There is a road that cuts through the forest, a hardpacked dirt path that disappears around a bend of trees on both sides. I look left, then right, unsure which direction I should take. For all I know, I could be on the outskirts of a town on one side and the other leads deeper into the dangers of the forest.
I go into my inventory and take out the remainder of my bread. It is just the end chunk of a loaf, a few mouthfuls left to swallow. My teeth sink into the hard crust and tear away a piece, the soft bread inside melting on my tongue. I scratch my head, wondering what to do until a force pulls my attention to the right and fixes it there.
"That way, I'm sure of it," I mumble to myself.
How do I know that? How can I be so sure that the nearest town is that way? I do not know if it is the game's influence on my mind, but I'm confident that it is that way. So, with sore and tired feet, I start my walk down the long and winding road, chewing away at the last of my food.
The first thing I see is a plume of smoke as it streaks across the clear sky, up above the fading tree line. It has been two hours down the road, enough time for me to second, third, and fourth guess myself. But with the trees growing thinner around me, and the comforting smell of burning wood in the air, the sense of worry is beginning to disappear.
The road has gone from an uneven mess to a cleanly leveled path. It winds between two large trees, their overhanging branches covering the top view of a wood cabin.
The house looks as new as if it was built not a week earlier. Planters line the windows, each filled with blooming flowers that tussle around in the light breeze, and there is a manicured vegetable garden beside a path that winds towards the front of the house.
Somewhere on the other side of the house, I hear the audible clunk of wood against wood. As I get closer, down the path by the garden, I hear two voices as they talk back and forth. There are large pauses between them, the kind of pauses afforded to people in small towns and rural areas. Those who have time to just live, and don't need to be somewhere always.
"-you get this wood from that new guy in town, eh?" asks the first voice, it is rough like a low growl from a beast.
"Yeah, came out from down south like the rest of 'em that came before," responds the second, his voice interrupted by grunts every few words.
"Welcome to extra material around here, but why do ya think they keep coming up? It's like one of those mirages or something," the first voice remarks. The sound of wood chunks clunking together stops, and I hear one of them laugh.
"It's not a mirage, the word is migration. A mirage is one of those things you see but ain't there, ya big oaf."
I turn the corner at this moment and see two men standing beside a pile of chopped wood, sorting it into a four-foot-high stack. The larger of the two, the one I guess who is a big oaf, looks up from the pile of wood. There are four chopped chunks of wood in his hands, cradled there. He stares at me with cool eyes, then cocks his head to the side.
"Speaking of one of them migrations, I think I'm seeing one right now," he says.
"Ned, you'd see a mirage, migration is an action," the other shoots back at him, still fumbling with a few pieces of wood on the top of the stack. "You can watch something migrating but-"
"No Tom, I'm seeing one of those people from the south right now," Ned interrupts.
Tom looks up at Ned, then follows his vision to me and says, "well, I guess you're right for once."
Ned shoots Tom a side glance and I get the feeling that he is sharper than what Tom gives him credit for.
"G'day traveler, what brings you around these parts?" Ned says, giving me a quick up and down with his eyes.
"C-could," my voice croaks out, raspy from dryness. I clear my throat and continue. "Could you tell me where the nearest Inn is? I need food, water, and a warm bed."
They give each other a look and seem to send messages when their eyes lock. Tom looks at me and nods, pointing his thumb out behind him.
"Merendith is that way, about an hour walk," he says, a perplexed look on his face. "But if you didn't come from Merendith, then where the hell did ya come from?"
I shoot my own thumb out behind me, mirroring Tom, and they both reel back in surprise. Tom and Ned give each other another look, Ned dropping the pile of wood that he was holding. One of the chunks rolls across the ground and lulls to a stop in front of me. It's thick, thicker than any cut of wood I've seen, and it looks heavy.
"What's wrong?" I ask them.
"There ain't no one out that way, just the wild beasts of the woods. Too dangerous to live in that area, what were you doing there?" Tom asks with concern, crossing his hands in front of him like he's warding away spirits.
