I shuddered awake, bolting upright. My heart was racing. I wiped at the sweat clinging to my face and blinked the sleep away. Jade and Patrick were still asleep, and the fire, its faint blue shade matched by the pre-dawn sky, was flickering meekly. A prompt told me my exhaustion status was finally gone now that I had a restful sleep. Could’ve fooled me.

A soft wind rolled over the trees, urging their branches to bow. On its flow I heard the song for the second time.

If you like Piña Coladas…

The voice was a whisper, the instruments barely audible, before it receded with the wind. Mr. Pink? I pinched my arm to make sure I wasn’t dreaming. Ow.

“Gnome,” I whispered. The mimic didn’t respond. “Gnome.” After my second attempt was unsuccessful, I picked up a twig and flicked it at him.

The box snorted as if roused from sleep. “Wha…I didn’t…Yes?”

“Shhh.” I nodded to the other two sleeping humans—although I couldn’t be sure which way he was looking. Do mimics have peripheral vision? A question for later. “I thought you didn’t need sleep.”

“I don’t,” he whispered. “I, ahh… I was simply deep in contemplation. About the moral dialectics concerning autonomous items. Yes.”

He was a bad liar, but I let it slide. “You didn’t hear any music, did you?” I asked.

“Music? Who’s playing music?”

“Nevermind. I’m going for a walk.” I stood slowly so as to not disturb Jade. “Stay here and watch them while I’m gone.”

Gnome didn’t reply. I gently kicked him. “What…who are… oh, yes. Did you need anything?”

“Don’t. Fall. Asleep,” I warned. “I’ll be back shortly.”

“Yes. Yes, of course. I shall stand vigilant.”

I grabbed some of the roasted bird remaining by the campfire—probably a little old to be completely safe—and armed myself with a torch. The forest was barely bright enough for me to see and a source of flame sounded just dandy in case any more of those undead garden gnomes were lurking about.

There was an urging in the song I found difficult to comprehend. In the same way it came with the wind from the island the first time I heard it, this time the wind had rolled in from the direction of the caravan. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe I hadn’t heard music at all. But I wanted to be sure.

By the time I reached the caravan, Superior Perception had kicked in. The bodies hadn’t moved. Barbecued gnomes littered the forest floor, frozen in awkward death poses. One had its hand outstretched to the sky as if it had been turned to stone.

I stood in the middle of the carnage, waiting. Waiting for something. For the song. A sign of any kind. Another breeze picked up, but quickly died without fanfare.

I sighed and set to work. If there was anything important lying around, then I would be able to lend some credence to what I thought I was hearing, and if not, well, I could confirm the insanity of Killjoy Island was beginning to rub off on me.

Superior Perception made things a hell of a lot easier, even in the sliver of daylight gloom beginning to creep over the woods. Everything was sharp, defined. My eyes focused on the smallest of things with ease. I sifted through the shattered caravan, ignoring the fungal growths in the cracked wood. Any crates or barrels were there only for display—they were empty.

Except for the front cart. I slipped a sheet of paper out from beneath a broken plank. It was crumpled and torn and browned by what I was almost certain were coffee stains, but the handwriting was legible:

Pitter patter, what’s that chatter?

Pastor, crafter, hear that laughter?

Troll! Extol, pay the toll

Behold gold! Wait… is that mould?

Flee now, flee from tree to tree

Flea I plea, far from me

Run and hide, run beside

Up and down, to treetop town

More poetry. Great.

I squinted at the mentioning of trolls. That was my first thought. But no troll came out of the woods to attack us, and I hadn’t noticed anything undead about the troll couple before my ambush was cut short. Hell, they even spoke. Yet all three carts had been smashed by something massive, that much was evident by the sheer volume of destruction. But what?

The other clue was treetop town. I had seen a thick copse of absurdly high trees last night, and Gnome explained that it could be a settlement of some kind. Maybe that’s where this quest leads?

