“Good morning sunshiii… What’re you doing in here again?” Jacob’s usual greeting stalled in surprise.

Sitting up, Peter patted his pants. Then his shirt. He started to frantically sift through the bottom of the sarcophagus. “It’s gone. Jacob, it’s gone!”

Jacob smiled. This was more according to the script. ‘What’s gone, Traveller?”

“My coin. I had it a minute ago. It was in my hand!”

A smile played across the elderly cryptkeeper’s lips. “Sorry Traveller. Anything not stowed in your inventory or an appropriate container may be lost at death. Not always, mind, but often. It’s probably right where you kicked the bucket. Unless someone’s found it, that is. Rebirth isn’t a quick process and thieves are, if you catch my meaning. Was it a valuable coin?”

Shrugging, Peter climbed out of the box and down the short ladder. “It was a copper piece. It may not be much in the grand scheme, but I don’t have much so I have to hold on to every one that I get.”

“Not to worry, there’ll be more. Now, come this way, we’ll get you a nice cuppa and a soft seat upstairs.” Jacob led the way back to the temple meditation access.

Settling into the cushions, Peter flipped through his Mark to the Quests section. Please get rid of the rats in my basement had been moved to the Completed list, as had Tailor shop needs bolts of cloth from the General Store. Squirming his butt down deeper into the plush seating, he popped open his inventory and pulled out the unaccepted quest notes he had taken from the Inn. Sipping his cup of tea he read through them once more, he chose to add Please take this basket to my grandmother, she lives outside of town to the log. He didn’t feel like removing any from the list just in case there was a refusal cost.

Dying of exhaustion hadn’t been such a bad way to go. Not as painful as being swarmed to death by rats. Speaking of rats, since he was there he grabbed another bunch of grapes and an apple. DB was still asleep, prompting a curious thought - did time pass inside the inventory space? It must have, he decided, since the rat swarm had woken up and burst out. DB must just be a super sleepy rodent.

Rather than wait for the Priestess to escort him out this time, Peter slunk out into the street and flicked his hood up. Thus, feeling less exposed, he set off to find the next quest giver who was going to extort him.

"Let’s see now,” he murmured to himself as he checked the options. “Looks like a simple delivery job to granny’s house. I’ll grab the basket, make sure granny’s place isn’t near the forest, drop it off and if it looks like being a race again I’ll ditch the load and leg it.”

According to the magic GPS, the basket was to be collected from the General Store again. Fortunately, Peter didn’t have to do much besides wave the quest note at the owner, who pointed at a large wicker basket as though he was expecting someone to collect it.

“Say hi to Esme, Traveller,” he added as Peter left.

Rebirth had obviously taken quite a long time this go around, as it was now a lovely blue-skied morning. A fresh breeze blew in from the sea as the sun peeked out from above the palisade. There were very few people up and about at this time and as he ambled along the road Peter reminisced about his first day in the Garden.

The fairy lights soon brought him to a gate in the wall which opened onto a path up a gentle hill. At the top of the hill sat a very old thatched cottage. Along the way up the path there were all the things one would expect of a remote home of a recluse. A kitchen garden with a nice variety of vegetables, apiary for honey, various fruit trees, a cow and some goats in a small field. It all looked rather inviting.

Arriving on the porch, he knocked on the front door only to have it swing open as he did. “Hello?”

“In here, dearie.” A thin voice called out from somewhere in the back. “Come in, I’m sorry I can’t come to the door right now.”

Pushing the door open and looking inside, he saw that it was essentially a two room cottage. The main room functioned as kitchen, dining room and living room, with an open door leading into a bedroom at the back. Stepping around the rocking chair and table, Peter made his way into the bedroom.

Inside, in the gloom, he found an old lady in an ancient four poster bed. “I’m sorry dearie. I’ve been poorly and can’t get up. Doctors orders. Did you come to bring me my medicine?”

Peter placed the basket on the floor beside the bed and opened the wicker lid. He quickly sorted through the contents until he found a small potion bottle with a cork stopper. He read the label on the side out loud. “For Esme, take one tablespoon morning and night. Do not take with alcohol. I mean it Esme.” Peter looked at the old lady, who gave him a sheepish smile. “I think the doctor means it, ma’am.”

“Pish-posh young man. Give me the bottle, will you. And call me Granny, everyone else does.”

Peter handed over the bottle and instead of a carefully measured out dose, Granny just swigged from it like a hip flask. Pulling a face, she dug around under the sheets and pulled out a much larger bottle and swigged from it as well.

“Ah, much better. Now, I still can’t do much about the house with this,” she flicked back the blanket to show a neatly bandaged leg in a brass and leather brace. “So, I was hoping you’d like to make yourself useful. If you come back each day and water my animals, I’ll bake you a nice cake. How does that sound?”

