***

***

Dear Parchment,

It has been a month and a week since I’ve left the manor. I’m laying bare many thoughts because there is going to be a great change soon. I believe my time as a simple woodswoman in the forest is coming to an end.

Before I explain what that entails, let me say that I am not forgoing my survivalism due to any drastic failings or difficulties. On the contrary, I’ve become quite successful here. I have cultivated an admirable quality of life. I have overcome many struggles, and I have developed my own system built for me to coexist in peace here.

My campsite hasn’t been invaded. I am very pleased with this since I’ve spent an unordinary amount of time working on it. Once, I stayed awake for two days to rebuild after a sudden wind storm stripped away my concealment and shed.

The damage was terrible for not only my camp but for the surrounding area. I was afraid that I would have to vacate, but I adapted instead and concealed my camp with broken branches and fallen trees that I could heave in place.

It was tough work.

A lot of the work I’ve been doing has been tough. But I feel satisfied with my labor. I feel more energetic now. But not in a sense that I’ve developed new energy. I feel that I am connecting to my potential energy. Pushing my abilities to my Attributes' very limits, and maybe a little beyond if it’s true that Candidates can extend themselves further.

One may think that I have become converted to the ways of the hard worker. This is not the case. I enjoy the work because it is a means to a more satisfying end. My comfort at my camp is luxurious. My belly is full at the end of most active days, allowing me to sleep very well for almost two to three whole days without hunger pains.

My observations of the forest species here had borne great fruit. I’ve combined my notations of prey habits with my traps. I’ve used bundles of wildflowers to draw rabbits into snares. Then I use rabbits to ensnare foxes, which are larger and more filling meals.

I’ve learned to draw bigger, hardier boars into swinging spike traps. It did some damage. But it was only one of the multiple traps that wore down the boar. In the end, when it consequently fell into a pitfall trap with sharpened sticks at the bottom, it was more than ready to succumb to death.

What curious skills I’m learning. There are so many absorbed into the amalgamation of traits that fell under Acclimated Survivalist. Quintessentially, I can see I’ll never be a great trapping specialist, but I’m doing enough to be successful.

Who would expect a Noble Giantess of such a thing?

Nonetheless, I’ve quickly grown to be a fearsome predator in the hunting grounds that I frequented. If the traps weren’t enough, I’ve developed other creative ways of bringing down enemies that I wanted to be removed. Sometimes I had to contend with other predators who were stealing my game.

I’ve once tricked a Giant Stalker into attacking a group of Armored Lizards. It was a simple maneuver. I used a moss ball to gather the urine samples of an alpha male Stalker from a different area without exposing myself. Then I conveniently placed the soaked moss-ball in a den of Armored Lizards who aren’t very hostile unless you get too careless.

The Stalker ran in carelessly to rid the intruder from its territory and was met with an awful surprise. It did not die without taking a few of the Armored Lizards with it, which showed me a direct strike to their neck's base was critical.

In the aftermath, I let the Armored Lizards eat the Stalker’s corpse, and I dragged away three Armored Lizards for uses that went beyond eating.

Yes, indeed, I have grown enough to act beyond the need to feed myself. My self-developed system feeds me plenty.

I’ve cycled through fruits, mushrooms, berries, flowers, and bugs in the morning of my active days. In the afternoon and evening, I eat the animals I find in my traps or reuse them as greater bait. Then I spend the extra time I have in other pursuits.

I’ve tailored my own outfits. I’ve added decorations to my camp, such as animal bones, unique insect shells, hides that I’ve tanned, and simple tools and weapons I’ve made. Some I’ve attempted to use, such as the stone-axes, others I’ve never gotten around to, such as my stick spears and stone knives.

I’ve even made a certain type of tool for the nights when I am terribly lonely and wanting. I made sure to make use of it only on special occasions, of course.

You see, Parchment, I have turned my predicament into a winning fortune. I have proven to myself and Mother, if she is watching, that I can survive even if I lack.

