The weathered-looking hermit was clad in a simple tunic and leggings, patched and worn from years of use. The dwarf stood before them, his lengthy mane of white hair fastened at the back with twigs and straw, while his bare feet grounded him to the earth. In his grasp, he clutched a gnarled wooden staff, a sign of his age and experience. Though he seemed plain and unremarkable, the dwarf's presence exuded a sense of tranquility and sagacity.
At first the hermit gave off a composed demeanor, but when his eyes settled on Roh, the dwarf let out a thunderous laugh that shook the very foundations of the ground beneath them. His beard trembled up and down with each wave of laughter.
“Why are you laughing so much?” Roh asked as he rubbed the back of his neck.
“Although I often gets visitors from players looking to earn a reward and some coin, I couldn't help but notice you took great advantage with that bulky build you have there. Trying to compensate for something?” cackled the dwarven hermit.
Roh frowned and dropped his gaze to the floor, shoulders dropping at his sides.
“I think the developers thought it funny to provide only one size loincloth as the starter ‘armor’. Either that or they got lazy,” he continued. “Ah cheer up lad! You should see the ones that choose the leanest build. Poor sods having to hold onto theirs constantly with fear of it falling off. Although dare I say it. That’s an even rarer sight.”
The recluse ushered Roh into the dilapidated hut. Inside, the hut was cramped and cluttered, with bundles of herbs and dried flowers hanging from the rafters, and pots and pans stacked haphazardly on a rough-hewn shelf. In the center of the hut, a small fire burned in a pit, providing warmth and light. The fire crackled and hissed, casting a warm glow on the hut.
“To show you I mean well. Here, have these leather trousers. Just so happens I have your size,” he winked. I did a fair bit of tailoring back in my day. It’s a handy skill to have and makes for some good coin too.” He picked up the trousers from an open storage chest and passed it to Roh. Looking down to avoid eye contact, Roh reached out and took the leather trousers and placed them on
a wooden table next to him. He wanted to change the subject to anything other than subjects surrounding his groin area. “So how come I can understand you, but when I knocked at one of the huts, I heard another language?”
“That’s because this here is a dwarven village so we speak in our native Dwarven tongue. Although with outsiders like yourself we speak Common Script. Well, mostly me anyways. The others are little less trusting to strangers as you have no doubt seen.”
Roh furrowed his brow and drummed his fingers on his chin. No wonder it sounded familiar. Dwarven Script makes use of runes similar to Draconic Script. That could come in handy.
“How come you’re the only one here who opened the door?”
“Ah, don’t take it personally.” The dwarf eyed the faint sigils along Roh’s arms. “You should know all about distrust considering you’re a Dragon-blood. No mistaking it with those marks. So your race, just like mine, knows what happens when you put your trust in the wrong sort. It can cost you dearly. All dwarves are distrusting in nature and even more so us highlander mountain dwarves. Folks around these parts survive because they know how to keep to themselves. It’s not called Na’rok Village for nothing. It’s named after the Rock Naga that roam these parts in the ancient language of the Seren people. Since them beings don’t need to eat and therefore hunt for food, they don’t normally cause any issues as they keep to their dwelling, but it gets dangerous once the Primordial Light turns dark crimson every few days. That’s when the Rock Naga Behemoths come out from their lairs to perform their rituals and if they feel threatened, possibly because one of the villagers strayed too far and encroached their territory, they attack the village. They prefer the night since they see better in the dark due to their Shadowsight. Probably a result of them living below the mountain rocks. Plus they prefer attacking others in their sleep since they don’t require sleep themselves.”
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“Primordial Light? Rock Naga?”
“You’re definitely new to these here parts. The Primordial Light is the light above us which has existed from the beginning of time hence its name.” The highlander looked towards the boarded-up windows where a few rays of light managed to seep through the cracks into the otherwise dimly lit room that’s only real source of light and heat seemed to radiate from a hearth at the far back. It flickered and crackled as if acknowledging its presence.
“And the Rock Naga are terrible, ferocious monsters with their large carapace and sharp fangs. They can crush you and poison you in one fell swoop. They were the original inhabitants of this here rocky Mountainside.”
“So then why did you open the door?”
“It is my responsibility as the appointed quest giver of this land to fulfill this duty, even when others recoil in fear. Age has taught me that fear is a wasteful emotion, one to be disregarded. Some may all it bravery, others may call it folly. The distinction is yours to make,” he smiled as he moved to sit beside a bed near the hearth.
“As yer quest giver in this ol' mystical world, it's up to me to send ye off on yer first grand mission, but let me tell ye, I've got another rascally task that might light a fire under ye. Right barmy, it is, for a greenhorn like yerself. It involves baggin' a Wyvern Core, so ye best buckle up! It's an undertaking not for the faint-hearted. You'll need courage as solid as our Dwarf-kin forges, ready for a fight like none other.”
"A Wyvern Core?" Roh blurted out, his heart skipping a beat. He eyed the quest giver with wide, disbelieving eyes. "Like, from a real, live Wyvern?" He paused, incredulity painting his features.
"Dude, are you out of your mind?" His voice wavered, the insecurity seeping into his words. He was just a level one noobie, freshly spawned into this vast gaming world. Roh felt the cold sting of uncertainty wash over him as he imagined facing the formidable beast.
"Heck," Roh muttered, swallowing hard, the lump in his throat making it difficult. He had yet to taste victory over even the lowliest of foes. The thought of standing toe-to-claw with a wyvern was both terrifying and ludicrous. "I haven't even bashed any low-level mobs yet, and you're asking me to go up against a freaking Wyvern?"
He took a deep, shaky breath, trying to steady his nerves. He glanced back at the quest giver, his eyes pleading. "Look," he managed, his voice barely above a whisper, "I'm just a regular gamer. I don't always nail every quest or boss fight." Doubt gnawed at the edges of his confidence.
Roh paused, the silence hanging heavy in the air. He clenched his jaw, the internal struggle evident on his face. "Are you sure you got the right guy for this?" His voice was laced with trepidation, the question lingering as he grappled with his own insecurities.
A beat of silence rang in response. Roh's heart pounded in his chest, the reality of his daunting task sinking in. He was speechless, caught in the throes of uncertainty and fear. His hands began to fidget restlessly, absent-mindedly tugging at the corners of his loincloth when he remembered the state of them and felt hot flushes rising in his cheeks.
Before the embarrassment could fully set in, an unexpected sound sliced through the tension. It was a splutter, feeble yet audible, emanating from a dimly lit corner of the room. Startled, Roh peered into the semi-darkness. He hadn't noticed anyone else when he first entered, but there, nestled in the shadows, was the outline of a figure reclined on the bed.