Chapter 7: Corpse Pants

Seeing as I didn't receive the [No-eyed] or [Deaf] skills, I have to assume I'm neither blind nor deaf. However, the ringing in my ears and the spotty flashes in my vision are doing their damnedest to convince me otherwise.

Blinking the stars out of my eye, I try to sit up. I say try, because even through the 13th concussion and the obvious shock I am currently in, pain manages to shout through the radio static.

I'm able to see, for the moment, and look down to find my body bloodied and dirty, with— calling them splinters would be an insult— logs sticking out of my chest. Chunks of my wooden barrier ranging from “small” 1 inch splinters to what looks and feels like a full foot are poking from my chest and shoulder. Panic waves from the crowd and is easily overlooked.

Looking around for my hobo bindle, I see what remains of the library. Half of my barrier remains, but the half is a 50% total that is comprised of chunks as opposed to a clean cut half. Small fires are still burning on some of the toppled bookshelves, yet most of the light still comes from the yellow [Light] spell floating above. The only evidence of the bookwyrms are a few carcasses, some viscera, and a red smear where Ted made the game winning catch.

The door is gone.

My bindle is only a few feet from me, looking to be undamaged but with a bookshelf toppled over it.

Favoring the arm without the splinter in its shoulder, I begin painfully sliding on my back towards it. Blood still leaks from a few wounds, irritated by the movement, but is largely kept inside by the shards of bookshelves blocking its way.

I have to put my back into it to yank the makeshift bag out from under the bookshelf, which causes me to painfully cringe and flinch, which causes my muscles to flex and put pressure on the splinters, which makes me painfully flinch. It's a vicious cycle.

Groggily pulling the bag to my left to see it from the side as I lay on my back, I take a deep breath and shakily undo the knot. No plume of caustic smoke greets me, and tilting the bag it looks like most of the fragile alchemical supplies are undamaged. A boiling flask has shattered, and the magic bunsen burner is in two parts, but everything else is intact.

I really wish I had worn this dress.

Sifting through the broken glass and wadded paper, I pull out bottles and inspect them until I find the milky red of the healing potion.

I liberally pour it all over me until it's empty, and gasp painfully as I feel that hot burning around the chunks of wood being slowly forced out of my body. My breath is held captive as I shake and writhe on the floor in pain. One by one my wounds heal, and I’m left taking heaving breaths as the stabbing fire slowly fades. It feels like I could pass out again from the relief and exhaustion of that ordeal, but I slowly and groaningly bring myself to kneeling.

Hunched over the blue bindle, I begin picking out the pieces of broken glass as I assess.

My boxers have a few small holes on the thigh, but my boots seem to be fine, so that's good. I don't think I have any wounds remaining, so I’m not about to bleed out. Shortsword is under the bookcase where I found the bag, so I quickly retrieve it.

The door is open.

Well, not so much open as… removed. The doorway it was set within is now a gaping hole. Blood red and flickering light burns within the next chamber. From my current position I can see the corner of a raised plinth with something wooden upon it. Whatever is in there seems willing to wait, or has already left.

My head flicks and twists as I scan the room. I even check the ceiling, and while a few ornamental beams look damaged, there's nothing here. Slightly relieved, but keeping my guard up, I let myself believe I am safe, for now.

It's at this point where normal people start trembling, maybe crying, saying things like ‘holy shit we almost died!’ I've had to pretend often enough to know the proper response. But all I feel is frustration, trying the clothes of rage on for size.

“I'm so fucking stupid!” I yell, throwing a bit of the broken glass.

For all I know there is no outside world wherever I am, and that means any explosion is perfectly sealed within these chambers. And I most definitely used too much when making the explosive. Got too carried away, too proud of myself. I sigh.

“Let's hope it was worth it.”

I think about the skills I got for this level. [Jury-rigged Alchemy] seems pretty good. Being able to improvise some things from random ingredients sounds incredibly useful, especially considering that health potions exist.

Apparently I successfully managed to tame Ted Kaszynski, and then immediately lost him in a blazing inferno. While I feel a little guilty for the lizard massacre, I'm also slightly relieved. I'm not big on pets. But it's good to know that familiars are a thing.

[Tool proficiency: Pokin’ Stick™] is just… insultingly stupid. Oh what glory, I'm proficient in poking things with a stick, just like any 10 year old. Maybe there are ways to cheese it. Does a spear count as a Pokin’ Stick?

I pick up a few chunks of wood, including the long stick from my bindle, and feel out the skill. It seems the size and shape of the stick plays a role; wide planks don't feel like good Pokin’ Sticks, but small ones, even toothpick sized, feel passable. But the stick that feels… right, is the one in the bindle, the OG; it’s a long rounded dowel, it fits in the palm well, and its end is slanted to a point. Great for pokin’.

