The base of the trunk had been hollowed out nearly completely forming a single, oval shaped studio apartment. How the massive tree didn’t collapse in on itself from its own weight was one of those physics problems that didn’t matter here. The ceiling was just high enough that I didn’t have to walk around hunched over, despite how small the doorway was. And it was pleasantly warm. Still soaking wet, I appreciated that immensely.

Two little beds sat in the far corner perfectly kept, patch quilts folded neatly at the foot of each. An oval shaped, four-person table crafted from the same tree sat in the center of the room. Half the home seemed to be dedicated to cooking and the other half to … sewing? There were stacks of folded shirts, underwear, socks, and pants of all different materials. The place smelled like a thrift shop stuffed with spices and herbs.

The Keebler elves would be jealous.

Gruda picked the cat up and dumped the whole thing in her cauldron with surprising ease. It made me wonder if that was another physics glitch or if she was much stronger than she looked.

I took a seat at the table. My ass hung off the sides of the chair, but it still felt nice to sit in something built for a butt.

“So, Spacilist,” said Gruda. “What brings yah to my forest?” She had an unusual accent. Irish, Cockney? No, it was something a little closer to Canadian with a taste of Appalachian moonshine.

I sucked in a breath through chattering teeth, rubbing the life back into my arms and legs.

“Uh, kind of pissed off some people, got dropped off here, left to die. Hey, thanks for inviting me in, by the way. You’ve got a nice home. I’m Jack.”

She turned and gave me an appraising look.

“Why would yah piss on someone?”

“Oh, no. I didn’t, I …” I paused to think through my vernacular. “Long story short, I found out some people in my company were involved in some seriously bad shit. Sex trafficking and … other stuff. Anyway, the cops were no help and I didn't know how to expose them, so I stole a bunch of their money and gave it to a few child protection groups. I thought the irony was pretty poetic. Technically, I built an algorithm that redirected funds to … nevermind. I made some very bad people very angry at me. So they sent me here.”

“Oh, so yer a thief, huh?”

“I guess. Not a very good one, though, apparently.”

She stirred the pot with methodical grace.

“Wouldn’t yah know, I’ve been needin’ the help of a thief fer quite some time now.”

I put my elbow on the table and pinched the bridge of my nose. “Yeah? Looking to steal something?”

“Not steal somethin’—steal somethin’ back,” she said, softly. She stopped stirring and just stared into her cauldron for a good long moment. I waited for her to continue but when she didn’t, I changed the subject.

“So … what is all this for? What do you do here?”

She looked up at me as if seeing me for the first time. “Me?” she said. “I make soup.” She nodded at a pile of brown colored underwear near my foot. “And clothing. And I dabble a bit in potion crafting.”

I remembered the cat’s description. “Can you make something from that cat I just brought you or is it too late for that?” I motioned to the paw sticking out of the pot.

“Oh, yes. Fer sure can. I can make ya a nice pair of boots for yer bloody feet. It’ll cost ya though.”

“Boots would be nice. How much?”

“Normally, about twenty-five coins. But since ya already brought the materials, let’s call it a solid fifteen.”

“Coins, huh? Don’t have any of those. There’s just one denomination? How does that work? Are coins universal in this game, uh, I mean in this place?”

“Yer not from around here, are ya?”

“Yeah, no, absolutely not. I’m a foreigner.” I nodded.

She went over to a leather pouch hanging on the wall and pulled out a coin. She tossed it to me. It was the size of a quarter, only copper colored with a woman’s face on it. Written in a semi-circle above the head were the words, “Lynn Ella Leon.” And under her likeness, “Queen of this Domain.”

“Oh, okay,” I said, tossing it back to her. She completely ignored my toss. The coin changed direction mid-flight and zoomed into the coin pouch with a clink.

That was a cool trick.

She grabbed a ladle and scooped some “soup” into a wooden bowl. She hobbled over and dropped it on the table in front of me.

“Slipped a bit o’ healing ointment in there for yer feet. On the house.”

She winked at me.

“Thanks,” I said.

I glanced down at the chunky concoction, then cleared my throat and took a whiff. It didn’t really smell like anything other than steam. I let out a breath and shrugged.

“You have a fork or something?” I said.

“What in the hell is a ferk?”

“Nevermind.”

I sipped the soup and gagged. I felt a strange, warm sensation creep down my guts, and the pain in my feet instantly went away. That at least was nice.

“Do ya like it?”

I coughed, smiled, nodded. “My feet like it.”

I took another sip and forced a chunk of cat meat down my gullet. I shuddered and put the bowl down.

