described as a grotto.
The ledge he walked on extended for another forty feet, the water beside it deep, calm, and clear. The pool was filled with fast swimming fish and aquatic plants, all easily seen under the soft glow of the moss that covered the walls and ceiling of the grotto.
Bioluminescence plants! That's what you wanted to see in a world of swords and monsters. While not brightly lit, the cave had a warm appearance under the friendly light of the moss. Fyn felt welcomed and comfortable for the first time. That feeling would have been greater if he had been warm and dry as well, but Fyn didn't let that bring down his sense of wellbeing.
He continued down the ledge, marveling at the stalactites that hung from the ceiling. The ledge continued to widen until it formed a broad platform at the back of the grotto. Thirty feet wide and fifty across, the platform had plenty of room for a camp, its high ceiling narrowed as it rose, creating a natural chimney that opened to allow a trickle of sunlight to fall in.
Fyn could already see where he would build his shelter, there, at the back, where the smoke from a fire would travel up the natural vent. Strictly speaking, the grotto itself was shelter enough to make Fyn want to laugh out loud, but he wanted a small hut for efficiency. It would be easier to heat a hut. Otherwise, the grotto would steal the majority of the warm from his fire.
Plans forming in his head, Fyn started to put them into action, heading back out to gather sticks and logs. His food supplies would need to be brought in as well. He wanted to make this grotto as homey as he could before night fell, and it became unsafe to venture out.
Several trips later, the sun had vanished from the sky and Fyn huddled beside his supplies, chilled to the bone, hands shaking as he carved tinder from a dry stick. It was rough going. The large knife and his small, quivering hands would rather not work together. At the rate he was going, it would be hours before he had a fire lit, if he could get one started at all.
Honestly, Fyn wasn't all that confident, now that the task was at hand. Though he knew how to drill a fire, he wasn't practiced at it. Lighters were more convenient and practical, after all.
He almost dropped his knife carving a curled sliver of wood off the branch. Fyn's body was starting to ache now, the chill on the air settling into his bones. His muscles threatened to cramp with every movement he made.
He could think of one quick solution to his predicament. There had to be a class skilled in fire making, there might even be a passive skill that would help him get one going. With only two improvement points, Fyn was resistant to the idea of wasting them, but was it really a waste if it kept him alive?
Setting down the knife and branch, Fyn's hand moved, not towards the dot representing his status on the back of his hand but to his belt. Clumsy fingers removed the pouch at his right side, and worked the drawstring to open it. Fyn poured the contents out onto his lap to sort thought them.
Mostly there were coins. Square copper ones with a hole punched in the center, silver, and gold in various sizes, Fyn had plenty of coins, and nowhere to spend them. The only thing, besides coins, was a square pedant and a metal rod, both hanging from a length of cord.
It was another gift Lucas's corpse had given him. The pedant didn't look like anything special. A square piece of metal with a stylized design on both sides. Squinting at it, Fyn thought the shape looked like the letter F, though it probably had a different meaning in this world.
The rod was what Fyn was looking for. Covered in a thin piece of cloth, likely to keep it from clanking against the pendant, the stick of metal wasn't quite like the ferro rods he was familiar with, except in shape and length. He thought there was a good chance the rod was a sharpener of some sort, but there was a possibility it was for starting fires.
Fire was important. In the past, anytime Fyn ventured into the woods, whether to hike or fish, he always brought at least two ways of starting a fire. A good knife, a bit of cord, a lighter and a ferro rod, that was Fyn's basic survival kit. You could do a lot with those items, and they all fit in your pocket.
Lucas may not have been a good man or a trustworthy one, but Fyn thought he had seemed capable. A man like Lucas wouldn't keep all his tools in one place. Having some kind of backup hanging from his neck would be insurance in case his pouch was lost or stolen.
With the cloth removed from the rod, Fyn held his knife in one hand and drew the rod quickly across the back. No spark leaped out, causing Fyn to bite his lip as he tried again. Another failure.
Muttering curses under his breath, Fyn set down his knife and stared at the rod. His eyes drifted to the dangling pedant. As jewelry, the metal piece didn't offer much to recommend it. It could be a keepsake, but Lucas hadn't stuck Fyn as the sentimental type. Maybe it was a luck piece.