Event Chain Updated

- The Smashed Caravan -

A mysterious note hints at a possible perpetrator to the attack and a location known only as “treetop town”. What could it mean? Where to investigate next? *Wink wink*.

Reward

- Favour +1 (9) -

I pocketed the poem and scanned the remainder of the wreckage for any hints I might’ve missed. My eyes locked on something tucked between blades of grass near one of the bodies. I knelt and gingerly picked up the off-white object, and turned it over in my grasp.

It was a cigarette butt. Huh.

k̸̞͖͐́̚͜.̴̫̙̙͛̒̿ j̵͙͇͓̈́͆̽ n̸̺̿̔̔͜.̴̘͓̝̕͝͝ r̴̪̟̻̒̚͝ q̵͔̞̞̐̾̕w̵̡͍̫̐̒͘q̵͓͕͖̒͊͐ q̴̡̡̞͑͝.̴̟̪̟̔̚ h̵͔̘̞́͒̈́ y̸͉̺̦͊͒͒ h̵̦̠̀̕͝ g̵̡̙̒̿͘g̴͎̠̙͐̚̕h̴̺͙̠͌͘̕k̴͔̻̫̔̒͘ j̴̡̝̝̀́̀

-̵̪̼̞̓̔̚ y̴̘̞͒̔͜ t̴̙̞͉́̓̕.̵͔͎͑̈́̽ g̵͎̪͉̈́̒͘ẃ̸̻͍͖̓̐f̸̢̠̫́͊̚.̵̢̼̟̔̀͆ ǘ̴̢͉͑̈́ -̸̟̞͑̾̚

h̵̷̘̞̔͌͋t̸̷̠̟̓̚͝ b̸̷̫͐̒̔͜͜a̸̷͎͇̾̿͜ä̴̷̙͓͔́̕͘ h̵̷̙̝͑̒̽y̴̷͙̺̘̿́͝ q̵̷̘͎͍̀͒ x̵̷̢̼̐͊͒͜ b̸̷͉͓̈́̓͠n̴̷̦͖̘͐̓̒ a̵̷̝͉̙͑͋͘ Q̸̷̺͔̓͌̚h̸̷̺͇̞̔̈́͘ H̸̷͎̻̫́̈́͝U̸̷̼͉̼͊̕͝ y̴̷̼͙̝̒̔̾e̵̷͕͕̐͌̓.̵̷͎̼͚̈́̕ j̸̷͔͕͙̐͘͝e̴̷͇̼͙̔̕͠j̵̷̦̼͍̾̓͝ j̸̷͉͖̫̈́͒z̸̷͕̺͒͌̀m̴̷͕͇͓͋͊̽n̴̷͙͎͍̕̚͝m̴̷̡̦͍͒̓̓ w̸̷͕̺͖͒͛͝.̸̷͉̺͇͋̕͘ w̵̷̼̼͇̾̐

The unreadable prompt rattled my skull. I clasped my head in my hands until the neural storm passed, leaving only a minor headache.

What the hell was that?

I looked at the cigarette butt—burnt and squashed underfoot by someone’s boot, like something you’d find in a New York City gutter, and gently touched it with a finger. The prompt didn’t return, so I picked it up and slipped it in my pouch.

After a few more minutes of searching brought no other strange finds, and seeing the sky was hinting at dawn, I returned to camp.

Both Jade and Patrick we’re awake. She was kicking out the fire while he examined his bandages. “There you are,” he said, feigning surprise. “We thought you might’ve run off.”

If my eyes could bore through wood Gnome would sport a hole the size of a golfball. “I went back to the caravan.” I unravelled the poem and handed it to Patrick.

He held it no farther than an inch from his eyes. “Cute,” he said, handing it back. “So, treetop town?”

We briefly discussed the location I’d seen last night and both agreed that was the most likely place to start with. But first, Kiril. Jade urged speed in packing our things and heading out, as their leader would likely be wondering why they hadn’t returned yet.