"I spawned there," I say, not realizing how stupid that might sound.
"Spawned?" Ned says, and his brow furrows in thought.
"I think he means born, Ned. Maybe he ain't too good with the words like you."
"Words are something that I can handle just fine, thanks Tom," Ned says with a stomp as if to intimidate Tom. Tom just gives him a grin.
They must be NPCs, they don't know what spawning is. Do they even know that I'm a player? That all this world is just a game?
"Yeah, sorry, I was born out that way, deep in a grove," is all I can think of, shuffling my feet awkwardly as I say it.
"So, you're like, one of those wood spirits?" Ned asks, his face filling with childish wonder.
"Tree spirits ain't real, those are old fairy tales. Besides, he's much bigger than just a foot tall. He looks like a troll to me," Tom quips at Ned, crossing his arms as he does.
“Thanks, man, standing right here,” I say meekly.
“Tree spirits are too real!” Ned counters Tom, ignoring me entirely. “It’s the trolls that be folktales.”
They continue back and forth, bickering two sides of a moot coin. I walk away, around the two arguing men, and head in the direction that Tom had pointed. As I get farther away, their voices begin to fade, growing silent until just out of earshot I hear, "where did he go?!"
"I told you he was a wood spirit!" Ned yells out, and I cannot help but let a smile break across my face.
. . .
More wooden houses line the widening path as I get close to the town. The scent of cooking food wafts out from chimneys and my stomach performs a growl so deep I feel it down near my pelvis. But the smell of lunch is the only sign of life I have as I walk in front of hedges and between the trees that line the side of the road.
An eerie feeling is about the town, and it brings a chill to my spine. Not the sensation like I am being watched, although there is the occasional curtain jerk when I look at one of the homes, that is not what’s making my skin crawl. It’s a different feeling, almost as if the air itself has become electrified. The hairs stand straight on the back of my neck, and there’s a tingly feeling between my teeth.
I reach the town center and there is still no one around. No kids running in the street between stores, no shoppers getting something for their meal tonight. There isn’t even a stray dog or cat rummaging through the area, looking for carelessly dropped scraps of food. It simply feels empty, and quiet, to the point where walking forward feels unnatural. It's a level of quiet that would make a meditating monk feel uncomfortable.
“Geeze, does no one come out in this town?” I mutter under my breath as I pass by a longer building with a large yellow door on the front of it.
There's a large wooden board that hands over the door, it swings on thick metal chains, chains that clink together softly in the breeze. On one side of the board, there is a carved picture of a loaf of bread and grapes still on the vine. The round fruits look like they will pop off the board at any moment, bursting open on the ground and spraying me with juice, but that may be more what my stomach hopes would happen.
Below the bread and grapes, there is the picture of a feather bed with blue and white sheets, and under that, on a separate board that dangles from another set of chains, it says Always an Open Bed. Inscribed over the door is Crestfall Inn, the letters carrying away across the wood in fancy swirls.
To the right of the door, in an open shed with a tin plate roof, there are four horses eating hay from a trough. Each one is tethered to a different post, their bodies covered with traveling packs and gear that are all dyed blood red with sapphire trim. The long banners that run along their sides have a decaying heart sewn into the fabric, it withers away with blooms of black rot that eats away at it.
What a lovely family banner, I think to myself. Best not to get on the bad side of whoever these guys are.
I push open the door into the dim entry area of the inn. There are six large tables spread across the perimeter of the room, all with eight chairs to them each. They are all empty, except for the second table closest to the tavern counter.
There are three men at that table, all dressed in battle gear colored the same as what was on the horses. They have gilded tabards with that withered heart proudly displayed across their chests. The guards take a look at me in unison, then look at a fourth who sits at the counter. The fourth guard looks at the group, then gives me a side glance. He looks back at the group for a second and returns to his drink.
The woman behind the counter flashes me a smile. She is tall and skinny, and I don’t imagine there’s much underneath the gown she wears. I walk across the wooden floor, my boots echoing in the almost silent room. The guards at the table return to their conversation, and I am glad for the noise.