“So how does one go about”—I coughed, coughed again—“getting coins?” I said.

She poured herself a bowl and sat down across from me.

“Yer the thief, you tell me.”

I laughed at that. “Any legitimate ways? Jobs or quests or—”

“Tell ya what,” said Gruda, pointing a chubby little finger at me. “I’ll make yiz a deal since youz a thief and a Spacialist. If ya steal somethin’ fer me, I'll craft yiz a full set of Enchanted Forest Stalker Garb right now, includin’ a pair of boots. It’ll make you faster, quieter, and protect ya from most blades. It's tough stuff, yes it is.” She tugged at her own attire.

“Uh … okay. Nice,” I said, looking down at my torn up latex body suit. I opened my mouth to inquire further but was cut off.

“And, if ya succeed, I’ll also give ya a reward chest.”

“That sounds … heavy. What is that?”

She leaned toward and smiled. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

I returned her smile. “So, what is it you want me to steal? Like a sewing machine or something?”

Gruda stared down into her soup, still untouched. Her demeanor suddenly changed and her voice significantly softened.

“My child. They took my child.” She looked up at me. “I’d go myself but I can’t leave this place.”

“Oh,” I said. “Uh, Jeez. I’m … I’m really sorry.” I paused for a moment. “Who, uh … who took him?”

“Her. A horde of hog-goblins took her,” said Gruda, emphasizing the last word.

“You mean hobgoblins?”

“No, hog-goblins. They’re cousins to the hobgoblins, but worse. Think of a goblin. Now think of a hog. Now fook ‘em together. That’s a hog-goblin. Ugly, nasty things, them are.” She slurped a spoonful. The meat squeaked as she gnawed, lips peeled back.

“Huh,” I said. “Okay. Do you know where they took her?”

She took another bite and pointed directly up. I looked at the ceiling then back at her.

“She’s … up in the tree?”

Gruda shook her head and swallowed. “Rockwallow Hollow—way, way up at the top of the mountain over yonder. Ya saw the waterfall, yes? There’s a pathway near’ll lead ya all the way to the top. There's a place called the Hog-Goblin Gambler's Den. It’s a rough place. I’m sure they have her there.”

“Why did they take her?”

“Hog-Gobins are notorious slavers. They’ll take and sell just about anyone if it means a bit of coin. But ya know what kind of people they never take?”

“Um ... Keebler Elves?”

“Spacialists! And ya know why? Cause you folk never stay locked up fer very long. Always breaking out a places with yer mysterious Spacialist powers.” She slammed both fists on the table, rattling her bowl. I jumped back and blinked at her. “Gods below,” she continued. “What I wouldn’t give fer a chance to cut me some hog-goblin throats right now. Those damn children snatchers. Fook ‘em all.”

At that moment, I wondered if this story line was being written for me on the fly, given I’d just mentioned that bit about my past and the fact that I just so happened to be a Spacialist now.

Oh, well. Nothing to do but go with it.

“Yeah,” I said. “Those are the worst kind of people.”

Gruda looked up at me, eyes big and moist now. “So y’ll do it? Y’ll find her and bring her back to me?”

I sucked in a deep breath and tensed up my shoulders. As I slowly exhaled I contemplated my new life and what it would be like the next twenty-five years. As far as I could see, I had two options: One, find a safe little hole and hide in it for a quarter century, or two, completely invest myself into this game, become the best damn “adventurer” I could be, and make it my reality. And maybe do some cool shit like save a kid along the way—even if deep down I knew none of it was real.

“Ah, what the hell,” I said. “Let’s give it a try.”

Gruda perked up, clapping furiously, bouncing up and down in her seat.

“Oh, thank Lynn Ella,” she said. “Thank the gods. I’m so happy. Yes, yes, yes, I am.”

New Objective

Return Gilda, the Forest Gnome, back to her mommy.

Reward: 100 ex-pts and a Mysterious Reward Chest

Side Objective

Kill the Hog-Goblin Big Bad Boss Bitch

Reward: 20 ex-pts and an additional Assassin's Reward Chest

Notification

You just received your first objective. Do a good job on this one and I may just slip a First Timer's Reward Chest into your inventory. Spoil alert, it’s another offensive weapon ability. Ooh, isn’t this exciting? Have fun and try not to die a horrible, gruesome death.

There was a loud poof from the cauldron and dark green smoke swirled out of it. Gruda got up and hobbled over to the pot.

“What was that?” I said.

She reached into the boiling water and pulled out a pair of dark green boots.

“Let’s try 'em on,” she said, grinning from ear to ear.