I thumb my daggers, ready for a fight, as Elias prepares his battleaxe and Ron breaks out his… gittern. Seriously, that guy needs a weapon. At least he’s wearing his pants again.

“Hold it, hold it!” shouts the guard. He’s buff and at least as tall as Ron, but his voice is distractingly nasal.

“Well this seems bad.” I squint until their titles appear.

Flynn - Town Guard (Level 10)

Gofraid - Town Guard (Level 10)

Fergus - Town Guard (Level 10)

Bran - Town Guard (Level 10)

Okay, I’m positive we can take two Level 10s. I am not positive we can take four.

The nasally guard, Flynn, continues. “You need to come with us.”

Luci crosses her arms in defiance. “Says who?”

“Oh. Let me rephrase. We have simply been instructed to bring you to Lord Cathal for a meeting to discuss, we have." The guard stifles a yawn, the halberd slipping from his grasp for a moment before he catches it again.

The entire town center is looking at us now: the minstrels, the merchants, the minglers. Villagers from elsewhere trickle in from the side streets, their fingers pointing as they gossip. To the west, light bleeds from the sky as the sun sets. There are no streetlights, given the era, so the darkness is seeping in. It all feels rather menacing.

“Then why are you brandishing weapons?” questions Elias, inching in front of Luci. She rolls her eyes and steps forward.

“What? Brandishing?” The guard looks up at the top of his halberd. “We’re always holdin’ these. They’re not even sharp…”

“Don’t tell them that,” the guard beside him snaps.

“What does Lord Cathal want with us?” I ask.

Flynn shifts his halberd. “Yeah, no, he didn’t tell us that. He doesn’t really talk to us…”

“Don’t tell them that!” his partner shouts.

Beside me, Elias’ grip tightens around his battleaxe. He looks ready to swing at any moment. Ron, for some reason, has a beaming smile. He’s just happy to be noticed, I guess.

“Hey, we have a letter for a Lord Cathal guy, don’t we? Like, that’s our quest,” Luci says.

“Oh yeah, you’re right,” I say. “Well, I guess we could go.”

“Uh, again, let me rephrase,” says the guard. “This isn’t a request.”

I glare. “See, when you put it like that, it sounds bad again.”

Given the growing crowd in the market square, I begin to wonder if it isn’t more dangerous outside the ambiguous administrative building than inside. Either way, it’s where our quest directs us to be. And while I don’t trust the aliens running this show, the game designer himself seemed earnest enough to construct something reasonably fair. At least, fairer than the tutorial that Earth smashed together.

Besides, the alternative is a fight - one that would surely destroy any level of hospitality the town has to offer. So, after a little more back and forth, our group finally acquiesces. With the guards behind us, we head into the hall of Lord Cathal.

We arrive in a cavernous stone room with several long wooden tables, a hearth, and a candlelit chandelier. It’s somehow simultaneously airy and stuffy, like I’m stuck in a hot, mildewy bathroom with a relentless cold draft. It’s uncomfortable and oddly familiar. Oh, you know what, it reminds me of the laundry in the basement of my apartment. God, what a creepfest that was.

Plus, the decor is sad. I’ve seen enough Game of Thrones to expect fur-lined benches, woven tapestries on the walls, and shelves teeming with scrolls, ornate chests, and vases. Instead, the room has exactly one chipped wooden shield above one dark window. That is all.

Authenticity is so overrated.

The guards lead us through the main hall, past a kitchen, down a corridor, and into a back office which is similarly dank and depressingly decorated. Illuminated by a single, fat flickering candle is a middle-aged man sitting at a wide desk, its surface cluttered with parchments and ink pots that designate him as someone busy and important. In other words, a lord.

💀 Lord Cathal - Lord of Hy-Brasil (Level 25)

Got it. Don't attack Lord Cathal.