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“Excuse me,” I ask the woman behind the counter. “I would like to purchase a bed tonight, and some food and water for now, please.”
“Of course,” she says with a smile, “a room with dinner will cost you about three silvers.”
“Three silvers?! I only have ten coppers!” I reply, dumbfounded. I knew my small cash stack wouldn’t get me far, but it didn’t even get me in the door.
One of the guards at the table snickers, and I realize they had stopped talking to listen in on the conversation.
“Doesn’t matter, anyway. Money or no money, Inn’s closed,” comes from the soldier sitting at the counter.
“You guys can’t be scaring away my customers-”
“Save it, Mary. He ain’t got the funds. Curfew order issued by the Count says he can’t be outside right now. As the hand of the great Count Drail, we have to enforce his order until the problem gets taken care of,”
“What? A curfew? How can I follow a curfew if I have nowhere to sleep?”
“You get the hell out of Merendith,” quips one of the soldiers at the table. “Ain’t no reason to be in this dog-infested shit hole anyway.”
“Listen,” starts the soldier beside me, “you don’t want to be in this town. Not now, and definitely not when the light from the sun wanes.”
He takes a deep swig from his mug, emptying the contents down a thirsty throat, and slams the cup onto the counter. The woman shrinks away and holds her arms in front of her body, shielding herself from anything violent that could happen next.
“Now, I can see that you’ve already had a little run-in with some beasties,” he says, waving an arm at the torn clothing on my shoulder. “But there’s a lot larger beasties than the dogs you must have tussled with.”
“I don’t want to know if there are wolves bigger than the ones I had to deal with, they were pretty scary as-is,” I say, and the image of a large paw crushing a tree pops into my head.
“Do you think this is a joke?!”
As he yells this, he fully turns his face towards me. In the dimness, I see the ruin of the other side, the scarring across a mangled mess of flesh. It covers his cheek, moving down his neck like some horrible alien infection. He notices me staring and points a finger up at the scene.
“This is what the big boys can do. Dire wolves are what we're talking about, and we got a large pack of them hunting people around here. Scouts saying there’s about seven of them running amuck. That’s why you can’t stay here, why we don’t want stupid adventurers like you getting in the way.”
The room is silent, with no one daring to move as they observe the exchange. The soldier in front of me breathes heavily, his eyes pulse with adrenaline and fear. Fear not of confrontation, of me, but his memories, and the scars on his face that remind him every day.
“I killed seven dire wolves last night,” I blurt out finally, breaking the silence.
The soldier blinks, his gaze goes blank with a shock at what I just said. But just as quick as his shock came, like a slap to his face, in rushes a rage that turns his skin flush. He reels back, drunkenly swaying on his legs like stilts, and hocks a glob of snot at my feet.
“Oh, shut up you lying horse cock,” says the guard, the glint of tears in his eyes. “A thin reed-dick like you? Don’t insult me with your lies.”
He pulls out his sword and pushes it up against my throat. I try to back away, but his free fist clenches my shirt and pulls me in close. My hands raise to the sky, and my heart quickens to the sharp tip of the blade against my neck.
The other guards raise, one of their chairs toppling over and thudding on the ground. Mary screams and retreats behind a shelf, poking her head out from her hiding place to watch what will happen next.
“Hold on now,” I say calmly. “I have their heads if you want proof.”
There’s a distrust in his eyes, and I see the desire to pull the blade quickly across my neck. To cut a new way for my lies to pour out, so to speak, and let his fear of the wolves pour out with it. But I am speaking truths, and this is my chance to show them. He lets go of my shirt, pulling the blade away from me but not sheathing it. He just keeps it pointed at me, a sleek blade in the hands of someone who looks like a zombie.
+10 Charisma
“Go on then, great adventurer,” he says as he swings his sword arm gently in a mock bow, the drink making him stumble. “Show us.”
I access the menu in my bag and select the dire wolf skulls for removal. Aren’t they going to wonder how I fit even one of these things in my bag?