I wave it around a bit and find I have far more precision and dexterity with the stick than before. I am able to precisely and carefully poke even very small objects with the exact amount of force I intend to. Slashing and swinging with it is far less effective or intuitive, but it still feels easier than it would be normally. Possibly because, even though I'm not pokin’, I'm still doing it with a Pokin’ Stick™. Important to note however that the skill said tool proficiency, not weapon, so my skill with a stick may not translate to combat.

“I feel ridiculous.”

Wrapping the dress bindle back around the stick after deciding that it's better to have the valuables ready to run than to be wearing protective gear– Again. Like an idiot– I sling it over my shoulder and begin slowly creeping towards the open doorway.

Leaning my left side past it to peek, I see that the wooden object atop the plinth is, rather predictably, another coffin. Except this one is a bit more rich, being lacquered and carved, and was previously standing upright. It has now toppled over, either from the explosion or from when it was broken open— from the inside.

A small ornate chest is lying on its side on the floor between the plinth and one of the red braziers lining the room.

My eye drifts to another red light, and its source surprises me disappointingly.

An OSHA compliant exit sign sticks out from above a metal push door. It was obviously not in this place originally, so I can’t help but wonder where the electricity is coming from.

Looks like that is the way out.

I move to step into the room when I notice the final thing. On the floor by the doorway, among the debris from the door, is what was likely the coffin’s inhabitant.

The corpse of a pale skinned, tall and thin man with pitch black hair lies there. His face is twisted in agony, and his red-irised eyes have already begun to dry and fade. His clothes are incredibly fancy, dressed for a gala with a cravat and everything, but his black jacket and high-collared shirt have been torn apart. It looks as though it had been clawed at and shredded by himself, surrounding a burning, almost sizzling wound in his pale chest. The flesh is stripped and flecked with ancient coagulated blood.

Stepping carefully, I take the Pokin’ Stick from my shoulder and set the bag on the ground, with a [Magic Missile] ready in the other arm, I poke the body with the stick from a good 4 feet away.

No response.

I pull the edge of his lips to the side, and see long white fangs. Those of a vampire. Suspected as much from the general vibe.

I thwap him over the head with the stick. The body barely moves.

“Yep. He's dead.”

I crouch down next to the body, and using the end of my stick I begin inspecting the wound. Slowly, I extricate a long shard of something from between his ribs and the wound stops bubbling. At first I thought I had managed to launch a wooden stake into him from the library shrapnel, but it doesn't feel wooden in my hand, and as I clean it off I can see it is reflective and bent metal.

I recognize it as the hammered spout from the silver teapot.

“Huh, I thought silver was a werewolf thing.” I think aloud.

Though it makes sense for vampires too. Silver was considered a pure and holy metal. Mirrors were originally made with silver and that's why vampires had no reflection within them.

Stabbing the chest a few times with my Pokin’ Stick, just to be sure, I then set about looting his body.

I doubt a vampire carries a wallet, but ya never know.

Finding that his clothing doesn't even have pockets, I notice that his nice fancy black pants are mostly undamaged by his clawing– just dirty. His shirt and jacket however, are ruined. The cravat’s fine, but I ain’t wearing no cravat.

Tossing the corpse pants over my shoulder, I then walk over to the knocked over ornate chest. Righting it, I find it’s unlocked. Within are a bunch of wet golden coins, a cut ruby, broken glass previously belonging to health potions, and a damp leather satchel.

Sighing at the loss of the health potions, I remove and open the satchel.

It isn’t bigger on the inside or anything, but it does contain a torch, some rope, what looks to be packaged rations, a waterskin, and a broken magnifying glass. Basic supplies.

This chest would have made sense to be offerings or the belongings of the vampire within the coffin, but I suppose like many things here it had been tampered with to suit the purposes of the tutorial. Not gonna sneeze at free stuff though.

Transferring the alchemical supplies to the leather satchel, now brimming with volatile materials and almost overfull, I shake out the dress.

Donning the corpse pants, I roll and tuck them a bit into my boots as they are too long. Then, I sigh, lift the sky blue dress over my head, and clumsily put it on. I tuck the skirt into the legs of my pants, and while it bunches up horrifically in unfortunate areas, the skirt at least won’t get snagged on something. It’s a bit loose in the bust though.

Feeling absurd, though no more than usual, I take my Pokin’ Stick, sling the satchel over my shoulder, slot the shortsword into the flap of the satchel on my side, and head towards the anachronistic door marked with the neon exit sign.

I take a deep breath, and push.