Taking the pedant between the fingers and thumb of his left hand, Fyn brought the rod and square together, rubbing them against one another. A blue spark shot up, striking Fyn in the face, just above his eye. Shouting, Fyn dropped the tools and clamped his hand to his eyebrow.
He hissed between his teeth as he felt the burn. Despite the pain, Fyn's mouth curled into a grin.
Grabbing the dead grass he had kept dry by wrapping it in bark, Fyn placed it in the stones he had set in a rectangle for a fire pit. Holding the pedant and rod carefully, Fyn aimed the pedant at the grass and stroked it against the metal rod. Another blue spark shot out, landing on the grass and instantly setting it alight.
The flame produced was hotter than Fyn expected, and he quickly started adding small bits of shaved wood. Bit, by bit, Fyn added larger pieces of wood, building the fire and reveling in its warmth.
At first, Fyn was concerned the fire burned too quickly. Tinder and sticks caught fire immediately upon being added, leaving Fyn worried his fuel would be gone in minutes. However, after the initial burst, things settled into a more natural flow.
Adding a large branch that he broke into pieces, Fyn settled back and held his palms out towards the flickering flames. After a moments enjoyment, he stripped off his wet clothing and laid it out to dry. Huddled naked in front of the fire, Fyn sighed as his body released the tension it was holding.
It would be a nice evening if he had a blanket to wrap up in… and a cushion to sit on. While he was at it, Fyn wouldn't mind a book and some music. A drink and some snacks would make the situation downright pleasant.
The only thing Fyn had to distract himself though, was his status. Not wanting to nod off while he was undressed, Fyn opened his source of entertainment.
Experience: 81/100
Fyn saw the change and stared at it with his mouth open. From 47 to 81 didn't seem right. The grotto wasn't that large. He had only gotten 13 Experience for exploring all of the east side of the clearing.
Peering around his status, Fyn looked over the grotto again. Shadows cast by his fire and the green glow of the most gave the cavern an ancient, timeless appearance. Was this place significant somehow? Did Explorers gain more experience for finding hidden or interesting places?
Fyn scratched his cheek. That opened up some possibilities. He would need to be more observant from now on. If he had found the grotto earlier, who knows, maybe he would already be at level one.
For now, it didn't change his plans. Opening the Class Grid page, Fyn selected Gatherer Class. He had already unlocked the Common Plant Identification prerequisite. That left Common Plant Usage and Proper Harvesting to go. Then he would be able to get the passive skill Freshly Picked.
Fyn frowned at the words, Plant Usage and Proper Harvesting. Thinking over his actions today, hadn't he already been doing that? The nodes of the prerequisites were dim, but not complete. Had he been doing things wrong? Had he made fevered assumptions because of his hunger?
Brow crinkled, Fyn selected Plant Usage, his one white improvement point dimmed by half, and he closed his eyes, wincing as he digested the flow of information. A sigh escaped him as it finished.
The good news was he hadn't inadvertently poisoned himself. The node had been dim because of his prior knowledge, some of which had been assumptions that were confirmed by the magic of having a status. The completed node opened avenues that Fyn had been blind too.
What was frustrating was that now Fyn knew there were numerous plants out there with various wondrous aspects that he couldn't take advantage of in the slightest. A Gatherer's knowledge of plant uses was so that they would know who could use the plants they picked, not to use them himself.
Fyn could deliver mint and sorensuss to an Alchemist, who could make a healing potion from them that would save lives. In his hands, those herbs could clean teeth, freshen breath and make the smell of his urine less potent. Fyn had hardly started to consider himself a native of this world, but now he wondered if he had even scratched the surface.
A few more clicks on his status, and Fyn was out of improvement point as the proud possessor of the passive skill, Freshly Picked(1/5). Freshly Picked would keep any plants he harvested vital for a little while longer. Not a stellar skill and after he added it to his second passive skill slot, Fyn didn't get any sense of change whatsoever. Presumably the plants he plucked from now on would get that pleasure.
On the Class Selection page, the Class, Gatherer, was added to the left-hand side. The countdown next to Explorer had expired. Even so, Fyn left his Class untouched. That could wait until tomorrow.
Curling up on his side next to the fire, Fyn proceeded to click on classes in the grid page at random. He browsed the skills he could see while waiting for his clothes to dry, and unknowingly fell asleep.