After a healer fixes me up, I limp through the empty streets on of Twilleger towards the Flying Yoshi, the town's only tavern. The black and gray town buildings, constructed from an odd mixture of local granite and chopped willow trees, loom around me as I traverse the cobblestone road, my feet still bereft of all feeling. The road is dimly lit by an occasional decrepit torch.  Smoke billows from chimneys as players attempt to keep themselves warm on this dreary night. Most windows are illuminated with the ghostly reflection of a candle or a rusted lantern. For a brief moment of weakness, I look at a common house and feel an intense rush of envy. Man, I want a place to call my own. I can’t help thinking. But I force myself to continue down the street.

I enter The Flying Yoshi through oak saloon-style doors and I order a BedRock Porter. The tavern is just warm enough so that I start to feel the odd tickling sensation of feeling coursing through my numb toes. I bring the aged copper flagon to my mouth, taking the first draught of a healthy, if not slightly bitter, ale.

The Flying Yoshi is packed with treasure hunters, as always. The bar is well polished and clean, despite the heavy traffic. A granite fireplace sits in the corner, and other than a silver shield that lies over the mantle, the tavern lacks any decoration. Candles brighten a dim atmosphere and ambient chatter lulls in the background.

The Flying Yoshi is the only place in Twillenger to get a drink, so it’s usually pretty packed. Of course, Twillenger's population rose a good bit after the treasure quest was released two years ago. Although, the population has lessened considerably after Dread Forest casualties started to pile up.

When I first moved to Gothic Coast, I would usually chat with other hunters about the treasure. But I found conversation with my competitors to be stressful, and they occasionally made me feel inadequate with their higher skills or better gear. Instead, I now generally prefer to grab a drink with the elderly blacksmith, Vork. Today he is on my case, even worse than usual.

“Blake, you ran into a Sludge Dragon again? You need to be more careful!” Vork slams his copper flagon on the counter.

“Are you kidding?” I reply. “I can’t afford to be careful! One million gold coins are just sitting there Vork! Sitting there! And I’m going to find it!”

“Blake, you’ve been here for two months, and nothing!” Vork sighs and finishes his ale. He points to all the other treasure hunters at the bar, most of them young adventurers like myself. “And all of these fools are doing the same! I’m telling you, just give it up. It’s too risky. Internal bleeding? How many health points did you have left by the time you got to the healer?”

“Twelve,” I say. “But look at this!” I withdraw a carefully marked scroll from my backpack. On top is labeled DreadForest, and the parchment is marked with various symbols of monsters and paths. “See? Look!” I point to a small sketch of a Sludge Dragon. “I just can’t go in that direction, else I’ll run into him again!”

Vork looks at me skeptically. “You know that are probably dozens of Sludge Dragons scattered in DreadForst.”

“Yeah, but…” I trail off and stare at my map. I have four Sludge Dragons, twenty-eight Feral Worgs, and well over one hundred Vampire Snails marked. I’m probably still missing the vast majority of monsters.

True, my chances of getting the First Clue are slim. So I decide to change the subject.

“Have I told you what I’m going to do once I get the treasure?”

“Yes, you’ve told me one-hundred--”

“I’m going to get a house by a lake. Not just any lake. You know that region, WonderWood? The region that has perfect weather year round?”

Vork sighs. “Not again, Blake. I’ve heard this enough.”

If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

“I’ll have land. Vork, I’m not talking a small lot. No, I’m going to own my own farm, with pigs, and turkeys, and maybe even a goat--”

“Blake, this isn’t--”

“And I’ll get up every morning to milk my goat.”

“What’s with you and this goat? Can’t you just get a cow instead?”

“Yeah, sure. I’ll have a cow. And a cave. A cave with monsters I can train on in peace! No more wandering the land as a loner, no more getting beat on by Sludge Dragons, no more crashing in shitty inns, or running out of money and camping in the woods. I’ll have the best gear money can buy.” I take off my [Leather Cowl of ShadowGlimpse] and show it to Vork. “I’m using the worst night vision gear in the universe! I shouldn’t even go out at night anymore.” I concede.