“That sounds just fine, ma… Granny. When do I start?”

“Well, how about right now? I already have a cake in the oven, it should be just about ready.” Granny stood up and began hobbling into the main room of the cottage.

Peter frowned as she passed. “You’re not good at following doctor’s orders, are you?”

“Why should I listen to some boy I helped bring into this world? They go off to some school in the big city and come back with all sorts of strange ideas.” Granny’s voice was muffled as she dug around in the pantry. “I’ve lived out here all my life. Never needed these newfandangled thingamybobs. Doc only got this damned contraption on my leg because he brought John the smith’s boy to hold me down. Now, go be useful.”

Peter wandered out into the garden looking for a source of water. Nothing around the front, but out the back was a well with a winch built into a sloped roof over the top of it. Peter’s eye twitched a little, it looked just like the sort you’d find in a children’s picture book of fairy tales. Looking down into it revealed only cool dark stone wall and the rope that he expected should have a wooden bucket at the end of it, were he able to see the end. A couple of turns of the winch took the slack out of the rope but then stopped dead. Something was anchoring the other end of the rope to the bottom.

“Granny, I can’t get the bucket out of the well! It’s stuck!” Peter continued to struggle against the handle in the hopes of dislodging the obstruction.

Granny leaned out of a window and yelled back. “Then do something about it.” As she closed the window, he heard her mutter almost inaudibly about “dratted lazy Travellers”.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Turning back to the well, Peter climbed up on the edge, steadying himself on the uprights. Wary, since he really wasn't looking forward to seeing Jacob so soon, he was extra careful of mossy patches on the stone. Reaching over and flipping the catch on the winch to stop it from unwinding he then grasped the rope tightly and began to inch his way down. The rope was fairly thick and rough and afforded a decent hand hold but the fibres occasionally dug into his hands leaving painful splinters.

Down at the bottom of the shaft the sky was a tiny circle of light high overhead. Not a lot of light filtered down here. Letting go of the rope Peter dropped the last few feet and splashed into water halfway up his shin. “Well, well, well. What do we have here?”

It took a while for his eyes to adjust to the half-light but slowly the details became clear. The rope hung straight down from above to disappear under the water. It reappeared coiled around the midsection of a gigantic toad. It wasn’t making any aggressive movements, in fact it was just lying there. Every few seconds it would bend forward as far as its neck would allow and take a large mouthful of water and swallow it. As Peter watched it grew a little larger with each drink and the rope tightened around it. “So, that explains where the water is going. What to do about it? That’s the next question.” Peter flopped back against the dank wall and stared at the massive amphibian. “How do we get you out of here? You’re clearly too big to lift. No knife to cut the rope. Heck, no knife to kill you with either, not that I really want to.”

The big wet eyes just stared back at him, impassive. It took another mouthful of water as the rope tightened again. The water sloshed as it settled its body more comfortably.

Peter tried hunting around under the surface for the bucket but it was firmly trapped under the bulk of the beast. “Too bad you’re not a double parked car, I could have you toad away…”

A ripple shook the clammy flank and a little spurt leaked between its green lips.

“O-ho! That’s your weakness. Let’s see if we can get you laughing.” Peter smiled. This was his jam! “Hey pal, what’s your favorite flower? A croak-us?”

Another spurt of water shot out.

“Do you want a real drink? I’ve got croak-a-cola.”

Spurt.

“A bus rolls up, what does the driver say to you? Hop on!”

A rumble and a bigger spurt. The toad had shrunk perceptibly. Not enough to loosen the rope off, but it was no longer digging into the skin.

“Ok chuckles, what’s your favourite candy? A lolly-hop? Did you want to watch a movie? I’ve got a copy of Star Warts!”

Like a floodgate opening, the mouth opened wide and torrents of both laughter and water burst forth. Caught in the stream Peter was slammed back into the wall, smashing his head against the stones. Stunned and with lights flashing in front of his eyes he slumped forward into the rapidly rising waters with a splash. As the surface receded away from him he could see the toad shrinking back to the normal proportions for a toad. The rope uncoiled and fell away and the toad began to glow blue and rise towards the top of the well.

In the peaceful gloom Peter floated slowly upwards and watched the blue glow fade. He wanted to swim for the surface, but it was calm here and he couldn’t bring himself to move for some reason. Sluggishly he reached out towards the fading light and all went completely dark.

Slowly, gently, Peter’s weight settled onto him again. A fit of coughing wracked his body, folding him in half. He smashed his head on something hard and stars exploded in his vision again. He coughed again, bringing up a lungful of water this time. He rolled over onto his side and grappled with something that tried to wrap around his neck. Choking on water and whatever was constricting his throat he began thrashing wildly, striking out at whatever was blocking him, above his head, left, right, over the top. Dull thuds of meat on stone and the pain in his hands and feet brought him back to himself.

