“A Sky Burial may seem strange to the uninitiated, but I would much prefer my body taken to the wind than entombed beneath the cursed Earth with the beast and bones of dead men. Wouldn’t you?”

* Alfred of the Order of the Raven.

The way the old hut stood at the center of the clearing was paradoxical. At first glance, the slight building appeared on the verge of collapse, but the way it stood proud against the woods, encroaching in on all sides, indicated some unseen strength, as though the simple existence of the place was enough to scare aware the evil of the woods.

I was chomping at the bit to find out what was inside, but I was also hesitant. It could easily be some kind of high level mob or mini-boss meant for higher level players, or some kind of trap from Mizaguchi designed to play on gamers’ natural curiosity and love of exploration. And I had to admit, if that’s what it was, I’d fallen right into his trap.

The crumbling hovel sat beneath a shaft of argent light that cut through the rain and seemed to push the branches back, creating a ghostly glade like a lone rock standing against the towering waves of a raging storm. Tiny puffs of smoke coughed from a slanted chimney, and a soft light glowed from a single fogged window. As I stared, I saw movement within. I gripped my axe and readied myself as the front door to the shack opened and a figure emerged.

It was a man, old but filled with strength. He wore a three piece suit the color of dark chocolate, worn and fraying at the seams. Atop his head, a stovepipe hat with a rose colored sash wrapped around it. Draped over his shoulders, was a cross between a jacket and a poncho that hung above midway down his thighs. He moved like a younger man.

“Good evening, Seeker.” Even his voice was able and my eyes moved to the cane in his right hand. He leaned on it, but it was all a ruse. He didn’t need it, and I suspected a hidden blade concealed within the circular shaft of ebony wood.

“Is it?” I asked sarcastically.

The man glanced up to the sky and held out a wrinkled hand to collect the water as it fell. “The world weeps at The Weeping Hills. It is a fine evening.”

I frowned, unsure of what I’d stumbled into. Was this an NPC? An enemy?

“My name is Rathborne. Seeker of the Order of the Raven. Semi-retired of course.”

I examined him.

Rathborne of the Order of the Raven—Level 50.

It occurred to me that I wasn’t even sure what the max-level in the game was. He didn’t seem hostile, which was good, as I wouldn’t stand a chance against him.

“My name is Rand,” I replied. The old man nodded, looked me up and down, then beckoned me closer.

“Come, Rand,” he said. “I do not receive many visitors these days. Come sit with me by the fire.”

“I really can’t,” I said, shaking my head. “I just don’t have time.”

“Ah, but if we never make time, how can we ever have time?”

He had a point, but this wasn’t me just having a busy life. I had mobs to kill, levels to gain and a friend to find. Chatting with NPCs just didn’t fit into that schedule. But still—there was something about the man that had my attention, and the chill from the rain was getting to me.

“Okay,” I finally agreed. “Just a few minutes though.”

“Excellent!” Rathborne replied. He smiled with an approval that somehow made me feel like a kid again.

He held the door for me, and I walked past him and stepped into the cottage, which was one small room with two wooden chairs placed opposite each other beside a stone hearth that took up an entire wall. A gentle fire crackled beneath a large iron kettle suspended by a thick chain. There was a faint smell of cinnamon in the air.

“Tired old bones,” Rathborne grumbled as he closed the door and made a show of moving slowly across the room. His face twisted as he slid himself into his chair, but he wasn’t fooling me. This was a strong man, despite his appearance. I had to remind myself that this was not pre-programmed behavior. This was a real person with a real personality.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

“The Order of the Raven you say?” I asked him. He nodded and removed the cloak draped over him and set it aside.

“The most feared Seekers in all of Duskmourne,” he replied. “Until the plague came…swept through the town faster than any of us could have foreseen. It wasn’t a day before they were all corrupted.”

“The villagers?”

“Aye. I believe you’ve seen them in these woods. They’ve grown bold lately. If you care to clear the surrounding woods for me, I will reward you handsomely.”

A quest!

“Just killed four of them.”

Rathborne’s eyebrows raised when he heard that. His eyes narrowed like he was sizing me up, and I couldn’t help but feel he was impressed.