But this is not enough.

I want to be around others, I fear. I want to be pampered and cared for again. I fear, Parchment, that I’ve grown ambitious, and it’s all because of those points spent on the blasted Attribute called Intellect. It is a devil in disguise.

In the time that has transpired, I’ve leveled up multiple times. I’m now Lvl 17, and I suspect I’m getting close to Lvl 18, which doesn’t seem like much, I’m sure.

Please keep in mind that I’m only active two to three times a week. If I seek food, I only eat what’s necessary, or I lead my targets into unfavorable scenarios that may end up killing them without rewarding my experience.

Sometimes I like the idea of bringing down prey without having to do it myself, which seems to be a flaw in the System. I don’t think about it much because, in the end, I’m more focused on what is present at hand, my survival and comfort.

But that didn’t take away my negative experiences each time I level up. Each time Londa showed up.

Upon reaching Lvl 16, Londa appeared. “Hey, Big R, I need to put [5] on Intellect. I’ll put the rest in Perception.”

I was caught unaware. I’ve heard nary a word from her until then. Flustered, I agreed to her wishes. She quickly vanished after that.

Then on Lvl 17, she appeared again. I suspected she would want to invest more points into Intellect to further whatever metamorphosis she was undergoing. I was disturbed by this because I was worried she would become hostile toward me.

It would break my heart if my closest companion were to become my enemy.

I wanted to confront her. She inadvertently surprised me. “Big R, I’ve gone ahead and put points in the primary Attributes. Later.”

I called for her, but she didn’t return.

The episode made me cry.

Why is it the more I gain in Intellect, the more sensitive I become? Is the opposite happening with Londa? Is she becoming crueler? Has she lost herself in her past self? How can I help her?

How can I support her?

These worries were the dark blithe that speckled my days as a woodswoman. It pressed upon me realizations that maybe I’ve tarried away from our main goals for too long. Perhaps Londa feels that I’ve replaced her with my new fancy as a survivalist.

I’ve only committed to this because I wanted to find some sense of security for both of us. Yes, I did revel in some of the lessons given to me by my mother. I did want to feel accomplished in something that can serve as my baseline in this new world. I wanted a model of success, but I didn’t think it would be a divisive experience between us.

Though it would be false of me not to admit that I’ve withheld information that could’ve gotten us going sooner.

It was in the back of my mind as soon as our Intellect increased to 15. It’s blaring now that I’m at 20 Intellect.

I know the direction of north. I’ve confirmed it when I hiked up a rather tall hill and faced the Black Gold Mountains far in the distance.

I know southeast of here is a land that would be a fitting location to learn my first class. It is a land that is as legendary as it is old.

It is called JourneyFall.

My Father told me that many humans and foreigners who had entered his warbands seeking glory heralded from that land. It has ports that accept travelers from the east. Many heroes grew up from the farms there.

JourneyFall.

The place Father and Mother defended during the Dragon Awakening, for the dragons detested the land that births the most adventurers. What better way for a dastardly dragon to ensure their survival and their hoarding of gold than to eliminate the land that spawns their foes? Yet, as if the land itself was a hero, it persisted.

JourneyFall.

What an appropriate name. When I say it aloud in Universal Speech, I let my tongue accentuate the J as I breathe the rest of the word huskily. Upon reaching the F, I overtly press my bottom lip against the edge of my teeth.

It’s entirely different in Giantkin Language. I prefer saying it in Universal Speech, which is a pidgin of many languages all around Mythokos. The basis of the language is Common Human. Maybe I can learn Common Human there so I can speak to them respectfully.

And convince some of them to serve me and pamper me.

However, that ultimately depends on if JourneyFall continues to exist.

You see, this is one of the many burdens of being a woman displaced by time. I do not know the world at large. I do not know what will await me once I begin my adventure in earnest.