What immediately strikes me is that the man is very handsome. But after a moment, I realize he’s actually just well-kempt. Unlike the frazzled peach fuzz and widows peaks I’ve seen thus far, he has a full head of dark ginger hair. His skin is clear. He’s wearing a fur-lined cloak, detailed with intricate gold threading and an ornate clasp.

He’s not hot. He’s rich.

Same difference though, am I right, ladies?

We shuffle awkwardly toward the center of the room as the guards shut the door and take their positions against the wall. It’s at this moment that I notice a weird-ass stone sculpture on his desk: a whimsical li’l six inch gnomish, leprechaun-lookin’ guy, complete with a big beard and floppy cone hat, with the skin of his face pinched around one horrifying eye. No nose. No mouth. Just an eye. Not a fan of that at all.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Lord Cathal rests his square chin on his hands and examines us for a moment. Laced around one of his hands is an interesting piece of jewelry: three rough iron chains linked between a wide leather bracelet and a ring on his middle finger. It’s strangely both coarse and beautiful. Kinda inmate chic.

He opens his mouth, shuts it, then opens it again. “You are all very odd.”

Luci pouts. “Mean.”

“I must say we seldom get visitors to our isle, and when we do, they’re usually quite bizarre. Different colors, different languages, different customs. You, however, may be the strangest collection of individuals I have seen. You don’t… match.”

“Is he being racist?” whispers Luci.

“Probably,” I shrug.

“You were seen with a boy,” he continues. “Éogan. Where has he gone?”

Luci turns toward us, her voice low. “Should I take the lead on this one? You know, because of the charm?”

I give her a thumbs up. What could go wrong? Elias, for his part, doesn’t argue. He just nods. Ron adds an enthusiastic ‘rock on’ gesture.

Luci returns her attention to Lord Cathal. “We don’t know where Éogan went. We ran into him on our way here. We only know his name. Also he stole from us, so like, we’re not friends.”

“Hmm,” the lord replies, seemingly satisfied. “I must ask what your business is here in Glasbaile. How did you find us? What is your purpose?”

“We’re adventurers,” Luci replies. “Monster hunters. Questers. Whatever.”

Yeah, maybe we shouldn’t have given the impressionable 13-year-old the charm attributes.

“Oh, we have this letter actually!” she says. “A fisherman, uh, gave it to us.”

Sliding the bag from my shoulder, I fish out the letter and hand it to Luci. She makes a move toward the desk. The guards stiffen.

“Stand down,” says Lord Cathal. He extends his hand. “Here.”

1.

Quest Updated!

COURIER OF THE ISLE: Complete

You have delivered the fisherman’s letter to Lord Cathal.

Rewards: 50xp

2.

Level up! You are now Level 10.

Exp to next level: 42/100

Attribute points available: 3

3.

Hidden Class Ability Unlocked!

SICARII

Level 10 Ability:

Sneak Attack: Target a major artery to instantly kill an unalerted enemy of equal or lower level.

“Level 10!” Luci excitedly whispers.

“Same!” I say, squeezing her hand. And also, holy shit, what an ability - you know, if I ever learn how to stealth.

Holding the letter to the candle, Lord Cathal’s eyes skim the parchment.

“The fog around the isle is moving inland?” he asks. None of us reply. “That wasn’t rhetorical.”

“Oh. I mean, I guess if it used to be right on the shore, you know, hiding the island, then yeah,” answers Luci. “Ships that pass by can probably see it now. Like us. Like our boat. Because that’s how we got here. But then, it’s really thick later.”

Smooth. I find my fingers tracing the handles of my daggers.

But, however jumbled her words are, she seems to be convincing.

“Of course,” answers Lord Cathal. His gaze flicks to the sculpture on his desk. For a moment - just for a moment - I swear the eye moves. “Did it hurt? The fog?”

“Hurt?” asks Luci. “Uh. I guess it felt kinda itchy?”

“Hmm.” The man holds the letter over the candle. The edges of the parchment curl and brown, and then finally catch.

