So, you've taken the plunge (or been pushed by desperation) into your first combat encounter. Likely against something small, numerous, and disease-ridden. Excellent. Let's refine those 'Panic' and 'Flailing' instincts into something marginally more effective.
Know Your Enemy (The Humble Rat):
- Strengths: Surprisingly fast, sharp teeth, travels in packs, carries interesting plagues, low center of gravity makes them hard to punt effectively.
- Weaknesses: Low HP, generally low intelligence (but occasionally cunning), susceptible to blunt force trauma (whacking), easily distracted by discarded food (or conveniently placed bait).
- Tactics: They swarm. They bite ankles. They aim for the squishy bits. Expect quick lunges from unexpected angles (like dropping from ceiling pipes).
Basic Combat Maneuvers (Non-Flailing Edition):
- Stance: Feet shoulder-width apart, knees slightly bent. Try not to trip over your own feet (easier said than done, especially with low DEX or negative LUK).
- Weapon Grip: Hold your pointy/blunt object firmly. Don't swing wildly; aim your attacks. Even a miss that hits the wall near them can sometimes deter the less brave ones.
- Defense: Use terrain! Back into a corner to limit attack angles. Keep your weapon between you and the gnashing teeth. Blocking with your forearm is generally less effective than blocking with your weapon.
- Target Priority: Aim for the closest/most aggressive rat first. Thin the numbers. Don't let them surround you.
- The Tactical Retreat: Still a valid option! If overwhelmed, create distance, reassess. Throwing something (a rock, your empty coin pouch, a less valuable party member) can create a distraction.
System Assists:
- Targeting: Some Systems offer basic targeting aids. Use them if available.
- Skill Checks: Be aware of skills triggering (or failing). A successful [Dodge] feels great; a failed one often precedes pain.
- HP Monitoring: Keep an eye on your health! Don't assume you can tank 'just one more bite'. Use healing items before you're critical, if you have any.
Remember, the goal isn't elegant swordsmanship (yet). It's squashing the vermin, collecting the proof-of-kills (try not to get too much gore on you), and surviving to claim your reward. Good luck, try not to get bitten too much.
(Inkstained Prophet's Warning: Some rats in magically active worlds can use basic elemental attacks or explode upon death. If a rat starts glowing, refer to 'The Tactical Retreat' immediately.)
[Kevin's Story: Part 8 - Cellar Dweller]
The Gnawed Barrel tavern was even less prepossessing than the Salty Siren, if such a thing were possible. It smelled strongly of sour wine, damp wood, and desperation. The 'patrons' – a collection of shadowed figures nursing cheap drinks – barely glanced up as Kevin entered. The barkeep was a gaunt man with suspicious eyes and teeth that looked like neglected tombstones.
"Lookin' for work?" the barkeep rasped before Kevin even spoke, gesturing vaguely at his ragged appearance. "Rat catchin'?"
Kevin nodded, clutching the [Improvised Shank (Rusty)] hidden under his tunic. "Yes. The notice?"
"Aye. Warehouse Four, down by the fish market," the barkeep said, scratching his chin. "Cellar's crawlin' with 'em. Foreman left the key here." He fished a large, rusted iron key from under the counter and slapped it down. "One copper per tail. Bring 'em back here. Don't track filth into my tavern."
Kevin took the key. "Tails... uh... how fresh do they need to be?"
The barkeep gave him a look that suggested he regretted hiring him already. "Just... make sure they're identifiable as rat tails. And try not to bring back the whole rat."
Ding!
[Quest Accepted: Rat Extermination (Warehouse Four)]
[Objective: Collect Rat Tails x10]
[Reward: 1 Copper Piece per Tail]
[Optional Bonus Objective: Exceed Quota (Potential for extra reward/reputation?)]
Stolen novel; please report.
[Warning: Cellar environment may contain hazards beyond rats. Proceed with caution.]
Armed with a rusty key, a rustier shank, and the dubious wisdom of the Guide, Kevin headed towards the fish market district. Warehouse Four was a large, dilapidated building smelling faintly of old fish and decay. The main doors were chained, but a smaller side door yielded to the heavy iron key with a protesting groan.
Inside, darkness and the smell of dust and damp reigned. Moonlight filtered weakly through grimy upper windows, illuminating stacked crates and cobwebs thick as shrouds. The cellar entrance was a trapdoor in the floor, its hinges groaning ominously as Kevin heaved it open. A wave of musty, fetid air wafted up, carrying the distinct sounds of skittering claws and faint squeaks.