If I am to go to JourneyFall, I must go southeast. I must travel through the low valleys of the Eastern Teeth to get near the coast. Then I must cross through Titan’s Boot, a massive stronghold of the giants before I truly set foot in JourneyFall.

But that’s information that’s five hundred years old. So much could’ve changed from then. I could be entering a country ran by dragons!

Or worse… the fey.

Nonetheless, I must go. I must see for myself, or I must meet others who can correct the sorry state of my knowledge. Now that I remember more, if not everything, it will be more bothersome to ignore the calling than the answer to my duty.

Still, I wish to curse the growth in Intellect.

I’m surprised Londa didn’t input more points into Intellect. But I think we truly reached the extent of its usefulness. If I know all of these details of my background, Londa surely knows everything about her past.

This is why it is time to tie up loose ends and go on our way. I adventure to JourneyFall, whether it exists or not, will be enlightening for us. Perhaps we will be faced with new dangers, and this may bring us back together.

I’m willing to risk my detriment to have Londa open up to me again. I prayeth that it works, because I may not grace your surface for a long while, Parchment. Thank you for being so welcoming to my ink. I shall reward you with a kiss.

 

With love and adoration,

Rhonda, The Last Noble Giantess

***

***

Rhonda licked her lips before planting a kiss on a blank corner. She placed her quill aside and scanned her writing as the ink dried on the parchment. She was currently on her belly, kicking her legs idly behind her with one hand propping up her chin.

It was the day after a rainstorm. The air smelled watery. A million dewdrops that glimmered like jewels when struck by the morning rays covered the leaves and grasses. Rhonda’s camp survived the storm well enough, even if the ground was soft and squishy.

She had used a dry and flat stone to write. She couldn’t help but let her writer’s hand go even though she would usually write at night. It seemed quite final this morning. As if it was part of the process enabling Rhonda to move on.

With a heavy sigh, Rhonda pushed up and gathered her items into her satchel. Then she dusted the moist soil from her front, her hands rubbing over her fuzzy vest.

She was a transformed woman now compared to the girl that had left the manor. She wore light-weight moccasins made of fox hide and rabbit furs while sealed by plant-fiber threads. She reused torn strips of her trousers as a thong between her legs and wrapping for her breasts; they were underneath her gambeson, which she had reinvented with armored lizard scales and a layer of rabbit furs.

She did not wear her locket or belt on her torso anymore. They were now integrated into the upgraded gauntlets on her arms. She had bound them together with her cestus gloves, more armored lizard scales, and⁠—the most thrilling part⁠—stalker claws that extended past the knuckles.

Again, for the sake of fashion, she covered her upgraded forearm gauntlets with rabbit fur. It took her a while to nab enough brown and black rabbits for her outfit to match while it blended with the shadows during the day or the cover of night.

Rhonda need not be a woodswoman without being cute. She looked quite fuzzy now, even though she was deadly underneath.

What may give her away was her collection of little bones in her hair. Her curls had grown quickly over the course of the month. To keep it orderly, she had introduced a paste-like regiment made of berries and plant oils. She found it favorable enough to use as a wash while downstream the nearby creek. Then she braided her hair with the ends knotted around the ribs of the rabbits.

Perhaps prey bones at the end of her braids wouldn’t have been too alarming if she was to forgo her mask. She had taken to wearing a stalker’s skull over her face. It was tied to a piece of hide that served as a well-fitted cap with rabbit’s fur sewn around it. She liked how the mask’s fangs reached down past her chin. And she could see perfectly through its eye sockets.

This was the last item she wore before she shifted her mentality from Relaxed Rhonda to Woodswoman Rhonda.

Then she would straighten to her full height and assess her camp. Her gaze roved over the lean-to, the prey trophies, the makeshift weapons, the bug shell decorations, and the fire hearth. She double-checked that her satchel was on her left hip and that her knife and scabbard were worn around her right leg.

 “One last day as the woodswoman. Then I’ll say goodbye,” Rhonda said, smiling wanly. “But for now, let’s enjoy the day.”