A cold veil of mist folds around us, patchy white wisps drifting like ghosts across a wet sea of grass. It clings to my skin and sinks deep, right to the bone. Just twenty minutes into our hike and my clothes are soaked. My hair hangs limply over my shoulders.

I’m cold. I’m moist. I hate it.

Still, there’s something hauntingly beautiful about it. It’s eerie, all sounds and sights muffled by an ethereal shroud. Now and then, the fog clears just enough to see the leaves of a hidden tree solidify, only for a moment, before they vanish behind clouded swirls. I keep anticipating the howl of a banshee, the glinting teeth of some wolfish monster. So far though, there’s nothing but mist.

Maybe it wouldn’t have been my first choice for a European travel destination, but hey, at least it’s interesting.

Luci is leading the pack once again, daintily picking her way across the muddy ground in the direction of our frightened fisherman. We lost his exact trail almost immediately, but he seemed to be heading on a pretty straight path. Without a road or footprints, it’s all we have to go on. Elias earned a proficiency point in tracking though. Nice to know even our failures have perks.

“My math teacher was the best though,” says Luci. “Mr. Haberman was stern and always dressed up in nice pants and a tie and stuff, even on pajama day. He took his job really seriously. I think that’s what I liked about him. Like, algebra was clearly a passion. I was only okay at it, but he made it my favorite subject. I hope he’s okay. You have anyone like that?”

“Oh, yeah,” answers Ron, his breath heavy with exhaustion. He’s been dragging around some driftwood he’s using as a walking stick. “My 8th grade band teacher, Mrs. Graham, was the bomb. I was playing trumpet at the time. Same as my old man. Did not have the lungs, man, let me tell you. Every blow was just a long wet fart. So she handed me a bass guitar and I never looked back. Invited her to my first gig, but she was gone by then. Remarried and pissed on off to Colorado or somewhere.”

“So that was your job then?” she asks. “Playing gigs?”

“Ha! Only in my sweet, sweet dreams. Nah, that was a me-time thing. Yeah, I got paid a few hundo a month for bars and parties, but I was mostly a valet. Driving cars at the Sonesta Suites downtown. And I part-timed as a custodian at some fancy athletic club. Drivin’ and cleanin’ for the elite. Paid my rent though. Half of it anyhow.”

“Aw, that still sounds pretty lit. You should play something for us! What’s your favorite song?”

“Oof, I’d love to, button, but my fingers are cold, fat sausages right about now. Pinky swear I’ll play you a tune soon.”

“Fiiiiine. You better.”

For the next five minutes, we travel in silence. If Luci or Ron aren’t talking, no one’s talking. We certainly can’t rely on Elias to start a discussion, and as for me? I don’t know. Honestly, I’d like to be more of a conversationalist. I just find that my mind is often so busy debating itself that my mouth can’t get a word in edgewise. If I could make my internal monologue just a teeny bit more external, I’d probably be a lot more fun. Or horrifying. I could end up horrifying.

A fence post appears in the fog. A step closer and it becomes a fence. Then a field of dirt with rows of green materializes beyond it. The rest of the farm remains hidden.

Luci exhales loudly. “Finally! Civilization!”

“Shh,” Elias replies, a finger to his lips. “Careful. We don’t know who lives here.”

“An eeeeevil potato farmer,” she quietly sings. “Or fairies!”

I wince. “Don’t think you’re supposed to say that word.”

“What word? Fairies?”

“Luci, you’re killing me.” Flat rocks carve a path around the fence. I point to fresh shoe prints muddying the steps. “Think that’s him?”

Elias reaches for the battleaxe sheathed to his back.

“What are you doing?” I whisper. “You want to fight him?”

“We should be prepared.”

“If we barge in with our weapons out, we’re in for a fight, whether you want it or not.”

“I mean, they’re not real,” says Luci. “Like they’re not real people. They're NPCs.”

“I think so. But that doesn’t mean it won’t feel real.”

“Anyway, we already tried talking.”

“So you want to fight him too?”

