<div>
Gale knelt in the shadow of the lichen-slick boulder, breath ragged, the short sword—still dripping with black kobold blood—clutched in his trembling right hand. The air reeked of iron and rot, a sour tang mingling with the faint smoke of the distant fire pit. His left thigh throbbed, a deep gash weeping dark blood through torn denim, soaking the fabric in a sticky, spreading stain. His right arm fared worse—three jagged slashes from kobold claws raked across his forearm, flesh peeled back in wet, red ribbons, exposing sinew that pulsed with every heartbeat. The pain gnawed, sharp and relentless, a fire under his skin that made his vision swim.
The rabbit lay at his feet, half-crushed from the fight, its roasted flesh smeared with dirt and his own blood. He didn’t care. Hunger clawed harder than the wounds, a hollow ache that drowned out the world’s brutality for a moment. He tore into it with his good hand, teeth sinking into the gamey meat—hot, tough, laced with the faint bitterness of char and the metallic tang of his own gore. Juice dribbled down his chin, mixing with sweat and grime, as he chewed, swallowing fast, desperate to fill the void. Each bite steadied him, grounding his spinning head, even as the pain flared brighter.
Around him, the kobolds’ corpses sprawled in the dirt—grotesque heaps of scales and ruin. The first lay crumpled, its shoulder a mangled wreck, arm dangling by a thread of gristle, black blood pooling beneath in a congealing puddle. Its guts oozed out, a glistening tangle of purple and gray, stinking of bile and decay. The second’s neck gaped wide, nearly severed, bone jutting through shredded flesh, its head lolling at an unnatural angle as dark ichor soaked the earth. The third twitched faintly, chest split open, ribs splayed like broken fingers, a stew of blood and viscera bubbling with its last, gurgling breaths. Their spears—crude sticks with flint tips—lay scattered, tips glistening with a thick, greenish ooze that hissed faintly against the grass.
Gale paused mid-bite, hazel eyes narrowing at the ooze. His thigh burned hotter now, a creeping numbness threading up his leg, and his arm tingled, a sickly chill beneath the pain. “Poison,” he rasped, voice rough, spitting a chunk of gristle into the dirt. The kobolds weren’t just hunters—they were killers, their weapons laced with something vile. He couldn’t wait it out; the numbness was spreading, slow but sure, and he’d be dead or crippled if it took hold. “Gotta fix this.”
He dropped the rabbit, wiping his bloody hand on his jeans, and scanned his resources. Three kobolds—three sources of energy, Runicar had said. Crystals came from magic, feelings, dead things. These rotting husks might work. He crawled to the nearest, grimacing as pain lanced through his leg, and pressed his Sigil-marked forearm against its scales. The glyph flared, warm and sharp, and a hum vibrated through the corpse. The air shimmered, and a crystal coalesced—small, jagged, murky with a greenish tint, pulsing faintly. He repeated it twice more, each body yielding a similar gem, until three crystals clinked in his palm, their edges rough against his torn skin.
“Bandages next,” he muttered, determination steeling his voice despite the haze creeping into his thoughts. His button-up hung loose, stained with sweat and blood—good enough. He gripped the hem with his good hand, teeth gritted, and tore a long strip free, the fabric ripping with a harsh shrrk. Another followed, then a third, until his shirt hung in tatters, exposing his lean chest to the wind’s cold bite. The strips were ragged, soaked red at the edges, but they’d do.
He fumbled with the Lexicon, willing it open in his mind:
[Rune Lexicon]
<ul>
<li>Description: Contains the 1,000 most-used words in your native tongue (English), paired with their divine runes. Combine 2-5 words to craft effects, fueled by energy crystals. Sigil activation required.</li>
<li>Note: Full list accessible via mental query. Experimentation encouraged.</li>
</ul>
Words raced—heal, mend, fix, clean, fast. “Heal… Fast… Wound,” he growled, piecing it together, cleverness cutting through the fog. He pressed a crystal to the first strip, whispering, “Heal Fast Wound”—[? ? ?]—and scratched the runes with a trembling finger, the dagger too slippery with gore to use. The Sigil burned, the crystal dissolved, and the fabric shimmered, a faint golden glow threading through the fibers. He wrapped it tight around his thigh, blood squelching as he knotted it, the glow sinking in. A warm pulse spread, dulling the fire, though the gash still oozed.