Box. Rope. A bright light framing an ugly but familiar face. “Uh. Hi Jacob.”

Said face smiled. Or grimaced maybe, it wasn’t an exact science. “Again? I mean, I like you fine, I appreciate the way you actually listen to my jokes. How about we try meeting some other way though? You could try buying me an ale over at the Inn. How about that?” He proffered a spotty, misshapen hand.

Accepting the hand without hesitation, Peter climbed out. “Deal. See you there tonight. Don’t worry about escorting me, I know the way pretty well.”

Completely ignoring the meditation room this time, Peter headed out into the street whilst checking his quest list. Please take this basket to my grandmother, she lives outside of town had one last objective left, Collect the reward. Peter headed to the General Store to do exactly that.

Peter didn’t dally with the store owner, the oily little man gave him the willies. Ten coppers richer and he was tripping down the street towards the next quest. Sure, he was probably about to die again in some horrible way, but for some reason he was feeling rather upbeat about it. There was some jingling stuff in his wallet, not enough for a decent weapon or real armour, but it was a start.

It was not too long before he was knocking on the front door of a small hovel built hard up against the palisade. The door opened and a foul odour wafted out. Eyes watering, Peter stared at the figure who emerged into the sunlight. By the look of it, they saw the day star but rarely. A mountainous being coated in poorly tanned fox pelts blinked in the light. It could only be described as coated, as they were not stitched together, just strapped to its body with leather thongs.

“Wha'choo you wan'?” it inquired.

“I'm here about the quest you posted. You need some fox pelts? Like, more pelts?” Peter eyed the decomposing skins.

“Darn tootin' I wan’ more. Git us ten ‘er dem thangs an' I pays yer. Git us der biggun an' gi'e yer sumfin' speshal.”

Ears pricking up at the suggestion of ‘special', Peter asked, “No problems, but where do I find this ‘big one'?”

The old coot pulled out a map, printed on the back of a piece of leather of course, and circled a landmark with his finger.

“De ol' girl, she allus hangs out by der big rock norf of ‘ere. Ah wants ‘er skin most of all, after wha' she did to me leg.” He threw the map over his shoulder and gripped the door frame so he could balance on one leg. The other he stuck out so that Peter could see that it was made of wood with the fur nailed to it.

“Gah!” Peter exclaimed as he staggered back in horror. “That's nasty. Put it away, I'll sort out the fox. Foxes.”

“Goo' lad. Ah see yer soon then.” The door slammed shut, shutting off the noxious miasma. Peter staggered away still gagging from the smell.

As he headed out the gate once more Peter dragged in huge lungfuls to clear his nostrils and his head. He knew he was going to have to take on one of the foxes in combat, with all the risks that entailed. He pondered how to reduce those risks to an acceptable level. Absently he kicked a stick out of his way. The sharp rattle of it bouncing away triggered a thought.

Snatching up the length of wood he measured it against his forearm and found it to be roughly the same length. Pulling out his sickle and quickly whittling a point on the stick, he tried to focus on his new weapon. Warning: tool used for unintended purpose. Increased durability loss. Peter ignored the popup in the corner of his vision and checked his creation again.

Improvised wooden shiv (brittle). Damage: 2-4. Critical chance: High. Chance to break: High.

“Well, it’s a start.” A wry smile played on his lips.

Peter scanned the fields between him and the forest edge. He did not want to get too close to the trees, that would be like signing his own a death warrant. There were several troops of foxes gambolling about, a couple already had Travellers or locals engaged with them. Eyes roving over the countryside, he finally spotted a single animal sunning itself on a rock. It looked to be out of it, dozing in the afternoon sun.

Tucking his sickle into his inventory, shielding the pop with his body, Peter began attempting to sneak up on the target. Whilst he was definitely not trained in any form of stealth, here or in the real world, the hard packed earth around the rock made concealing his footfalls easy. There was one heart stopping moment, as he raised the makeshift weapon above his head and the vulpine form stretched and yawned, but it's eyes remained closed and Peter plunged the tip into the creature's flank.

There was a brief red flash and the words critical hit scrolled across the bottom of his vision. The fox let out a strangled yelp and the shiv shattered into splinters that rapidly disappeared. Peter leapt back off the rock and assumed what he guessed was a fighting stance. Unnecessarily, as it turned out. The fox's form slumped to the rock unmoving. He reached out to touch it, and received a notification in the corner of his vision. You do not have the requisite tool to harvest this resource.

“This again?” he thought to himself. “Well, how did they skin animals before knives?” A huge yawn wracked him. As the adrenaline rush faded, sleepiness began to take hold. Maybe it was a problem for tomorrow. He need some real sleep. Lying in bed with his eyes closed did not seem to count.

Making a note to check on primitive skinning methods, he walked back to the road and sat down on the verge before hitting the logout.