“As a Meat Sack?” he mused, nodding slowly. “That’s no easy feat. You are daring.”

“What can I say?” I replied, flashing a smile. “I like a challenge, but I’m starting to regret it now.”

“Why might I ask?”

“My friend is gone…missing,” I told him. The words stung my lips as I spoke them. “I don’t know what to do, but I have to find her.”

Rathborne looked thoughtfully back at me. “Missing you say?”

“Well…” I said slowly, remembering Corlin’s possessed face as he went mad back in town. Thinking of Rey like that… “Something took her. I have to find a way to get her back.”

“A true friend is a hard thing to find,” Rathborne remarked.

You can say that again, I thought.

“It seems you fit the definition.”

“I do my best,” I replied. Something had come over the old man. His eyes turned to the hearth. Flames danced about his gaze—he looked inward, as though remembering some horrible pain. My rational mind knew he wasn’t real, but that didn’t matter. I felt for him as I looked around his ramshackle abode.

“You…you remind me of someone I once knew.”

“Did something happen to them?”

The old Seeker looked up at me as though shocked that I’d asked the question. Had no one bothered to inquire about his life? They just showed up, took the quest and went on their way?

“My son,” he said slowly, his voice almost quivering. “Before we understood the plague, a madness took him. We—we were forced to put him down, thinking it would stop the spread.”

I shook my head in disbelief.

Dark, Mizaguchi. Dark.

The man’s pain was real. I felt it too.

“But it didn’t?”

He shook his head. “You’ll see his grave out back.”

“I’m sorry, Rathborne.” And I was. The tone of the hut had shifted dramatically, and I felt as though I was exploring unknown territory, as though I was the first one the man had shared his story with. This man was once great, and possibly still was, and carried with him a powerful presence. But this haunted memory ate at him like a disease, reminding me of what would happen if I lost Rey.

“I—I have to get going,” I said, quickly getting to my feet as my anxiety got the best of me. Every second I wasted was another second Rey was lost in the world. And I was still Level 1!

“Wait, son,” Rathborne said softly, taking a firm grip on my wrist, stopping me in my tracks. “You are strong of heart, but still weak. The world is vile and filled with treachery. Take this.”

He rose swiftly from his chair, snatched his cloak from where it lay and handed it to me. “This will aid you in your quest.”

My first instinct was to refuse. The gamer in me was jumping at the chance of some new loot, but my conscience was telling me no. The man had few possessions, and I couldn’t help feel as though the cloak had some kind of significance to him. But I saw the insistence in his eyes, held out my hand, and took it.

The cloth was light but firm, definitely wool but somehow different than anything I’d ever felt. It wasn’t so much “worn” as it was “broken in,” like a pair of good jeans or an old leather wallet.

My inventory dinged and I inspected the icon.

Cape Cloak of the Order of the Raven—Made from the finest of Devil’s Wool, designed to convey the same sense of dread one gets when looking into the shadows. Defining possession of a Seeker of the Order of the Raven. Imbued with forgotten magic, the penalty to a Seeker for having lost his cloak is simple—death.

Armor Level: 25

Grants the wearer the Shadowstep ability.

+25% to Rally.

+20% Health.

“Wow…” The icon carried an amber border, and the gamer in me was smart enough to know that this was an ultra-rare item I was holding. “My first real piece of armor! Is 25 good?”

“Negligible,” Rathborne replied. “But the rest…?”

He raised an eyebrow and curled his lips in a knowing smile. He nodded, indicating that I should put it on. I did, pulling my head through the oval-shaped hole in the top.

It fit perfectly, and I guessed the game re-sized it to fit the wearer. There were no arms, only a break in the fabric to allow freedom for the arms. The collar was thick and wide, like a fabric gorget to protect my neck and shoulders. Strangely, I felt somehow lighter as I wore it—and much more intimidating. It also raised my HP to 239, which was still lower than the rest of the other origins, but far better than where I’d began.

“Like a glove,” he smiled. As I looked down, I saw a small embroidered raven on the left breast made from dark thread, barely visible if you weren’t paying attention.

“Shadowstep,” I asked him. “What does it do? How do I do it?”

Rathborne smiled. “Come outside and I will show you.”