So we left.

I opted not to tell them about the cigarette. Not yet. Not until I had a better grasp on what it meant.

The sun was beginning to drape its gentle touch over the highest trees as we set out. The climb steepened the farther we went, skirting around troll territory and through rocky terrain and back into forest again. A ring of dead and dying trees signalled the presence of a vampire tree, and sure enough we came upon the black and red canopy of a hulking, monstrous trunk. Thin veins of dimly flaring red curved up and split along the branches. We harvested any Vampire Root left over before moving on.

I told Gnome about Kiril as we marched uphill, and that he needed to pretend he was a regular treasure chest until I could get a better read on the guy. The silent game, I framed it, a technique I learned from my niece. Ask her to do anything and she wouldn’t, for no reason other than pure defiance, but frame it as a game and suddenly she was a pro.

“I shall be silent as the rave,” he said.

“Grave,” I corrected. “A rave is the opposite of what I need you to be.”

Eventually the distant rush of water preceded a downhill stream, which we followed to a spring fed by a small waterfall. Jade sniped a bird for Patrick for later, and pointed up to the rocks.

“Just up there,” she said, out of breath.

We circled wide around the waterfall and the rocky cliff that propped it up, braving yet another oppressive slope, until we reached the top. A second cliff towered above, leaving only a thin rocky terrace hugged by ancient vines breaking out of the rock.

Jade led us down the path of vines until it opened up to a stony precipice and what she described as the mouth of a cave—to me it looked more like its anus, but I kept that to myself. Thin wisps of smoke drifted lazily out of it. We ducked inside to see a small fire sheltered by rocks and topped by a boiling pot. An older woman with scraggly red hair was poking at the contents with a stick. She beamed as soon as she saw us, and ran for Jade, arms swinging wide open.

“Jade, dear!” She exclaimed. Jade, who had been morose and quiet during the latter half of the exhausting climb, suddenly burst to life. The two embraced like high school besties after having not seen each other for an excruciatingly long twelve hours.

The red-haired woman, who I assumed must be the Angie Patrick mentioned, barely noticed me. “We thought something must’ve happened after you didn’t come back!” She cupped Jade’s face in her hands and kissed her forehead.

Stepping out from behind a rock was the man himself. The myth. The legendary power gamer. Kiril.

He was not at all what I’d imagined.

A man barely breaching five and a half feet in stature sauntered around the fire, one hand resting on the blade of a sword dangling at his belt, the other swinging back against his cloak, mimicking a well-timed wind giving him that rugged adventurer swagger. His clothes were almost imperceptibly too loose. His blue cap sat tilted on his blonde hair. His glasses glinted in the firelight and stripped away any air of intimidation he attempted to draw with his swaying gait.

He stopped ten feet in front of us as though moving any closer would break the illusion he was trying to uphold. One finger pushed his glasses farther up his nose. He regarded me closely. “Hello,” he said, almost as a question.

Player Met

- Kiril Minchev -

- Hardcore, ????? -

- Party: The Completionists -

I raised my hand for a wave. “Hey,” I said. “You must be Kiril.”

“Yes, I am,” he said, his voice slightly nasally, his accent only minimally Slavic. The rest of his body was unnaturally still while he spoke. “You’re Ben.”

I cleared my throat. “Uh, yeah. I was travelling with Jade and Patrick since last night. Sorry about delaying their return, we got caught up in a bit of a pickle. The pickle in question being two massive trolls.”

“Yes, they were supposed to scout their territory and report back,” he said cooly, his head turning to them. “Did you complete the task?”

Patrick stepped up beside me. “It’s a no-go, I think. The two of them complicates things. One was already pushing it,” he said.

Gnome squirmed under my arm. “Who is that boy? He looks tasty,” he whispered.

“Shhh.”

Kiril’s lips thinned. “What was that?”

