I trudged up the cellar stairs, my legs heavy as lead. The shovel dragged behind me, leaving a trail of glowing blue smears on the worn wooden steps. Effie fluttered nearby. Plop squelched along, also leaving a glistening trail in his wake.

As we emerged into the tavern's dim light, I leaned against the wall, suddenly exhausted. The adrenaline crash hit me like a freight train.

"Thanks, Effie," I mumbled, my tongue feeling thick in my mouth. "That antidote saved my ass down there."

Effie's glow dimmed slightly, her tiny features pinched with guilt. She landed on a nearby table, her wings drooping.

"I shouldn't have done that, Stanley."

I blinked, confused. "What? Why not? You probably saved my life."

Effie wrung her hands, her oversized glasses slipping down her nose. "I'm not supposed to physically interfere in battles. It's against the rules."

"Rules?" I straightened up, a flicker of irritation cutting through my fatigue. "What rules?"

"The rules of Arcadia," Effie said, her voice small. "I'm here to guide you, to provide information. Not to fight your battles for you."

I ran a hand through my hair, grimacing at the grime I felt there. "So, what? You were just supposed to let me die down there?"

Effie's wings fluttered agitatedly. "No! I mean... I don't know. It's complicated."

"Look, Effie. I appreciate what you did, rules or no rules. You're part of this team, whether you're supposed to be or not."

A small smile appeared at Effie's lips, but before she could respond, a booming voice filled the tavern.

"By the gods, you did it!" Gorm burst from behind the bar, his massive form shaking the floorboards. "I heard the commotion, but I didn't dare hope. You actually cleared out those blasted rodents!"

I straightened up, trying to look more heroic and less like I'd just been through a meat grinder. "Yeah, about that. You didn't mention they were Moonbloom-enhanced super rats."

Gorm's bushy eyebrows shot up. "Moonbloom-enhanced? I had no idea! I just thought they were unusually large and aggressive."

"Large, aggressive, and capable of shooting energy beams. You know, normal rat stuff."

Gorm had the decency to look sheepish. "I apologize, lad. If I'd known, I would've warned you."

I waved off his apology, too tired to hold a grudge. "It's fine. We handled it. Now, about that reward?"

Gorm's face lit up. "Ah, yes! You've more than earned it. The gold is yours, of course." He fished a small pouch from his apron and tossed it to me. The coins clinked satisfyingly as I caught it.

[50 Gold added to inventory]

"As for the Adventurer's Outfit," Gorm continued, stroking his beard, "I'm afraid I don't have that on hand. But!" He held up a finger as I opened my mouth to protest. "I've an arrangement with the tailor in town. Head over to his shop and tell him Gorm sent you. He'll set you up with the outfit you've earned."

"That wasn't what we agreed to," I said.

"Well, I don't have an Adventurer's Outfit here for you, laddy. So, if you want your reward, you'll have to speak with the tailor."

I was frustrated but expressing that wasn't going to make the outfit I'd earned magically appear. I decided to just leave it there. At this point all I wanted was to change out of this grimy outfit.

As we made our way to the tavern's exit, Plop oozed up beside me, his gelatinous form quivering with what I'd come to recognize as excitement.

"Ooh, new clothes for Stanley? Can Plop get new clothes too?"

"I'm not sure they make clothes in your size or... consistency. But maybe we can find you an accessory or something."

Plop rippled happily. "Plop likes accessories!"

We stepped out into the street, the warm morning sun already beating down on the cobblestones. The town buzzed with the energy of a new day, merchants setting up their stalls and early risers bustling about their business. The fading Moonbloom lanterns from last night's festivities hung limp in the daylight, their magic spent but not forgotten.

As we walked, I couldn't shake a nagging feeling in the pit of my stomach. The battle in the cellar replayed in my mind, each swing of the shovel, each desperate dodge.

"Effie," I said, my voice low. "Back there, in the cellar. I killed those rats. They were intelligent, they could talk. And I just ended them."

Effie fluttered closer, her tiny face serious. "Stanley, you did what you had to do. They attacked you, remember?"

I nodded, but the uneasy feeling persisted. "I know, but it felt so real. The blood, the way they just disappeared. Is that what it's always like here?"

Effie was quiet for a moment, her wings beating softly. "Arcadia is complex, Stanley. What feels real, what is real, it's not always clear. But your actions have consequences, just like in your old world."

I mulled over her words as we walked. The weight of the shovel in my hand, the ache in my muscles, the lingering taste of adrenaline in my mouth, it all felt painfully real.

"I just hope I'm making the right choices," I said.