“It can’t be that bad…” Vork mutters as he grabs the scarred leather cowl and puts in on his head, the leather flapping around his balding scalp as he fastens the chin strap. “Oh yeah.” He says. “This is bad. Shoot, how do you see using this thing?” He says as he looks around the tavern.

I grab it back. “You get used to it.”

Vork looks at me with intense eyes. “Blake. You know that adventurers have been going after Captain RavenCrest’s treasure for four years now. And not just poor chumps like you--”

“Hey, I might be poor, but I’m no--”

“What I’m saying Blake, is that nobody ever has any luck! Only four people have ever made it to the Third Clue, and even they never got to the actual treasure! It’s a fool’s quest, Blake. A fool's quest, indeed. I’ve seen many a young adventurer come to Gothic Coast, all looking to make it rich. The smart ones leave when they realize how dangerous Dread Forest is. And the others...” Vork looks off into the distance. “They die chasing a cursed treasure!”

I raise an eyebrow at Vork. “Yeah? Well, I’m no common adventurer. I train harder than anybody.” I drain the rest of my ale. I catch a ghost of my reflection in the copper flagon and I wince. I can’t stand looking at myself. I’m deathly pale and covered in scars. My black hair is always mangled. But the worst are my eyes. I have haunted, pitch black eyes. People say that looking at me is like staring at a specter.

Vork sighs again. “Just know this, Blake. If you ever need some training, you know where to find me. And trust me, you’ll need some training. You can’t get by on wind magic and some scimitar skills forever.”

“But wind magic is the best!”

Vork laughs. “Spoken like a true wind mage. You know the six elements all have equal merit. Earth, wind, fire, water, light, and darkness. All equally powerful. The best mages study all of the elements, or at least two or three quite well.”

“I’ll be the first elite mage to use only wind, then. Plus, I’m a spell sword, not a mage!”

“Spellsword? Really?” Vork laughs. “As soon as you actually level up your strength stat and scimitar skill, then I’ll take you seriously. Plus, using a simple [Iron Scimitar] isn’t doing you any favors when it comes to melee damage. For now, you are a wind mage who can use a scimitar if need be.”

My face burns in frustration, but he speaks some truth. My [Wind Magic] level is 378, quite solid for anybody, especially impressive for my age (I’m seventeen). But my Strength is only level 223, along with my Swords skill at 245. I’m not bad, but I’m no expert swordsman.

This is the way levels are usually measured, more or less.

Under 100--Novice.

100-200--Apprentice.

200-300--Journeyman.

300-400--Expert

400-500--Master

500-600--Grandmaster

600-700--Legend

Skills get more difficult to level as they get higher. Once you get to Expert Range especially, it becomes extremely difficult to grow levels. Most players never advance past 400 in any skill or stat, just because it takes so much time and effort. My highest skill is level 378 [Wind Magic], and my highest stat is level 409 [Intelligence].

Our silence is only filled with the pitter-patter of rain. It’s usually raining in Gothic Coast, or at least a bit cloudy. “Thanks, Vork,” I mutter, staring at my empty flagon. Although he’s always on my case, I really appreciate Vork. He’s one of the person in Gothic Coast I can actually trust.

The bartender, Zelda Peterson, approaches us. “You need another drink?” She had a pleasant face and is usually smiling. I have a mild crush on her, but I’ve never mustered the courage to ask her out. Plus, what would we do? The only thing I ever do is train and drink. I guess I could have her come train with me. But I’m not sure if she is the adventuring type. She seems kind of tame.

I shake my head and pay for the drink, though I tip will. She’s cute.

It was a stupid purchase really, that’s my last coin. I’m going to camp out again tonight.

But sometimes, after a close run in with a dragon, all I want is a nice bitter ale.