Two more strips, two more crystals—same runes, same glow. He bound his arm, the tatters sticking to the raw flesh, crimson seeping through but slowing as the enchantment took hold. The numbness retreated, a sluggish ebb, replaced by a prickling ache—poison stalled, not gone. “Few hours,” he muttered, analytical mind ticking. The runes weren’t a cure, just a patch—he’d be limping, but mobile.
He slumped against the boulder, the rabbit back in his hands, tearing off another bite. The kobolds’ stench clawed at his nose—rotting meat, spilled guts, the sour reek of their ooze. His wounds throbbed under the glowing bandages, a grim reminder of how close he’d come. The short sword lay beside him, blood-crusted, its rune-etched lesson still echoing in his grip. A window lingered:
[EXP Gained: 75 (Combat Victory)]
[Skill Unlocked: Basic Swordsmanship (Rank 1)]
<ul>
<li>Description: Grants rudimentary proficiency with swords. Improves with use.
A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
[Quest Received: Clear the Kobold Lair]</li>
<li>Objective: Locate and defeat the Kobold Leader.</li>
<li>Subquest: Eliminate all 37 Kobold Scouts.</li>
<li>Reward: Unknown.</li>
</ul>
“Thirty-seven,” he croaked, swallowing the last of the rabbit, its taste sour with dirt and victory. The lair loomed somewhere—more of these monsters, a leader worse than these scouts. His bandages glowed faintly, stitching him together, but the poison’s shadow lingered. He’d eat, rest, move—because stopping meant dying.
<div>
Gale slumped against the lichen-slick boulder, the half-eaten rabbit cradled in his lap, its roasted flesh now cold and crusted with dirt and his own blood. The air hung heavy with the stench of death—kobold corpses sprawled around him, their scales peeling in the sun, guts congealing into a stinking, fly-buzzed mess. His thigh pulsed beneath the enchanted bandage, a ragged strip of his torn button-up glowing faintly gold, staunching the gash where dark blood had soaked through his jeans. His right arm fared no better, wrapped tight in another glowing shred, the claw-slashed flesh beneath a mess of red and purple, throbbing with every shallow breath. The short sword rested beside him, its blade crusted with black ichor, the runes—Sword Teach Me Use Well—etched into its steel still faintly warm.
He chewed slowly, the rabbit’s gamey meat tough and bitter, flecked with grit that crunched between his teeth. His good hand—sticky with grease and blood—trembled as he tore off another bite, forcing it down to quiet the gnawing hunger. Two crystals had gone into the bandages, their glow dulling the poison’s bite, but one remained, a murky green gem glinting in his pocket, harvested from the kobolds’ rotting husks. The spears’ ooze—greenish, rancid—still hissed faintly where it had splattered the grass, a venom that had seeped into his wounds. The bandages held it at bay, but he wasn’t safe yet.
“Thirty-seven more,” he muttered, voice hoarse, glancing at the quest window hovering in his mind:
[Quest Received: Clear the Kobold Lair]
<ul>
<li>Objective: Locate and defeat the Kobold Leader.</li>
<li>Subquest: Eliminate all 37 Kobold Scouts.</li>
<li>Reward: Unknown.</li>
</ul>
He needed a plan—blindly stumbling into a lair meant death, especially limping and half-broken. Information first: where they were, how to find them. His mind churned, cleverness flickering through the haze of pain. The kobolds were trackers themselves—scouts, hunters. He could turn that against them. “Track the trackers,” he rasped, a grim smirk tugging his lips. The last crystal, the sword, the blood-soaked ground—he had tools.