"Okay, Kevin," he muttered to himself, pulling out the shank. "Module 4 says 'Know Your Enemy'. They're fast, bitey, and probably disgusting." He mentally reviewed the 'Basic Combat Maneuvers'. Stance, grip, defense... corner.
He lowered himself down the rickety wooden ladder into the pitch-black cellar. The air was thick and cold. He couldn't see a thing beyond the faint square of slightly less dark from the open trapdoor above.
Squeak!
Something brushed against his ankle. He yelped, stumbling back and swinging the shank wildly in the darkness. It connected with something soft with a dull thud, followed by an angry squeal.
Panic flared. He couldn't see! How was he supposed to fight?
"System! Light source? Anything?" he pleaded internally.
Ding!
[Query Received. Analyzing available resources...]
[No items providing illumination detected in Inventory.]
[Suggestion: Utilize environmental factors or develop [Darkvision] skill (Requires specific racial trait or rare skill book).]
[Alternative Suggestion: Remember Objective? Focus on auditory and tactile senses?]
Right. No magic light. Auditory and tactile. He strained his ears. Skittering sounds came from multiple directions. He felt a draft – there must be ventilation shafts or cracks somewhere. He slowly backed away from the ladder, feeling along the damp stone wall until he reached a corner.
Guide advice: Back into a corner. Limit attack angles. Okay. He pressed himself against the cold stone, holding the shank out in front of him, pointy end forward. He tried to control his breathing, listening intently.
A series of squeaks echoed from his left. He peered into the darkness, barely making out movement – small, dark shapes darting across the floor. He held his breath.
One darted closer. He swung the shank low, aiming where he thought it would be. Thwack! A satisfying impact, followed by silence from that direction.
Squeak! Another one rushed from the right. He spun, swinging again. Miss! The shank scraped against the stone floor, sending up sparks that briefly illuminated a pair of beady red eyes lunging at his leg.
He yelped, kicking out instinctively. His worn boot connected, sending the rat tumbling away. Okay, kicking worked too. [Basic Street Brawling] wasn't just flailing.
He started using the shank for short, stabbing jabs whenever he heard or sensed movement close by, using his feet to punt away any that got past his guard. It was frantic, clumsy, and terrifying. He misjudged distances, tripped over unseen debris (LUK 3 strikes again!), and felt sharp little claws scrabble against his trousers more than once.
After what felt like an eternity of blind, desperate combat, the skittering sounds began to lessen. He stood panting in the corner, shank held ready, listening. Silence. Or... near silence. Just the dripping of water somewhere and his own ragged breathing.
He cautiously moved out from the corner, using the shank to probe the floor in front of him. He nudged several small, furry bodies. Gross. Now for the objective.
He shuddered, knelt down, and using the less-pointy end of the shank (he really didn't want to touch them), began the grim task of... de-tailing. It was disgusting work, made worse by the near-darkness. He focused on the reward. One copper per tail.
He lost count after a while, just focused on the task. When he finally gathered the gruesome trophies in a piece of discarded cloth he found, he cautiously made his way back to the ladder and climbed out, blinking in the relative brightness of the moonlit warehouse floor.
He counted the tails in the better light. Twelve. He'd collected twelve tails.
Ding!
[Quest Objective Met: Collect Rat Tails x10 (12/10)]
[Combat Encounter Survived!]
[EXP Gained: +50 EXP (10 Rats x 5 EXP each)]
[Bonus EXP: +10 EXP (Exceeding Quota)]
[Skill Increased: [Basic Street Brawling] Lv. 1 -> Lv. 2 (Effectiveness slightly increased. Still mostly flailing.)]
[HP: 6/15 (Minor scratches acquired)]
Level Up Not Achieved (78/100 EXP).
He was exhausted, filthy, bleeding slightly from a scratch on his hand (damn it, Tetanus watch initiated), but he'd done it. He had the tails. He could get paid. He could finally meet Objective 1 of the [Basic Needs] quest.
He glanced at the [Basic Healing Potion (Crude)]. Should he use it on the scratch? It smelled so bad... He decided against it. It was just a scratch. Probably.
Clutching his bundle of tails, Kevin secured the warehouse and headed back towards the Gnawed Barrel, ignoring the stares his grime-covered appearance attracted. He just wanted his copper. And then, maybe, just maybe, he could find somewhere to sleep that wasn't a cellar or an alley.