“Maybe. I don’t know. He tried to knock us out.” She thinks for a moment. “I guess I could try my charm again.”

“Let’s give it a shot,” I say. “And if it doesn’t work, then hey, we can always fall back to violence.”

Skill Proficiency Increased:

Persuasion 7

I shove the notification to the side. There’s something weird about leveling up persuasion or deception off of my own team. The implication that I could change their minds not based on the merit of my words but the strength of my level seems wrong. God, and we put a teenager in charge of the charm attribute. What were we thinking?

Anyway, with that settled, we follow the path around the edge of the farm and up a short hill. At the top sits a cottage made of stone. Chimney smoke intermingles with the fog over an old thatch roof.

As we approach, we can hear rustling through the window - just a hole in the wall with an animal skin hanging over the gap.

Luci takes a deep breath, her fingers nervously picking at her bow sling. I position myself to her side. Elias lingers behind us with Ron just a step farther back.

After a moment, she raps her knuckles against the door.

It flies open. A figure bounds forward, a flash of metal in its hand.

Luci screams and dodges to the side. Elias lunges. Another glint of a blade, and the figure doubles over. It collapses. Red blood seeps over the stones.

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

Elias hunches over the body, his hands on the handle of the battleaxe now embedded several inches deep into the stranger’s stomach. It’s the fisherman.

“What the fuck, Elias!”

“He attacked Luci!”

“With a garden hoe!” I yell, gesturing to the tool soaking in blood. “We could have disarmed him or knocked him out or literally anything else.”

“You get any experience, man?” asks Ron.

“Five points. He was a Level 1,” Elias replies. At least he sounds ashamed about it. He wrenches the battleaxe free, thinks for a moment, and then wipes the blood on the man’s cloak.

“Jesus fucking Christ.”

“Can you mind the language?”

“Can you mind the murder?”

He glances at the doorway. “Wait, where’s Luci?”

“Shit. Stay here.” Sliding the dagger free from my sheath, I elbow the door open.

Inside is a single damp, dark room. A tired fire withers beneath the chimney, the flames barely hot enough to simmer whatever’s cooking in the pot dangling over it. There’s a table, two wooden stools, a bed, and not much else. Wicker baskets, cookware, a ragged broom, and other knicknacks line the walls. It makes millennial city-living look absolutely luxurious.

A middle-aged woman cowers in the corner, the edges of her yellow-stained chemise draped over her knees. She’s wielding a skillet protectively over her face.

Crouched in front of her, Luci reaches her hand forward like she’s about to pet a nervous dog.

“We’re not going to hurt you. Please. We just wanna talk.”

“He said you were changelings,” the woman says, her voice shaking. “Is he.. is he dead?”

“Um. He…” Luci pauses as she looks toward the doorway. “He disappeared. He was an illusion?”

“What?”

“He was an illusion,” Luci repeats.

“But why? The fair folk would never send an illusion here.”

“Well, that’s because they didn't. It was… It was the sorcerer. Yeah. You see, we’re monster hunters. I know we don’t look like it, but that’s because we come from really far away. We heard about the sorcerer here, and we came to help. And now he's using illusions to tell everyone we’re the monsters so you won’t trust us.”

Damn.

“I… I understand,” the woman says. She tentatively lowers the skillet. “I knew you would come. I prayed. The sorcerer… he used to be a kind man. An herbalist. My mother spoke fondly of how he helped our people. Then the Sidhe taught him magic, so they say. Now the fog brings monsters, the blessing cursed. They say he’s turned to necromancy.”

“Oh yeah, he’s super into dead people,” agrees Luci.

“You say you’re here to defeat him?” the woman asks.

“Yeah. I mean, eventually. We can’t just fight him head-on, you know? He’s probably like a level 20 or something.”

“I’m sorry?”

Luci clears her throat. “What I meant is he’s got a lot of followers, right? We need to fight them first. But we don’t even know where they are. We were hoping people in the town could help us out. Glasbaile, right?”

“Of course. Glasbaile. Only the townsfolk and their relations know where to find it.”

“Yeah, we need to know where that is.”

