The Petrified Forest emerges without ceremony from a lush Lowland basin, occupying one of the valley's winding corridors tucked away in the shadow of the mountains. It's resident foliage has long since died, and what's left of the dead has long since turned to stone, it's so old. You look back through the matter of the Southern Lands and you'll find references to it consistently, up to the modern day, either as the object of worship of some romantic poet, or as a bugbear for misbehaving children: don't finish your porridge, and the trolls of the forest will whisk you away in a gunny sack.

Neither really fits the bill to be honest, maybe it's just that I don't care for romantic poetry. Do the "august forest reaches, the lees of balmy beeches, bow their heads adorned, like priests before the Mourned?" I'm not so sure. What I do know is that with an old walkthrough in hand, and do I mean the old ones, not just any pamphlet you can buy on a street corner, you can make out with some decent loot relatively hassle-free. A good way as any to pick up some green-names early on, as long as everything goes according to plan..

-

We didn't spring for a wagon, our fire mage reasoned the forest was only a healthy stroll away. He had a sidequest in the area anyhow. Some nonsense that probably cost you more to complete than it rewarded - clearing out jackalope nests or harvesting reagents. It turned out halfway through our trek, once we'd reached the Propylaea, that the quest's range was on the other side of the valley, and we didn't have the time to turn back if we wanted to be back before nightfall. So we kept walking regardless.

If you don't know, and I'm sure there could be a person reading this who isn't as privy to every landmark in the outskirts of Albion as low to mid-level Southern adventurers are, the Propylaea is the popular designation for a cluster of Ancient ruins that marks a crossroads between three high traffic instances, the Petrified Forest, Jackalope Meadows, and the Goblin Den. The single, paved road from the city splits into three dirt paths like the head of a trident, and for this reason I presume it's become the de facto base camp for prospective adventures to swap items and make groups.

The cries of auctioneers, the gossip and infighting of parties, trundling carriages, sacks of loot jingling, whinnying pack animals, flags planted in the ground to initiate a duel and the consequent clashing of swords, all of it assembles into one vibrant racket that seems to follow adventurers everywhere they go. The white marble skeleton of an age-old temple shoot up from the sandy soil and presides over the hustle and bustle, much as they must have done all those years ago when they weren't ruins. A female figure rendered in stark white, with a flowing garment and expression of perfect equanimity presides over the center of the grounds, her eyes are looking up at such an angle that it's as if she is watching the sun. An exploratory root has wound its way up her toga and settled by her ear, at which point a brilliant flower grows. It looks like she put it there herself.

The drow with the wicked-looking sword cusses out the fire mage, the billowing robe over his lanky body made him look like a coat on a rack. Garden-variety adventurer expletives,

"I hope your mother is eaten by a Tunneling Squid, you cad! You locust!", he said.

I thought to myself that I could've done a lot better, if I'd had the chance. I didn't want to push my luck with a new party, though. Not with what they were paying me. I absently patted the walkthrough in my back pocket. Still stored away safely. I thought back to all the times I'd been through this instance, all the tips and tricks. I'd like to think I could've walked in there without so much as the clothes on my back, let alone with a walkthrough. For some reason, though, something made me reach for it there on my bedside table, as if somehow I knew that just my memory wouldn't cut it.

We waded through all the crowds and claques and auction floors, past a hooded carriage drawn by an antelope, an uncommon sight outside of elvish lands. As we reached the outskirts of the ruins our priestess cries out:

"Stop, stop!" We all looked back at her, she's completely pale.

"My necklace is gone. S-someone must've taken it!" She was frantically pawing at her neck, which was noticeably bare. Isn't that typical. Didn't I tell everyone to watch for pickpockets?

"We've wasted enough time here already. Forget about the necklace - I'm hailing a carriage", said the drow.

"We can't.. It was m-my grandmother's..", she responded, looking completely crestfallen. The drow started up with a vitriolic blue streak, the mage and dwarf shared a look of amusement. Suddenly feeling a surge of paternalism, I took charge.

"Wait just a moment", I began authoritatively, "just what material was this necklace made of?"

"Ivory! It was made of ivory" she blurted out hopefully. "As are all idols of Lux"

"Ah, well you'd better thanked your lucky stars I spec'd into rogue" I said. "You see, since ivory sells for x amount gold per pound, and if you level up as the thief subclass enough times, making sure to put points into otherwise situational skills like 'ambidextrous' and 'tie rope'.."

"Just get to the point, gramps", said the drow.

"Right, well, it's as simple a matter as using the skill 'detect precious material'. I'll find your necklace immediately."

