Twelve measly gold coins! How dare they demean me with such a paltry sum? The very thought of it ignites a fire within me, a flame of indignation that flickers and dances in the caverns of my pride. If it weren't for the absurdity of the situation, I would storm the gates of that insufferable castle, leaving none standing in my wake. Alas, the implausibility of such a grandiose act forces a resigned sigh from my lips—a sigh that echoes through the corridors of my wounded ego.
As the realization sets in that I am tethered to a reality where my grand ambitions are constrained, a tactical retreat becomes the need of the hour. I must extricate myself from this place before any discerning eyes catch wind of my displeasure. The decision is made; I must vanish into the shadows, leaving only the whispers of my disdain behind.
Contemplating my exit strategy, the options unfurl like a clandestine map before me. Should I opt for the audacious departure through the front door, or would the more discreet retreat through a window serve me better? The risk of being remembered, of having my visage etched into the memory of some unsuspecting onlooker, niggles at the edges of my thoughts. With a measure of caution, I raise the hood of anonymity, obscuring my features in a shroud of mystery, and descend the stairs with an affectation of simplicity.
The journey towards the exit is almost uneventful, a ballet of nonchalance. My footsteps echo the rhythm of deception as I move towards the door, a door that promises liberation from the stifling confines of the establishment. Yet, just as freedom seems within grasp, a voice pierces the veil of my assumed inconspicuousness. The counter lady, announces the expiration of my temporal sanctuary.
"Hey, your time is up. You’ve got to return the key," she declares with an air of detachment.
Bending my head in a silent acknowledgment, I approach the counter, the key exchanged with a subtle nod from the counter lady. With the keys returned, I hasten my exit, leaving the inn behind like a phantom dissipating into the night.
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Navigating the labyrinthine streets, my hood now impractically concealing my face, I embark on a quest to find a place that can offer me a new guise—a mask to veil my identity. The search leads me to an obscure vendor selling masks for a meager sum of 4 bronze coins. Without much consideration, I procure a half black and white wooden mask, a visage to replace the hood that served its purpose.
A loaf of bread joins my possessions, and with 2 silver and 14 bronze left, I seek refuge in another establishment for the night. The Whispering Wyvern Inn beckons—an ostensibly more refined choice, demanding a slightly higher fee. A week's stay depletes my coffers by 5 more bronze than the last inn, leaving me with a mere silver and 9 bronze.
The time has come to resume my exceptional pursuits. After a day of exemplary effort, I decided to treat myself to a culinary creation surpassing the banality of mere bread. A concoction barely deserving the title of soup graces my palate at the inn. Having indulged, I ascend to my room and recline. I continued doing this routine for three more days.
But on the fourth day, as I am liberating valuables from one of my unwitting benefactors, a voice utters, “Ahh, so you are the one behind the disappearances in the lower sector.” I turn to behold a woman, seemingly 20 years old, adorned in the regalia of a white wizard, her excitement palpable.
She raises her hands, and a fireball materializes, hurtling toward me with malicious intent. Barely managing to evade the fiery projectile, I draw my sword, realizing that the only path to escape lies in confronting this white-robed interloper. Running toward her, she casts another spell, and I narrowly dodge, slashing my sword at the wizard. However, my blade meets an invisible magic barrier, leaving no perceptible scratch.
A wave of force propels me backward, and I find myself once again at the starting point of our confrontation. Rising from the ground, I witness another fireball hurtling my way. Swiftly, I throw my dagger at the impending threat, causing it to explode in mid-air. The heat sings me, but my ego remains unscathed.
Arming myself with a broken chunk of stone, I charge at the wizard, dodging subsequent fireballs. Closing the distance, I attempt to stab at the shield, and it yields slightly. The wizard, undeterred, casts another spell to push me back. Resisting proves futile, and as the fireball approaches, I throw the stone too late. The explosion engulfs me, and I am flung against the alley wall, my cloak and wooden mask catching fire.
The pain was tremendous I could feel the skin on my face burning. But I played dead because that was the only choice I had to not die.
I could barely hear her footsteps fading away under the crackling fire. After waiting for five more agonizing seconds I tore the mask off my face and poured the water I had in my flask onto my head to put the fire out.