Player Inventory
Flint & Steel Water Skin (Empty) [ Dire Wolf's Head (7) ]
Carrying Capacity: 16/20 Currency: 10 Coppers
I pull each one out of my bag, they appear as if from nothing and place them down on the counter. The onlookers watch in shock, their mouths widening each time a new head comes out and is placed on the wood. But they seem more intrigued at the heads themselves, rather than the fact they materialized out of thin air.
As I put the last head on the counter - it’s the first one I killed, the one that got cut through the mouth - the guard beside me jumps back. His sword begins to quiver, then violently shake, until he finally lets it fall to the ground.
“That’s the fucking big bastard devil son of a-” he stops as he trips over his feet. The guard lands on his butt and reels backward as if the head was still coming at him.
“I’m going to get the captain,” says the shortest guard, and he runs out the door.
He returns in a moment, ushering in a man with a long and bushy mustache that hangs to his chin. Although he has the biggest mustache I’ve seen in person, his scalp doesn’t have a single hair on it.
“What in bloody god’s damned hell is going on?!” the mustached man yells.
“Look Gerald, just look,” the other guard is yelling, waving his hand at the counter.
Gerald, the Withered Hearts captain, looks gruff and stout like his face hasn’t changed from a mean position in years. This occasion seems to be no different, and although the others are excited and cheer, Gerald still has a mean face. There’s a rose stem sewn into the shoulder of his vest, the petals falling into a rotted pile underneath. He’s wearing a helmet that frames his face with two bars of metal, they come down beside his head like fangs.
“You,” he says, pointing at Mary. She snaps into attention, despite not even being a soldier. “Get me a hot meal, I have a long ride tonight.”
Mary wastes no time and scurries away to a room behind the counter, we hear a bunch of metal pans slamming together as she rushes to get some food together. Gerald walks by the scarred soldier, still quivering away on the floor, his eyes fixed on the head of the wolf that bit him. Almost devoured him for hell's sake. I guess he, and I have something in common then, my shoulder growing stiff despite healing from my level-ups. Gerald glances at the soldier and turns to the others.
“And guys, either get those damn heads out of here or pull Private Ruul out before he pops a blood vessel in his not-so-pretty head,” he commands them.
They work quickly, two moving to collect a couple of heads each from the counter and the third to drag Ruul out of the Inn. Ruul just goes slack and lets the other soldier pull him through the front door.
“And finally, you,” Gerald says, pointing a meaty finger at me.
“Me?” I gulp, feeling the pressure of his authority behind that stern face of his.
He walks up to me, his eyes piercing through me like a spike trap at the bottom of a pit I've fallen into. He looks at me, looks through me, takes in every piece of me with the analyzing eyes of his mean face. Then he smiles, the widest smile that causes his mustache to shrug up, and I nearly fall over in surprise.
“You sure as hell don't look like much, and I have no clue how you took on a pack of dire wolves. But there was a bounty out on those wolves, and I have been ordered by the Count to issue you a reward,” Gerald says, holding out a coin purse for me to take.
I put my hand out and he lets the cloth drop softly into my palm. When it lands, a box appears in my vision.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Quest Complete:
Howling in the Woods
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Rewards:
+1000 Character Experience
+100 Renown
+700 Withered Heart Reputation
+50 Silvers
-----------------------------------------------------------------
You have leveled up!
You've reached level 7!
Go to Veerdral for an important quest!
Veerdral, where the hell can that be?
Mary walks in from the back, two plates of food in her hands.
“For the captain,” she says, putting the first plate where Ruul sat when I first entered the Inn.
“And for our fearless warrior,” she says, placing the second plate in the spot beside the other.
“Come, sit and break bread with me,” Gerald offers, his rough, thick-fingered hand gently pushing my shoulder towards the counter.
I sit down and fish out three silver coins from the pouch, offering them to Mary. She waves her hand and smiles at me.
“Heros can eat free for a night. Tomorrow, if you’re still around, you can pay.”