The woman hesitates, her fingers nervously picking at a leather bracelet around her wrist.

“Please?” Luci whispers. “I’m serious about dealing with this sorcerer guy. It sounds like you guys need it. It’s why we’re here.”

With a slow nod, the woman climbs steadily to her feet. I subtly edge in front of the door and nudge it shut. If she sees her husband bleeding out on her doorstep, this is definitely going south.

“This way,” she says, crossing the room. She rummages around in a wicker basket, then produces a flat wooden carving the size of her hand. It’s roughly the shape of a short rectangle, the ends curved, with a small inlet on one side and jagged ridges on the other. “This is the isle. We’re here, near the east end of the southern coast. Do you see this golden glow? That’s Glasbaile. Right now, it appears to be about a six hour’s hike northwest. You can make it before nightfall.”

Luci looks my way. “The game area must be the whole island then.”

“So how do we get there?” I ask.

“With your back facing the rear of this cottage, head straight. You’ll soon find a road. Head in the same direction on the road until you meet the river. On the other side, you will find a valley where there stands a single oak tree. That’s where you’ll find it.”

“Straight past here, take the road, cross the river, find a tree,” says Luci. “Cool.”

“When you reach the valley, you won’t see the town,” the woman continues. “It’s quite possible to pass straight through it without even knowing. Across the river, there is an outcrop. You’ll know it when you see it. Stand atop it and say, ‘The world greets you,’ and the town will appear. And you must be wearing this.”

From her shift’s pocket, she withdraws a small round stone knotted in a simple leather band. She takes Luci’s hand and wraps it around her wrist.

Quest Updated! COURIER OF THE ISLE

A local has gifted you a token of entrance into the town of Glasbaile where Lord Cathal resides.

Objectives:

- Gain entry into town: In Progress

- Acquire a token of entrance: Complete

- Return or deliver the letter: In Progress

Luci grins as she subtly nudges me with her elbow.

“But…” The woman swallows. “You must take care. Mind the circles and forts, of course. And the river. There’s tell of a monster lurking there.”

“We’re used to monsters,” answers Luci.

The woman smiles a sad, kind smile. "My mother always said when the dark comes, there is light. I believe you are that light."

"Sure, yeah. Hey, before we go, do you have anything to eat?”

A few minutes later, we part ways. As we leave, I hold my breath, anticipating a very unhappy reunion with the woman and her husband. Instead, we find Ron standing alone in the middle of the stone path, the cold mist drifting around him. There’s no body in sight.

“Elias found a shovel!” he announces proudly.

“Oh. Fantastic.” Yet another fun new skill to add to his repertoire.

“We couldn’t really clean the blood though. There was a lot.”

“That’s great. Really great.”

Luci, cradling a burlap sack of food, peers down at the bloody stone. The red is smeared in dirt and leaves - Ron’s poor attempt at hiding it. “Gross.”

“Are you okay?” I ask.

“Not you too,” she groans. “I’m fine. I’ve seen worse, remember? And it’s just an NPC. They’re not real.”

Elias emerges from the fog, his flannel shirt and jeans now stained with dirt and gore, blood darkening his new prosthetic.

“That was quick,” I say.

“It’s shallow. If she looks, it won’t hold for long.” He turns his attention to Luci. “Are you alright?”

She glares. “Can you open up your bag?”

Elias slides off the leather pack. “What’s this?”

“Food,” says Luci as she crams the burlap sack inside. “She was feeling generous. Also she told us where the town is.”

“She did,” he replies skeptically.

“Yup. My persuasion’s at 10 now, all thanks to my charm - which wouldn’t be what it is without this amazing bikini. So you’re welcome, and stop asking if I’m okay because, again, I’m amazing.”

With that, she skips past him and heads off.

Elias stares, speechless.

I squeeze by, giving him a consolatory pat on the way out. “I think we have a new leader.”

“I never said I was the leader.”

“Sorry, bud,” Ron says as he shoulders past. “The little lady’s spoken.”

“But I never…” His voice fades. With a grunt, he gives up and follows behind us.