"You idiot", the drow butted in abruptly. "This is a marketplace. There's a million pieces of 'precious material' all around us"

To be fair, I hadn't considered that. I activated the skill and had to turn it off immediately, as the location of every spec of gold, every jewel, nearly any object worth paying for flashed into my head. It was nearly enough to give me aneurysm.

"This is really too much", said the drow. "Please tell me there's another kind of magic you can use to find that bloody necklace"

I had another great idea: "That necklace is as good as found, believe me, it's a devotional object isn't it? An idol? Well, you're just lucky I spec'd into priest! It's as simple a matter as using "detect holy!"

The mage buried his face in his palm. The drow spat, the dwarf groaned.

"We're in the middle of an ancient ruin", the drow said. "All of that counts as 'holy', in case you didn't know".

He was right: I tried to use it, and the sudden on-rush of every statue, column, and bit of marble in a mile radius came rushing to my head. I doubled over.

The priestess rushed over to me and cast a numbing spell, asked if I was alright. I said I was alright, but I in fact had suffered a kind of wound not even a laying on hands could mend. The rest of the party looked to be ready to carry on, but the priestess had one last idea:

"You must use 'detect evil'! Surely, you must have that available if you have points in priest.."

"I can't use it, you see.. Wait, you must have it, right?" The priestess suddenly looked sullen.

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"Well, yes, but.. The thief most likely stole that necklace to feed himself, and, well.. the way my sect is, that is considered unjust, but committing a minor crime as an act of preservation isn't considered 'evil'. I doubt the pickpocket would show up, if I used mine.."

"And what makes you think I consider that evil either?"

"Well, it's your.. your... Well, when you took the vow to put points into priest, the Temple of Light was very different. Any offence, no matter how minor, was considered a temporary inhabitation of its perpetrator by a demon, and therefore, by its nature evil. The church has long since reformed through a series of ecclesiastical debates, and well, you must've..."

"Must've what", I said breathless. But I knew what she was getting at. I was so old that when I took the oath 'detect evil' worked differently. I was humiliated, what's worse was the pained look she gave me. She wanted with all her heart not to offend me. She was right, though. Only thing is, I never put points into that skill. I told her that much.

"Oh my lord", said the drow. "I honestly can't believe this. Please tell me you're close to levelling then. It should just take one skill point, right?"

"Yes, and I am close to levelling", I said. "Only, my level is so high that.. Well, it would take another x points.."

"X points??" exclaimed the party in disbelief.

"I am high level, after all", I said.

"Surely there's some instance you can stop in around here, some monster you can kill that will level you up fast enough to get this necklace before nightfall."

"The only thing around for miles are jackalopes"

The drow at the mage and dwarf. The priestess looked at me. I was staring off into the middle distance, the gravity of what I just said hitting me.

The mage began running the numbers, "OK, so if we want to get to the Petrified Forest in x amount of time, and to fill your xp bar you've got to kill x amount of jackalopes, that means.."

"A jackalope every second". The party looked at me expectantly.

"I can do that. I'm going to need something from you guys though"

-

"Why don't we just call it a day at this point", the drow remarked. "Cut our losses and meet up tomorrow".

"I've got this", I said, tipping the jug up to my mouth. The five of us had pooled our pocket money at a nearby stall, buying the absolutely largest mana potion possible. It was an old exploit I heard about for clearing 0-level mobs. I had never tried before, as it just as useless as it was unpleasant to watch and carry out. I began to drink in earnest.

There are a select amount of bits in the adventuring world that are guaranteed to kill. Among them are the food at inns, hunters with sticky fingers, preening elven adventurers. Nothing, though, and I mean nothing, is quite so relatable, so likely to get your audience laughing as making fun of the way spell power potions taste. It is indescribable. First start by dissolving a stick of chalk in vinegar. Then add a liberal amount of blood sausage left in the sun, together with a reduction of salmiac licorice, bad gin, and cloves. Stir that all together, adding turpentine to taste, and then you'll have an approximation. For the record, no one knows how they make the stuff purple. No one really wants to know either. They're the most affordable method of boosting spell power, however, and for the grand majority parties a necessity for that reason. Anyone intending to use some kind of damaging magic has to chug their fair share before entering a dungeon. The effect has diminishing returns: the effect gets weaker the more you've imbibed in one sitting, meaning that great quantities are to be swilled in order for this exploit to work.

So there I am, pouring the contents of a vessel easily containing a liter of spell power potion down my throat. It's almost kind of viscous, and I find I have to do more than just let it run down my gullet. How this is supposed to work by exploiting the exponential way that the "Plague Cloud", an otherwise inconsequential spell, spreads among enemies. Why did I put points into an early level warlock spell? Emo phase. Don't want to talk about it.