“You’re new to the isle,” he continues, watching the growing flame. “A sorcerer named Laserian conjured a fog, allegedly to hide Hy-Brasil from mainland men like me. If the fog is drifting inland, then his plans have changed. That isn’t good. We’ve had enough trouble with those who wield magic as of late.”

He sets the flaming paper on a tray as the orange light flickers across his face. “The town of Glasbaile will be moved this evening. I can exile you now and leave you to the monsters, or you can move across the isle with us and set out for the sorcerer’s tower in the morning. Deal with Laserian, and you will be rewarded.”

“Exile?” Luci stutters. “Hold up…”

“Well, frankly I don’t know who you are or how you found us, so would it really be wise to allow you to stay?”

Elias steps forward. “But you’d trust us to challenge your sorcerer.”

“You seem capable,” the lord offers casually. He watches the flame wither as the last bit of paper burns to ash. When the final lick of fire won’t die, he rolls up his sleeve, holds his palm over the light, and smothers it. “And you said that’s why you’re here, isn’t it? To quest? Well, here it is. Go. Quest.”

“I mean, yeah, okay I guess.” Luci shrugs. “We’ll-”

“Tell us about Laserian,” interrupts Elias, earning him a scowl from his niece.

“He’s powerful but reclusive. They say he deals in necromancy now, so I would assume he protects himself with minions rather than his own spellwork. Of course, I’d prepare yourselves against magic anyhow. Counter-spells, mental acuity, counter-enchantments, and the like. The mundane don’t fare well against them.”

“We’re not magic users,” I say.

“I wouldn’t be talking to you if you were,” the lord replies.

“But then how are we supposed to-”

“That isn’t my problem. Accept now or you’ll spend the night elsewhere.”

“Then yes. We’ll do it,” Luci answers. She gives Elias a pointed glare.

New Quest! THE PROBLEM WITH MAGIC

Lord Cathal has tasked you with defeating the sorcerer who is tormenting the Isle of Brasil.

Objectives:

- Deal with Sorcerer Laserian: In Progress

- Return victorious, for a gift from Lord Cathal: In Progress

Rewards: XP, Rare Weapon, Visa Extension

Visa extension.

“Fuck yes,” I blurt. At the same time, Ron gives another ‘rock on’ hand gesture. Luci grins. Elias is as cool as a cucumber, slash boring accountant.

Lord Cathal dips a quill into an ink pot and scribbles something onto a thin scrap of parchment. “The town will reappear in the hills to the west. To reach the sorcerer’s tower, head east along the river into the rising sun until you reach a waterfall. Climb the cliff’s edge. The tower will be just beyond it.”

“How do we get in?” I ask.

“I don’t care.” Finishing his writing, he seals the parchment with hot wax. “Now, hand this to the innkeeper. He will accommodate you for exactly one night. You are to leave in the morning.”

As I take the paper, the guards move forward, clearly indicating the end of our meeting. It all feels rather abrupt. I understand the guy is a classist prick who’s used to commanding his lessers to do ridiculous tasks - plus, this is exactly the kind of task we wanted - but I feel like I’m missing something.

“Hey, before we go, I have to ask,” I say. “What exactly is the sorcerer doing that’s so wrong?”

Lord Cathal snorts. “Magic. Have I not been clear enough? Ireland is a tiresome orchestra playing the sad swan song of superstitious idiots.”

“Oh. Okay…”

“He cast an impenetrable fog over the isle. Conjured monsters. Converted magical adepts to his cause. So on and so forth. All very bad. And because of him - only because of him - I’ve been made to cage or execute my own people and nearly every foreigner due to his menace. Once he grows in power, I assume he’ll traverse the seas and conquer the mainland. Though they’re morons, so who can blame him. Oh, and necromancy. Lots of undead. Any further questions?”

“Um, no. No, that seems to sum it up. Actually, one more-”

“No.”

And with that, we are unceremoniously booted back into the market square.