Effie landed on my shoulder, her tiny hand patting my cheek. "That's all any of us can do, Stanley. Make the best choices we can with the information we have. And in that situation, the best thing to do was bash those rats' brains out!"

There was something very amusing about the enthusiastic way so talked about bashing brains that strangely put me at ease. I nodded, grateful for her presence, rules be damned.

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

As we rounded a corner, a quaint shop came into view. A wooden sign swung gently in the breeze, depicting a needle and thread.

"I think this is the place," I said, eyeing the cheerful display of fabrics in the window.

Plop surged forward, pressing his gelatinous face against the glass. "Ooh, shiny clothes! Can Plop try on hat?"

I couldn't help but laugh at the image of Plop in a jaunty cap. "I'm not entirely opposed to it."

As I reached for the door handle, a notification popped up in my vision:

[New Quest Available: Suited for Adventure]

[Objective: Obtain Adventurer's Outfit from Tailor]

[Reward: Adventurer's Outfit, +50 XP]

I pushed open the door, triggering a tinkling chime. The shop's interior assaulted my senses - a riot of colors, textures, and the sharp scent of dye and leather. Bolts of fabric lined the walls, their hues shifting subtly in the light streaming through stained-glass windows.

"Hello?" I called out, my voice muffled by the fabric-draped room.

A rustling sound came from behind a towering stack of cloth rolls. Suddenly, a diminutive figure popped out, barely reaching my waist. The gnome - for what else could he be? - peered up at me through thick spectacles perched on a bulbous nose.

"Welcome, welcome! I am Thimble, master tailor of Millhaven. How may I serve you today?"

His voice was surprisingly deep for his size, reminding me of a cello. I cleared my throat.

"Uh, yeah. Gorm sent us. Said you could outfit me with some adventurer's gear?"

Thimble's eyes lit up, magnified comically by his glasses. "Ah, one of Gorm's questing types, eh? Let's have a look at you then."

He circled me, muttering and clicking his tongue. I felt like a horse at auction.

"Hmm, yes. You'll need measuring, of course. Can't have ill-fitting gear for an adventurer, no sir!"

Thimble snapped his fingers, and a measuring tape sprang to life, coiling around my arms, legs, and torso like a caffeinated snake.

"So," I said, trying not to flinch as the tape wound around my neck, "what exactly makes this outfit special?"

Thimble's hands flew as he jotted down measurements. "Oh, it's quite marvelous, really. Enchanted, you see. Grows with the wearer, adapts to different environments. Hot, cold, wet, dry - it adjusts! Still a basic outfit, mind you, but leaps and bounds above your average leathers."

The tape measure gave my inseam a final snap before coiling itself neatly on a nearby table.

"Hidden pockets too," Thimble added with a wink. "For all those shiny trinkets adventurers love to collect."

A crash from behind made me jump. I turned to see Plop, now sporting a comically oversized sombrero, sheepishly oozing away from a toppled hat stand.

"Plop sorry," he burbled. "Hat too big."

"Hey, Thimble? You wouldn't happen to have anything that might fit my, uh, gelatinous friend here, would you?"

Thimble stroked his pointed chin, eyeing Plop curiously. "Hmm, a challenge! I like it. Let me see what I can whip up."

He disappeared into a back room, leaving us alone in the cluttered shop. Effie flitted from bolt to bolt, her tiny hands running over the fabrics.

"Ooh, Stanley! This one feels like clouds!" she called out, burying herself in a pile of silvery cloth.

I was about to answer when Thimble re-emerged, triumph written across his face. In his hands he held what looked like a bow tie, its surface shimmering with an iridescent sheen.

"This," he proclaimed proudly, "is my finest creation yet. A color-changing bow tie, perfect for our amorphous friend!"

Plop's eyes widened (somehow) with delight. "Ooh! Pretty!"

Thimble fastened the bow tie around what I assumed was Plop's neck. Immediately, it began to shift hues, cycling through a rainbow of colors that perfectly complemented Plop's translucent body.

"It's actually kind of stylish," I admitted, surprised.

Thimble beamed, clearly pleased with himself. "Now then, as for your outfit, young man. It'll take about an hour to put together. Why don't you take a stroll around town and come back then?"

"Sounds good. We'll be back in an hour."

As we turned to leave, Thimble's voice took on a serious tone. "Oh, and do be careful out there. There've been reports. Strange occurrences in town lately."

I paused, hand on the doorknob. "Strange how?"

Thimble shook his head. "Just keep your wits about you, lad. Millhaven isn't as sleepy as it seems."