I withdraw one coin from the stack of three and push the remaining two across the counter to her.
“Thank you, but at least take this, for the mess,” I offer, pointing at the three wolf heads still on the blood-soaked counter, a few flies crawling across their glassy eyes.
“A hero, and noble to boot,” she says, taking the coins and slipping them into her pocket. “I hope you enjoy the meal, it’s the Crestfall special, no better food in all of Merendith.”
The plate is filled to the brim, to the point that it has to be piled in the middle in a heap that avalanches when I dig my fork in. There are two bread buns with churned butter on the side, steamed potatoes and carrots that leak the brown gravy they are doused in, and three different piles of shredded meat. Gerald digs into one section of meat, the thick gravy plopping off his fork and down his chin.
“I love me some yowler meat in the evening,” he says between a mouthful of food. Mary places two mugs in front of us and Gerald takes a long swig.
“So,” he says after clearing his throat and letting out a deep belch. “How did you take on seven dire wolves at once?”
My meal steams in front of me, the sweet and hearty smells wafting up to my nose. I pick up a roll, it is flaky and soft, and take a large bite out of it. The bread melts on my tongue, mixing in with the butter and gravy.
“I don’t know,” I tell him after swallowing.
“How do you not know?” Gerald asks, shoveling the meal into his mouth like he's the one who's barely eaten.
“Well, I remember this one, the one that bit Ruul,” I say, pointing at the half-head still sitting on the counter. “I pushed my blade through his mouth.”
Gerald glances at the wolf head, blood now dripping off the edge of the counter, and continues to eat his meal like it’s just a vase of flowers.
“And the rest?” he asks, considering the possibility of wiping his hand on his uniform and deciding to suck his fingers instead.
“I remember them having me cornered, six of them around me. They attacked, three of them coming at me at once. But after the first few hits, it becomes a blur, like I lost consciousness during the fight,” I feel silly for saying this, but it is the truth. I don’t remember what happened next, just the mangled bodies of the wolves when I came to.
“Does that sound silly?” I ask.
Gerald stares at his demolished plate, his eyes glazing over the way someone who’s reliving a memory deep in their mind does.
“I’ve been in quite a few battles, son,” he says finally. “Heard a lot of stories from my brothers in arms of people blocking memories out, and in a few battles, I admit I have lost myself. War is a tough thing, but don’t worry about it. Remember it or not, you did one hell of a feat.”
Gerald pushes away from the counter, his gut hanging out of the bottom of his shirt. He places a silver coin by his plate, pauses, then fishes out a couple of copper pieces.
“Anyway, I've got to ride up to Veerdral and deliver news of the wolves to the Count. If you’re ever looking to put your combat skills to use, sign up for the guard. They pay well, and girls love a man in uniform,” he says with a wink at Mary. She crosses her arms and gives him the look away, but there’s a smile poking up on her face.
“If you need help, don’t be afraid to ask,” he finishes.
“Actually, maybe you can help me with something now,” I say, and he looks at me with raised brows.
“Yes?”
“Have you seen a girl, about four inches shorter than me, curly red hair and freckles?”
He stands there, his brow furrowing, thinking to the point it looks like he’s in pain. Finally, he rubs his chin and gives me an answer.
“Ain’t no adventurers around here like that. But I travel around the state often, and I think there was news of a woman like that in a town just south of Veerdral. Think they were calling here Sahara Songbird or something like that,” Gerald says and my heart skips.
“Sara Songbird?”
“Yes, I think that’s it. Stopped a bandit raid or killed some Slimes in the area, something along those lines. If you’re looking for her, she probably ended up in Veerdral at some point.”
“Where is Veerdral, anyway?” Every sign seems to be pointing to this city.
He gives me a blank look like I’ve asked him a question with no answer. He motions for me to come, and I follow him to the Inn door. Gerald points in between two buildings across the road.
“There is Veerdral,” he says.
Above the trees and nestled between two mountains in the distance, there is a tower that reaches far into the sky.