"Plague Cloud" is considered to be one of the weakest spells ever invented. It is an unhappy compromise, a milquetoast no man's land between debuff and dot. Upon casting it deals a mind-boggingly small x damage over time, together with a minor, MINOR reduction of speed and strength. By trying to do two jobs at once it does neither well at all. The only notable thing about it is a neat little gimmick: Contagion. The caster's target spreads the status to each other enemy around them, and they in turn spread it to the enemies around them, etc. Normally that doesn't mean a thing, weak as the spell is, but that's where the potion comes in. By drinking it in such vast quantities as I did then, just a second of damage from Plague Cloud should be enough to down a jackalope. And, tending as they do to stick to groups, getting just one of them should be enough to start one hell of a pandemic.

I put the jug down and wipe my mouth. I expectorate and curse under my breath. It's still not enough.

"Another!", and a second jug is handed to me.

This tricky part is, though, is that jackalopes flee just as soon as they spot you, and their senses are pretty keen. If we tried to approach them normally they'd scatter to the four winds before I could hit a single one of them. I would have to stealth in. On an open plain, with complete, unobstructed visibility. Sounds impossible, though I'd done it once before. If you approach slow enough, the slight obfuscating effect of stealth can tip the balance just enough.

-

We crested the hill. Tall, gleaming grass wavering in the wind. Every now and then a bare patch of earth. Beyond the ridge we spotted them - hundreds of jackalopes, the perfect 0-level training ground. I was struggling to keep all that potion in me. Struggling terribly.

"It's now or never", I said to them. They nodded gravely and I stealthed.

The key to good stealth is a steady rhythm. Too abrupt, too irregular your gait and enemies will suss you out in no time. The same speed must be maintained all throughout, no sudden movement in the legs either. Stick out one leg a little too far than was established, take a few quick steps all of a sudden, make an about face, or slow down, your invisibility will flicker and it's game over.

The best way to keep this rhythm is to focus on something, anything. Preferably something that isn't moving too much. Tiles on the floor, a depression in the wall, a cloud maybe. That's what I would have gone with, but unfortunately it was a beautiful, cloudless day. The sky was a sheltering dome of deepest blue, and the light so suffused every stalk of grass that when it bent in the wind it resembled a long white eel moving sideways over the ground.

In the distance I caught sight of flower, a bright purple one with clusters of delicate petals arranged in a sphere. I trained my eyes on it, put all my focus into it as I walked towards the jackalopes. The wind tossed it around, threw it down only for it to shoot back up, at which point it was again brought low. Despite the way it was ravaged not a single petal on it was displaced. Not a single trace of the flower was lost to the stiff breeze. I thought the purple reminded me of something, but nothing popped into my head immediately. This fact became upsetting, as the recollection seemed to be on the tip of my tongue yet still inaccessible, causing a slight hiccup in my measured movements. A jackalope perked up its ears and started looking around. I brought myself back into the rhythm and continued, still trying to pinpoint why that color was nagging me so.

Then I realized what it was. Something I thought must've left me entirely. A brilliant purple ribbon placed rakishly upon her head. Her arms were large for a woman's and pockmarked, moving ever so intently. She came into my life just as quickly as she'd left. There was always something about her that looked ashamed, like she'd just been yelled at, and no matter how close I got to her there was an understanding that there were certain things we'd never be able to divulge to each other. She was no-nonsense, straight to the point, and dressed much the same. All but for that ribbon in her hair. Her single indulgence.

Halfway through. I felt the potion making its slow way up my throat and I have to force it back down. It's all I can taste, all I can smell. The cloves and blood sausage seemed to be the main notes with this batch. I see her again with an apron on, walking into my room. I'm passed out on the floor, and she picks me up, serves me a glass of pink lemonade. It's so cool and sweet on my lips. The feeling only lasts a second, though, before the taste of gin takes over, and I'm back to earth. How did it all come to this, I wonder. It's not even noon and I'm fit to burst with spell power potion, sneaking up on a bunch of low-level mobs. With all the dungeons I'd cleared, all the treasure I'd won, I should be kicking my feet up at this point. Instead, though, instead.. If only we had taken that carriage. The pink lemonade comes back to me. I remember buying enormous cartons of it at the marketplace and emptying them throughout the day, like a lemonade alcoholic, yes, an incorrigible addict. And that ribbon of hers was the exact same color as the flower in the distance, just a purple fleck among the endless waves of green..

Suddenly I find I'm right in front of a jackalope. It's absently sniffing at the air. Not a single one had noticed me, everything was going according to plan. This was my chance. I grab the sucker by the throat, cast Plague Cloud, and launch it full force into the crowd