With that cryptic warning, we stepped back out into the bustling street. Plop's new bow tie gleamed in the sunlight, drawing curious glances from passersby.

"Well," I said, trying to shake off the gnome's ominous words, "we've got an hour to kill. Any suggestions?"

"Well," Effie began, hovering at eye level, "you'll need more than just clothes to handle that mining job Lunarblade mentioned."

"What do you mean?"

She pointed a tiny finger at me. "That enchanted weapon he wants to forge? It requires high-quality iron ore from a nearby cave. You'll need the proper tools."

"Like... a pickaxe?"

"Exactly! A good sturdy pickaxe is a must for any self-respecting adventurer."

Plop oozed up beside me, bouncing on his gelatinous body. "Oooh, Plop wanna mine too! Plop good miner!"

"I don't think you're really built for swinging pickaxes."

Effie giggled, the sound like tinkling bells. "Don't worry, Plop. There'll be plenty for you to do."

A thought occurred to me as I scanned our surroundings. "You don't happen to know where we can get our hands on a pickaxe, do you?"

Effie's eyes brightened behind her oversized spectacles. "Why, as a matter of fact, I do! You see, there's a retired miner living right here in Millhaven. Old Jasper used to work the iron veins back in his youth. I'm sure he'd be willing to part with his old tools for the right price."

"Great," I said dryly. "Another quest to add to the list."

As the words left my mouth, a notification flickered into view.

[New Quest Available: Miner's Arsenal]

[Objective: Obtain a pickaxe from retired miner Jasper]

[Reward: Mining Pickaxe, 75 XP]

I shook my head, partly amused but also resigned to this new reality. "Well, you heard the fairy. Let's go find Old Jasper."

We set off down the street, weaving through the clusters of market stalls and bustling townsfolk. Plop left a glistening trail in his wake, bobbing happily along beside me.

Millhaven was a cacophony of sights and sounds - blacksmiths' hammers rang out in rhythm, salespeople bellowed about their wares, and exotic smells wafted from the food vendors. I couldn't help but gawk like a tourist.

After some directions from a burly farmhand, we found ourselves in a quieter neighborhood on the town's outskirts. Modest homes lined the roads, their wooden frames and thatched roofs lending a quaint, pastoral feel.

"That one up ahead should be Jasper's place," Effie announced, gesturing toward a tiny stone cottage.

Shelves of clay pots brimming with herbs and flowers bordered a neatly swept path. At the end stood a weathered wooden door, slightly ajar. A plaintive melody drifted through the open window - the mournful tones of a fiddle being played with skill and soul.

I raised a hand to knock, but Effie zipped forward.

"Allow me," she said with a wink.

The fairy slipped through the gap in the doorway, her translucent wings leaving a faint shimmer in the air. A brief silence followed, and then her voice rang out from within.

"Jasper? You've got some visitors looking to make a deal!"

There was a pause, a creaking of wood, and then heavy footsteps approached. The door swung open to reveal a grizzled old man with skin like tanned leather. Despite his bent frame, there was an unmistakable strength in his arms and shoulders - remnants of his mining days.

Jasper's bushy eyebrows shot up as he took us in. "Well, now. If it isn't strangers in town." His gaze settled on Plop, and he let out a gruff chuckle. "And some mighty strange ones at that!"

I cleared my throat. "Uh, yeah. I'm Stanley. This is Plop. We're, uh... adventurers."

The old miner eyed me with an appraising look. "Is that so? Well, adventurers need good steel in these parts." He turned, gesturing for us to follow.

I exchanged a glance with Effie, who simply shrugged her tiny shoulders. With no other choice, we trailed after Jasper into the cozy interior of his cottage.

The room was small but neat, with rugs and woodcarvings lining the walls. A modest fire crackled in the hearth, accompanied by the lingering scent of stew. But amidst the quaint decor were signs of Jasper's former life - battered pickaxes, worn shovels, an assortment of mining lamps.

Jasper plucked an axe from the wall, almost reverently. "These are my old mining tools from the glory days. Forged from the finest iron and treated with dwarf-craft."

He fixed me with a piercing stare. "You aimin' to go poking around some caves, boy?"

I swallowed, my throat suddenly dry. "That's the plan."

The old man chuckled again, a wheezy sound. "Don't sound too sure about that. The mines of Arcadia ain't nothing to sneeze at."

He set the axe down with a heavy thunk. "But I reckon you'll need the proper gear regardless." Jasper's eyes twinkled with a hint of mischief. "So, what're you offering in trade?"

[Quest Status: Active]

[Objective: Obtain a pickaxe from retired miner Jasper]