I squeezed Gnome tighter against me. “I was just saying Patrick, Jade and I made a pretty good team. If not for them I would’ve died, probably, and if not for me, Patrick might not have returned. I hope it’s not too forward, but I was thinking if you had any available spots in your party I could be of help.”

Kiril’s face was unreadable, his features stiff. “You have my thanks for that,” he said. Beyond the glimmer of his glasses I could feel the detached appraisal in his eyes. “What are his stats?”

I can speak for myself, thanks. “Constitution’s a two. Fortitude’s a one,” I said. “I’ve got a bunch of favour to distribute, though. Enough for a few levels. I’ve only been here two days and I’ve been through a hell of a lot. I fought a troll and lived. I fought some zombie gnomes and didn’t die. I found…” I stopped myself short of mentioning Gnome, remembering Jade’s advice. “…I found these two. And I found you. If that’s not impressive for someone with stats like mine, then you tell me what is.”

Patrick rested a hand on my shoulder. “He saved my life, for what it’s worth.”

Kiril thought a moment, fingering the hilt of his blade. He nodded to Gnome. “What’s that? I don’t recognize it.”

“This?” I held Gnome in front of me, my heart ready to leap out of my chest. Don’t fucking talk. “Just a chest I found. It had already been looted, but I thought why hell not just take it with me? Could always carry things around in it.”

“Found where?”

I looked over to Jade. She didn’t look back. “An underground tomb of sorts. The place was plundered.”

“Open it,” said Kiril.

Aw shit. I realized Gnome and I had never had the talk. I assumed it was rude to put anything in a mimic that wasn’t food, and because of that fact I’d never actually looked inside him. I wrapped my fingers around the lip of his lid, silently praying dead gnomes and severed hands and bones wouldn’t come spilling out. I opened him.

He was empty. His insides resembled that of a wooden box, recently sanded. A whiff of pine graced my nose.

Kiril leaned closer and squinted. He readjusted his glasses when he pulled back. “I’ll think about it,” he said, and began to walk away.

It’s not enough. His words were a maybe but his tone was a no. I met Jade’s uncertain gaze. I’m sorry, she seemed to say.

I stepped forward. Patrick motioned to stop me but was too slow on the draw. “I heard you refused to open the chest,” I said. My words hit home, lassoing Kiril, forcing him to turn. “I’ll be honest, when I heard that I knew I had to meet this guy. Kiril knows what’s up, they kept saying. Kiril knows how to play this game.”

I had no idea if I was playing to his ego or not. He was difficult to read, but there was something there. Something to latch onto. He wasn’t the awkward kid in school anymore, the shortest guy in class. He wasn’t the geeky outcast. He was a gamer in his element. And he knows that.

The party leader retraced some of his steps, throwing the shutters open to more praise.

“And already I can see that. I wouldn’t let me in either, in your position. Why should you? Let’s be honest, my stats are shit. My experience here, too, is shit. There are probably a dozen other people out there more qualified to top off that final spot in your dream team. All that’s true. Except…”

Kiril was close now, closer than he’d been initially.

“…I used to be a banker by trade, before all this. One of the things I did best was financial risk assessment. Investments. I knew where to put people’s money to get the best value for them I could. You and I aren’t so different, Kiril. We both want to live.” I pointed in a vague direction. “We both want to cross that fucking mountain. But how many of us are willing to do what’s necessary to get there? You are, for starters. And so am I. Invest in me. Put your trust in me, and I’ll pay dividends.”

Kiril was still. Behind me I could almost hear the others holding their breath. He needs a little more. One more push. I slipped the poem into my hand. The rustling of paper punctuated the silence in the cavernous interior. “And I have something real. An update to a quest that I don’t think any other player has yet. I can offer—“

“I said I’d think about it.” Kiril’s voice pierced like an arrow, killing the words in my throat. He’d seen through my pitch. He turned, cloak billowing, and started off. “Make him touch the Anchor and start him on the Course. Optimize him, and then we’ll see.”