He shifted, wincing as his thigh protested, and scanned the hollow. The stunted trees loomed nearby, their gnarled branches clawing at the sky. One oak, thicker than the rest, bore a low, sturdy limb—short, straight, about a foot long. “That’ll do,” he said, dragging himself upright, leaning on the boulder. The short sword scraped the rock as he hefted it, its weight pulling at his torn arm. He hobbled over, each step a jolt of fire, and hacked at the branch. The blade bit deep—wood chips flew, sap oozing like pale blood—and it fell with a thud, trimmed rough but solid.
Back at the boulder, he sank down, the branch across his knees. His head swam, a sudden lurch of dizziness tilting the world sideways. The poison—despite the bandages—was creeping in, a cold fog threading through his veins. His vision blurred, the kobolds’ corpses doubling briefly, their stench sharpening into a nauseous wave. “Not yet,” he growled, shaking it off, though his pulse thudded light and erratic in his ears. He fished the last crystal from his pocket, its jagged edges biting his palm, and set it against the branch.
“Lexicon,” he whispered, willing it open:
[Rune Lexicon]
<ul>
<li>Description: Contains the 1,000 most-used words in your native tongue (English), paired with their divine runes. Combine 2-5 words to craft effects, fueled by energy crystals. Sigil activation required.</li>
<li>Note: Full list accessible via mental query. Experimentation encouraged.</li>
</ul>
Words spun—find, seek, track, life, same. “Track… Live… Like… Them,” he muttered, piecing it together, analytical even as his thoughts wobbled. He needed it to point to living kobolds, linked to these dead ones. Blood—their blood—could tie it. He scooped a handful of the nearest corpse’s ichor, thick and black, stinking of rot and iron, and smeared it across the branch, the stickiness clotting between his fingers. “Track Live Like Them,” he said, pressing the crystal into the gore. The Sigil flared, heat surging, and he scratched the runes—[? ? ? ?]—clumsy but firm. The crystal dissolved, motes sinking in, and the branch thrummed, a faint pulse tugging eastward.
“Got it,” he rasped, but the world tilted again—harder this time. His stomach churned, bile rising, and he slumped against the boulder, the wand slipping to his lap. The poison’s grip tightened—dizziness spun his head, lightheadedness drained his strength, the hollow’s edges smearing into a gray haze. His bandages glowed, fighting it, warmth pulsing against the cold seeping through his limbs. Not lethal—yet—but a brutal tax on his body. “Few hours,” he croaked, analytical mind clinging to logic. The enchantment would heal him enough to move, but not now.
Time crawled. The sun dipped, shadows stretching from the trees, their skeletal limbs clawing longer across the blood-streaked ground. Gale drifted, half-conscious, the rabbit’s remnants clutched in his hand, its cold meat a lifeline he gnawed when the dizziness ebbed. Flies buzzed louder, swarming the kobolds’ guts, a droning hum that matched the thudding in his skull. His thigh ached less, the gash knitting under the bandage, but the arm wounds wept, red and raw, the poison’s chill lingering in his fingertips.
Three hours later, the fog lifted—slowly, grudgingly. He blinked, vision clearing, the hollow sharpening into focus: the stream’s silver thread, the oaks’ twisted silhouettes, the kobolds’ festering remains. His head still buzzed, light but steady, and his wounds—though tender—held firm, the golden glow dimming as the bandages’ power waned. He flexed his arm, wincing at the pull of scabbed flesh, and stood, leaning on the boulder. The wand pulsed in his grip, tugging east toward the hills, a grim compass to the lair.
“Thirty-seven,” he said, voice low, determination hardening. The poison hadn’t killed him, but it’d marked him—another scar in this brutal world. He tucked the rabbit’s scraps into his torn jeans, hefted the sword, and started forward, the wand leading him into the unknown.